Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“I’m going... you will need to take care of each other,” Darcy Hoffman squeezed Mark’s hand. Her grip was shaky, her skin dry and cold. Bandages covered one of her eyes while they were stained like red wine on white sheets. The beeping of the heart monitor was the only noise heard through the tense hospital room. His mother, strong and unafraid, had to pause in between words with ragged breath. “I’m going… to be with your father soon. I’m sorry I can’t… stay. You only have each other. Don’t ever turn your back... on your family. I… will always… be with you.”

“We will,” Angelina Hoffman was grimace-smiling through teary eyes, lips squeezed in a tight line. She leaned forward and put her hand over her mother’s, sandwiching Mark’s large fist. Small hands, both of them had such tiny digits. Delicate hands. When did they become so small? “I love you, Mom. Please don’t go.”

It had only felt like yesterday that his mother towered over him, the one in charge. She had been the one person he always looked up to; but at this moment, she looked so frail. Weak. Who knew a fucking tweaker behind the wheel could take down such a powerful woman. It’s not fucking fair, he clenched his fists tightly at the tops of his thighs. Not like this. He felt the dangers of tears breaking across his vision, blurring his world. No, not like this.

“Love you, mom,” Mark said, holding back the lump in his throat as he forced his composure to stay straight and strong. His eyes burned but he clenched his jaw and forced them dry. He squeezed her hand, willing his warmth and life into her. He didn’t want her to go. He wasn’t sure how he could hold on without her to guide him. Their father had died on impact. His mother was barely hanging on. It must have hurt. He knew it must have hurt more than he could have imagined. “I’ll look after Angie. Don’t worry, I promise. Tell Dad… I’m sorry.” He blinked to realize that a tear had escaped, sliding like ice down his cheek.

Darcy’s eyelids were beginning to flutter. Her labored breathing rattled outward, sighing out her final breath. The heartbeats were irregular. Slowing.

Angelina’s sobs crescendoed as the monitor wailed. He put his arm around her, letting her hang onto him as she broke down. His shoulder had a warm damp spot growing on it. He hung onto that sensation, distracting him from shedding any more tears of his own. She can cry for both of us. He stared at a generic picture hanging on the off-white painted walls. Flowers in a vase. He tried to keep himself focused on the pale blue ceramic and the cream-shaded petals.

It’s just us two. He returned to his younger sister. She was only eighteen. Still a kid, finishing up high school. She was planning on going to college in just a few months. She needed him, and he’d take care of her. She’d stay with him. He had just finished his time at the Academy and had a good job lined up. Sure, he was only on a rookie’s salary. But they’d make it work. He’d work hard. He’d get promoted. He’d do what he needed to do, so Angie could go to school and have the future she deserved.

“It’s going to be okay, Angie,” He told her, rubbing her back as her weeping lulled into hiccups and gentle crying. He reached towards the nurse call button, pressing the plastic down while keeping one hand on the back of his sister’s delicate spine. He’d take care of her. He promised.

It had been a week since the funeral and Angie still hadn’t eaten anything. He got to their apartment early that morning, having finished his shift to find Angie sitting on the couch, staring at the wall. No dishes had been in the sink. The trash can was empty. He had told her to eat something when he left twelve hours prior and she said she would. This had gone long enough.

“Angie.” He took off his policeman’s cap and sat down on the recliner across from Angie’s sofa, eyeing her blank expression.

She turned to him, shadows under her eyelids, hoodie hanging loosely over her emaciated shoulders. He could see her neck bones. Her harrowed face pulled the trigger in his skull, making him decide to take some action.

“We’re getting breakfast.”

“I’m not hungry,” she muttered, looking away again.

“Hey.” He leaned closer to her, his chest tight as he willed her to just look at him. To just try. “Angie. Please.” He waited a few moments, his mind reeling with desperation. “I haven’t eaten yet and I’m starving. I need a hot meal but don’t want to sit alone at the diner like a loser. Will you at least come with me? Keep your brother company?”

She blinked, turning her face to him with a pained expression. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I should have made you something.”

“No-,” he resisted the urge to smack his palm to his face, backpedaling. “You don’t need to do any of that. Just - have breakfast with me. Let’s go to Druther’s. Like we always do. Come on, Angie, please?”

She seemed to ponder this, her light brown eyes unfocused. “Okay.” She nodded. “I need to take a shower first.”

“Do that. I’ll change.” He felt his heart skip in excitement when she stood up and went to the bathroom. This was progress. This was good.

He heard the water running. The apartment he got them had been what a new policeman could afford and was certainly enough space for just the two of them, but it was run down and worn. He had wanted to move closer north to be near Angie’s college, but they couldn’t afford the rent. The money from their parents’ life insurance went straight to funeral expenses and the rest to Angelina’s tuition. They weren’t in debt, which frankly, was more than he could have hoped for. They would be okay, at least. Sure, it wasn’t the Ritz, but they had each other. They just needed to take it one day at a time. In his new bedroom, he slowly took his uniform off, wincing when he went to shrug out of his unbuttoned shirt. His ribs stung; his thin undershirt didn’t do much to conceal his bruises. His chest was a barrel of patches that brought agonizing aches every time he took a breath. He studied himself in the mirror.

His shift had been a shit show. He had been called over a domestic dispute that had escalated into a full-on pursuit and tactical response. He had to run several blocks and tackle a man about his build just a few hours prior and had gotten into an altercation where the suspect resisted. And happened to be an underground boxer. A dirty fighting cage brawler. It was rare coming across someone in his weight class that knew how to fight and though he smirked at the memory of knocking the guy out, striking the teeth off his jaw like it was T-ball, he had to walk away with a limp and in desperate need of some ice for his shoulder.

He had gotten the bastard pinned down after taking several heavy blows to the ribs and chest. Thankfully, the bruises on his torso were easily hidden with a t-shirt. Angie didn’t need to see them. She was a total hippie. A pacifist that cringed at the sight of guns, covered her eyes during fight scenes in movies and paled at the sight of blood. Sometimes, her naivety made him roll his eyes. But mostly, he wanted more than anything to keep her that innocent for as long as possible. The world was dirty and cruel. She was like a candle in a cave and he was desperate to not have the light snuffed out.

After struggling into some fresh clothes, he went back to the living room to wait for his sister, turning the TV to the news. The anchorwoman was discussing the opioid epidemic riddling the city. His lip twitched in a sardonic sneer before he switched the channel, switching it to some talk show he didn’t care about. Some outdated celebrity was talking about a kitchen appliance that would change the entire home cooking experience and the course of history. Oh boy.

His throat felt dry and he had a strong urge to go to the fridge and pop open a cold one to help take the edge off. But he knew Angie never cared for his drinking. Instead, he opted for a glass of water, downing it with a couple of pills of aspirin crushed between his teeth.

He slowly lowered himself onto the sofa, leaned deeply into the back of the sunken cushions, head tossed back to stare passively at the stained ceiling. A water stain had begun to seep across the cracked surfaces, rotten and beginning to blacken with mold. It made his nose itch. He needed to get them out of this shithole as soon as possible. He either needed to start climbing the ladder like an ape on steroids or transfer to a department far from the cesspool of this city. It wasn’t likely Angie would want to leave, though. She was already set up to start classes in a month. She was about to begin her life, in the very city she was born in. Where her parents were born. Like it or not, for her sake, this was where he was stuck. He’d make do.

He just had to get promoted to Detective and things would improve. At least then he wouldn’t have to wear the uniform every day. He closed his eyes, counting the months it was likely going to take before he’d even be up for a promotion.

The rushing water had ceased and after some distant rustling, the door creaked open. “Ready?” Her voice was soft.

He opened his eyes and slowly rolled his head to study her. She had put on a black hoodie and some faded jeans. Her face was pale and lined with more stress than her age should have allowed. She looked older than he felt.

“Yeah,” he half growled from sleep deprivation. Despite how tired he was, he had to keep going. She was trying, for him. The least he could do was try as well. “If I don’t get some coffee in me soon, I think I’m going to pass out.”

They sat at a booth by the windows at a corner of the diner, allowing Mark the comfort of keeping his back at a corner while Angie could gaze out the large windows and watch the people going about their lives. The windows were thin and let the cold chill bleed through their panes. She shivered in her clothes, not remembering feeling this frigid from the typical dreary autumn morning.

The waiter approached, kind hazel eyes surrounded by long lashes and a wide white smile greeting them. “Well good morning, beautiful. To what do I owe the pleasure of serving you this morning?”

She blinked up at the man, taken aback by the brashness. She knew she looked like a mess. She smiled at him sympathetically. “Thanks. You really know how to earn those tips.”

He winked at her. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” Mark’s voice was heavy and sluggish but his eyes were sharp and lightning blue, pulling attention to them like a homing beacon. “And mind yourself around my little sister.”

“Mark,” Angie let out a warning groan, “He’s just goofing. Lay off.” She returned to the waiter, noting his nametag. “Peter. I’ll have orange juice.”

“Coffee and OJ, coming up. By the way, our breakfast specials today are-”

“Not interested,” her brother waved him off, still giving him a stare of passive hostility, like an oncoming storm about to wreck a little sailboat’s Sunday float.

The young man let out a half-smile-half-sympathetic-wince to Angie before turning awkwardly away and fleeing behind the counter. She spun to him quickly. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem is I don’t want to watch some creep try to pick up my kid sister right in front of me when I just want some breakfast and a cup of goddamn coffee. Is that too much to ask for?” He turned his frustration to her, mouth pursed into that pout that Mom used to tease him would get all the girls if he just learned to tone down the temper.

“He wasn’t picking me up, Mark.” She threw one fleeting glance in the man’s direction, feeling a slight tremor of disappointment. She turned back to her brother, noting arms were both splayed on the table in front of him, his shadowed eyes watching her incredulously. “What?”

“Oh my god, you like him? That prick?”

“Shut up,” she looked down at her hands, casting defiant eyes back up in between batting her lashes. “You’re just cranky because you need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he droned, pawing at the sugar packs at the side of his table and shaking the paper packaging. “Besides, how can I sleep when I have to fight all these pricks off my sister?”

“You’re the one being the asshole,” she whispered back, feeling the Hoffman family rage come to her. It helped warm her up and bring awareness to her limbs. She wanted to smack him. It felt good, this anger. It helped distract from the pain.

“Yeah. I am. You’re right.”

She started up to see Mark had a smirk on his mouth, the anger from before having melted away. “Well, maybe I’d rather see you throw Bambi eyes at some average guy with a steady job over just staring at the wall in that shit apartment. Lately, I'm starting to see that there are worse ways people deal with their grief. As long as he's not strung out and treats you with respect, fine.” She blinked slowly, realizing he was giving his approval. “But Angie, focus on school. Guys like that are a dime a dozen. As soon as you start classes, I'm sure you're going to have your choice of idiots once you live on campus. Unless - you know.” His cheeks went slightly pink. “You’re always welcome to stay with me. You know that. But I know you want to start living your life. I just don’t want to see you trapped. Getting distracted with the first guy you've seen after...” He shook his head. "Nevermind, I'll just shut up."

Well aware that she had been letting herself simply fall apart while Mark had to watch the show, her eyes stung. It had just been too hard. She hadn’t been able to cope like Mark had. He was always the tough one. He was able to go straight to work as soon as the funeral was done as if Mom and Dad weren't buried under all that dirt. “Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry.” She felt like it was unfair. That she didn’t have any time to grieve.

“No, don’t apologize.” Mark dropped the sugar packs and pointed his finger at her as he quickly backtracked. “You did nothing wrong, you understand me? I’m not saying that-,”

“Coffee,” the waiter interrupted, placing the white mug in front of Mark and the glass of orange juice in front of Angela. “Orange Juice. With a little extra-,” He pulled out of thin air a paper umbrella and placed it in her glass. “-flair. I’m also a magician part-time. I do birthday parties and bar mitzvahs. In case you know anyone throwing one anytime soon.” She couldn’t help but giggle at that. He beamed at her and with another flick of his wrist a small notepad appeared in his hands. “So, what’ll you have?”

“How about you make with the magic and disappear.” Hoffman waved him away, unimpressed. “And take your time in coming back, we’ll need at least ten.”

The waiter retreated once again. Angelina let out a sigh, touching the little green umbrella with her fingers. “I’m thinking of taking a year off. I don’t think I’ll be up for hitting the books right away. I just need time to think. You know?”

“Yeah. Take whatever time you need, Angie.” Hoffman was pouring sugar and cream in his coffee, sipping it despite the billowing steam pouring off the top. “No rush. I just want you to at least eat something. Get out and just go about the motions. Even if it's hard. That's what I'm doing. Faking it. I know it sucks. But it’ll get easier, the more you keep going. One foot in front of the other. You know.”

“Yeah,” She gave him a small smile. “I know.” She shifted the subject, forcing herself to try to be a little less of a downer. “You know, you keep pouring all that sugar in your coffee, you’re going to get diabetes. Or worse, a dad bod.”

Hoffman let out a deep chuckle. “I hear that’s what the ladies like these days. Maybe that’s what I’m going for.”

She let out a groan. “Ugh, who told you that? Nooo.” She began to giggle, imagining Mark built like their Dad, who had been a large man. He had been as tall as Mark, but built wide and bulky. Her brother had the bone structure but was lean; he had always been on the skinnier side growing up, but he was beginning to resemble the warm, analog pictures of their father when he was a young man. It was around his age that their father got married. “What about you, Mark? Any gorgeous tall blonde vixens working in your department?”

Hoffman choked on his coffee, coughing and hacking, making Angelina sigh and get him some napkins to mop up the brown spray that covered their table.

“No.” Mark kept clearing his throat. “The ratio of male-to-female cops isn't really in my favor. Besides, who'd like this ugly mug? No, that's not what I'm looking for right now.” He was speaking hurriedly, embarrassed.. He looked suddenly younger, reminding her that he wasn't much older than she was, though he certainly acted like he was.

“You’re a handsome guy, Mark, I bet there's tons of ladies that are just dying for a chance to talk to you.” Angelina raised an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason?”

“I don’t shit where I eat, Angie.” Mark’s face was grave and serious. “I’m not at work to get laid. I don't have time to date. I want to build a career.”

Angie shrugged. “Still, one day you'll need to start a family. Can't let the Hoffman legacy just..." she cleared her throat and quickly side-stepped from that thought. "Well, any ladies you meet on cases? Damsels you've saved that fall madly in love with Prince Charming?”

Mark’s expression had gone cold and he began to wall himself off. He tended to do that when he didn’t want to talk about something anymore. “None that I’d want to ask out. It's not exactly a Disney movie out there, Angie. Most of the women I've met on the job are victims. They're not looking for some big tough guy in their life. Usually that’s what they’re trying to get away from.”

“Okay, then I guess I better just hurry up and get to college. It’s clear my brother is going to die an old miser without my help.” Her brother looked flustered, face pink and scowling at her. “What? If I’m not able to date it looks like I need to find some other use for my time. I think you are overdue for a girlfriend, Mark. I mean, if I’m going to have every cute guy get scared off, I’ll just need to go find you a nice, liberal college professor to court you and get you off my hands. Some social justice goddess to keep you in check, since you've gone and donned the blue. I don't want to see my brother on the news involved with, god forbid, police brutality. I think a nice left-leaning perspective is just what you need.” She was only joking. She knew Mark would never be in that situation. He was a good man. A kind, compassionate man. But she loved to tease him.

Mark had opened his mouth to respond, but was silenced by Peter, the waiter. “Hey,” the man shyly approached their table. “Have you two decided?”

“Mark?” Angie smiled sweetly at her older brother, waiting for him to make his decision.

He glared at her, half bemused, half furious. He turned to the man and calmly ordered, “Farmer’s breakfast. Extra hash.”

The waiter scribbled away. “And…” he seemed to have been half-hearted, casting nervous eyes to Mark as he waited patiently for her.

“Blueberry pancakes, a side of eggs,” she smiled up at him. “And your number.” She cast defiant eyes at her brother while he stared glumly at her.

Peter blinked, shot a glance at her brother and then let out a short laugh. “Well, how about you come by after twelve? I get off work. We can grab lunch. And real lunch, not breakfast food, if that's alright with you. That is, if your brother isn’t going to bury me in your backyard?” He shot another concerned glance towards Mark.

“Oh, he’ll behave. Right, Mark?” She locked eyes and stared at her brother, the two of them silently in a test of willpower.

“If you eat everything on your plate today, fine,” he growled. She broke into a triumphant grin. “Peter, it’s a date.” The waiter walked confusedly while Angie giggled. She turned to her brother. “Thanks, Moshy,” she drawled out the thanks, the way she used to when Mark would eat her peas when their parents weren’t looking.

“And please don't try to set me up with someone. I really don't have time for that. That’s part of the deal. And I want you to be home by the time I'm up for my next shift. Or I’ll be looking for that guy with a shovel.”

She shook her head solemnly. “Mark, I swear, one day your humor is going to get you in trouble.”

“Who’s joking?” He shot her a surrendering grin. “He seems harmless, though.”

“You can tell?”

“It’s the magic shit. He’s a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, well he’s got a cute butt.”

Mark let out a groan. “Please stop.”

Chapter Text

“Hoffman,” Captain Grissom called out to the new detective, coming out of his office towards the floor of desks on the main level of the Metropolitan Police Station. It was a typical Monday morning, the smell of burnt coffee, shoe polish, and aftershave greeted the senses. Hoffman slugged back his first morning cup of coffee, got to his feet and strode towards his supervisor. It was his first day in plainclothes, the shirt and tie feeling looser and alien after five years in the uniform. He had just been promoted that Friday to Detective. It took five long years, but he finally made it.

Angie had baked him a cake, it was a good weekend.

“Sir,” He waited expectantly, looking down at the shorter man. Captain Grissom was five foot six, stocky, and full of sass. The man had a mustache that gave him a walrus-like appearance. The big round glasses didn't help his case.

“In my office,” Grissom went in, striding to his chair behind his large desk piled with mountains of case files. A small woman with reddish brown hair was standing in black dress slacks and a light blue button-down, a badge dangling along a chain around her neck. A Smith & Wesson was at her hip, small caliber, probably because her thin wrists couldn’t support the recoil of a gun with thicker ammunition.

“Who’s this?” Hoffman wasn’t in the mood to wait for either person to explain.

“Detective Wilhelmina Maddox,” the woman introduced herself, holding her hand out. “Everyone calls me Will.”

“Detective Mark Hoffman,” he warily studied her face. She was barely reaching his shoulders, and he wasn’t that tall. She had thick red curls tied back into a bun that gave her a frizzy helmet look. Amber eyes looked up at him, large but sharp with attention. She had a firm handshake, surprisingly strong for her size. She at least had muscle. He saw the tendons in her arms flex, biceps that were more impressive than imposing, but at least they existed.

“Maddox is from California. Folks out west have said good things about you, Maddox.”

“Thank you, sir.” She broke eye contact first, pulling her hand out of Hoffman’s grip and placed the hand on her hip, next to her gun. He kept watching her, already feeling a tightness in his chest of where this was going. “I look forward to being part of the team.”

“Excellent. Well, Hoffman is one trustworthy son of a bitch. He’ll show you the ropes. This city ain’t the suburbs and you’ll need someone who will have your back while you get your bearings out here as you transition from handling cartels to our shade of crime families.”

“I understand.”

“Good.” Grissom flashed warning eyes to Hoffman. “Bradshaw is the blond to the right.” He pointed outward toward the windows that showcased the chaotic sea of desks just outside his office. “Closest to the windows. He’ll take you to your desk.”

“Thank you, sir.” The woman nodded her head towards the Captain and left.

“Shut the door, Hoffman,” Grissom leaned back on his chair.

Hoffman did so and quickly turned to the man. “She can’t seriously be my new partner. She’ll break like a toothpick in two days.”

“She’s got a cool head and a track record that’d put all you oafs to shame.”

“It takes just one time. One time for someone bigger to have the drop on her. And everything’s bigger than her. She seriously can’t expect to work the city. Why was she transferred here?”

“She made the request.”

“Get out. She’s delusional.”

“She has yet to not solve a case put in front of her. Though," he held his hand out, "they've been small change compared to what we get here. She's hungry for more. And she’s a professional. Hasn’t caused her supervisor any headaches with the paperwork that you’ve been fucking me with. She doesn’t use excessive force. She keeps her nose clean.”

“What, I don’t?” Hoffman gave a smile. “Come on, Grissom. I get results.”

“And so does she. Look. I’m not happy about getting another pretty face in here to distract all you knuckle draggers from your jobs. That’s another reason I’m putting you up with her. You keep your eye on the prize. Like a bull in a china shop, but you never get distracted. I think you two will work out. Just give her a chance. You’re brute force and raw muscle. She’ll be the brains and your leash.”

“That’s fucked,” Hoffman shook his head, folding his arms. “You expect me to watch that kid’s back and leave mine open for a knife?”

“I expect you two to look out for each other, in your own way. She’s been trained, just like you. She better hold her own, but don't just leave her to hang and dry when the going gets tough. I expect you both to do your jobs and work together. You may still be too rookie to get the big picture, but I can’t just put two heavy-handed bastards out without some moral setbacks. Why’d you think I separated you and Matthews as soon as you two swaggered through here from the Academy? Think of her like that angel on your shoulder that tells you not to pull the trigger.”

Hoffman smirked at this. “You make me sound dirty.” Besides, I already got one of those.

Grissom sneered back, good-humored. “Not at all. You’re a damn good cop, Hoffman. One of the best, though I’ll deny ever saying that if you go swinging your dick around to the boys outside. I expect you’ll go up the ranks fast, so long as you keep that goddamn temper in check and use your head. And she,” Grissom nodded off to the woman in the distance, “will join you up there. My gut is telling me she’ll be healthy for you. Just don’t fuck her.”

Hoffman let out a breath of disbelief, imagining the possibility. “Yeah. Wasn’t planning on it. I prefer blondes.”

“Yeah, that’s why I don’t hire any,” Grissom and Hoffman let out boisterous laughs.

“Fine. I’ll give it a trial run. But if she starts slacking, I’m requesting a different partner.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“Fuck you.”

“Get out of my office, Hoffman,” Grissom was looking at paperwork, having lost interest in their camaraderie.

Hoffman stepped out into an echo chamber of telephone rings, loud drunken arguments, and the rushed policemen walking about their business. He looked towards his desk coolly, noting Maddox was seated at the once empty desk right across from him. She was seated to face him. Fuck. He did not want to work with her.

She turned to look up at him. “Bradshaw got me caught up to speed.” She had opened a manila folder, the pictures of a child splayed out on the pavement with blood running down his face. “Hit and run, on 3rd and Bronson. What did the cameras at the intersection show?”

Hoffman went to his seat and slowly sank into the chair. He tried not to glare at her but knew he was failing. “Cameras haven’t been functioning in years. City budget’s been tight.”

She let out a breath through her nose, blinking rapidly and flipping through the paperwork. She was chewing her lip as she studied. “Any witnesses questioned?”

“No one we spoke to can ID the car. Or even give a description.”

“I see. Any homeless around?"

"Yeah."

"None offered anything?"

"No."

"Um… were you the one asking the questions?” She asked with a passive tone, though her eyes seemed to bore into his skull.

“Yeah. Why?”

She leaned back, tapping her finger against the file. “Call it a hunch, but mind if we go and question the witnesses again?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “You think you can get them to remember something I couldn't?”

“Can I be brutally honest?” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a small smile. He noticed she had freckles on her cheeks. She looked younger than Angie. She shouldn’t be here. She didn’t belong here, in this trash city. “Hoffman?”

He blinked. “Shoot.”

“This is a first impression, so bear with me, but you seem kind of intimidating. A little scary.”

How the fuck have you made it this far in the force if I scare you, Maddox.

“So… imagine how someone from the street feels if you came up and just started asking them questions. If I was a witness, I think I'd be a little more stressed out answering questions from you than say… some unimposing person like me.”

At least she’s self-aware.

“So let’s take a drive. I’ll treat us to some coffee. You can wait in the car and I’ll take a shot at it.

He doubted she’d make progress, but he wanted to see what she could do. And if she failed, at least he’d get front row seats to the show. “Fine.”

When they went to the parking lot, he walked to the left of her side, though she seemed to want to outdo him as she walked faster strides to outpace his long gait. He kept his eyes straight ahead but watched her closely at the corner of his eye. He noticed a plain gold wedding band that swung at her side with a cheap sports watch at her wrist. Her fingers were unmanicured, the nails short. She looked practical, from her black shoes that weren't actual dress shoes but running sneakers and her dress slacks looked elastic-as if they were just yoga pants with pockets. He let his eyes finally wander from the bare nape of her neck and let his gaze lower to the skin-tight lycra of the curve of her backside. At least the view’s decent, he thought in passing before slamming the door on that mental room. He needed to focus. Not get distracted. It was a sure way to get them both killed.

He noted she took the driver’s side, sliding in and already starting the engine, making him go to the passenger’s side. This disoriented him, seeing her take control of the steering wheel. He didn't like that. She turned and backed out of the spot. As soon as they were off the police lot she slammed her foot on the gas and the sirens went on.

His head flew back and hit the seat headrest as she sped down the road, cars moving out of the way as the car roared through. “Jesus, Maddox,” he hissed as he gripped the sidebar of the door holding on for life.

“What’s up?” She seemed oblivious as she dodged cars, driving on the left side of the road to get around traffic jams.

“This seems excessive, the witnesses aren’t going anywhere.”

She let out a giggle, prickling his ears with the unfamiliar sensation during his working hours. That dainty laughter just wasn't something he heard when the sun was up. “Maybe. But are you telling me you city slickers don’t pull this once in a while?” She turned to him briefly before returning to study the road, dodging around more cars. “By the way… you need to give me directions.”

He scoffed in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yep. Sorry. I don’t know the best coffee spots yet. I only arrived last month. Where to?”

He figured she was flexing her driving skill, trying to earn some brownie points by flaunting her competence in her offensive driving abilities. She wasn’t bad, but it seemed unnecessary. Too showy. “Grissom said you’re a professional.”

She let out a small “Ha!” before turning the emergency lights off and silencing the siren. She stopped at an intersection red light. “Damn, I guess I’m just proving him wrong, aren’t I?”

“What’s your game?” He didn’t like whatever it was she was doing.

“Just wanted to shake things up a bit. Besides, you’re cute when you’re scared.”

He stared at her, his ears ringing. “What?”

She turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “I’m busting your chops, partner. Chill.”

He didn’t like her. He decided it.

She shook her head and continued the drive, stopping at the curb in front of a nearby coffee chain. “I guess it’s basic brew, unless you have a spot. What’ll you have?”

“Just a coffee.”

“Not a pumpkin spice latte type?” She waited for him to respond. He had decided to just glare at her in silence until she took the hint. She went unphased by this, instead shrugging her narrow shoulders. “Fine, I’ll surprise you.”

She went into the cafe and he continued to watch her over a distance. She yawned and stretched, the action showcasing her feminine form and aggravating him more. This wasn’t going to work. He already knew this would end badly. He watched her wait for the drinks, her back to him the entire time. His mind was reeling with the possible options. He could request a new partner. But Grissom would give him grief. Maybe he could find someone to request her as their partner. Who? Bradshaw? Michaelson? Bates? Bradshaw needed a partner. Maybe he could put in a request. He'd talk to him. The guy would probably get on his knees and thank him for the opportunity. Wait, Bradshaw was married, wasn't he? Fuck.

Hoffman knew that was one of the biggest reasons he was paired with her. Grissom would never admit it, but it was obvious. Not many of the guys would want to explain to their wives that their partner, who they spend more time with than their spouses, would be a member of the opposite sex. It was too complicated. No one was that trusting. Cops already had high divorce rates. So he was the best option.

He noted she had ordered a box of pastries, which she supported with her forearm while holding a sealed cup in each hand. She arrived back to the car, going around streetwalkers, handing one through the passenger window towards him. “You seem like the white chocolate matcha latte type,” she passively mentioned as she went to her side of the car and sat back while taking delicate sips of her drink. The white box of pastries smelled sweet and made his stomach growl. He wasn’t going to ask her for any, though.

He glared at her, knowing she had gotten him the most prissy drink out of spite. He decided to return the favor. He held the cup out of the car, tipping it just a few degrees at an angle, waiting for her to respond. She kept her face stoic, their eyes locked dead. He gave her a dark grin as he began pouring the drink out, then wincing when some of the scalding liquid burned his hand.

“Wow,” she sarcastically murmured while handing him a napkin. “I heard you were a little thick, but--”

“Shut up,” Hoffman hissed. It was plain black coffee. Simple. Straightforward. She had thrown him off with all those yuppie lattes she kept describing. His fingers stung but he salvaged the rest of his drink, taking sips while keeping the fragments of his dignity tight to himself.

“Fine. Let’s just have a truce. Let’s just get this case done, head back and figure out what the hell we’re going to do with each other then.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

Will knew he didn’t want her around. He made it painfully obvious, with the scowl on his lips, the squaring of his broad shoulders, and just the overall unpleasant way he treated her. She had observed his interactions with all his other colleagues - all male - and had picked up that he was giving her the double standard treatment. Typical.

That’s what gave her very little sympathy when he burned his hand when he tried to get a rise out of her by wasting a perfectly good cup of coffee like an asshat. Sure, she had acted a little brash when she decided to go full cowboy with her first time driving through the city in her assigned car. But fuck it, she never got to have the chance when she was just a suburb cop. She loved the city and how everything was so compact. It made it fun to dodge obstacles and find the narrowest alleys to brave through.

She was hoping to get a fresh start in MPD but it looked like it was going to be an uphill climb. No one knew her, which meant no one had a reason to trust her yet. She needed to prove herself, once again, to all these new faces that valued strength and power over wit and passion. She had to find ways around her limits. She had found throughout her earlier rookie years that people tended to underestimate her, which was a dangerous mistake for anyone to make. She found that the more people underestimated her, the easier it was to prove them wrong. Hoffman seemed to be making that very same mistake. She just hoped he was just passively sexist and wouldn't try to prove himself a man by other typical means.

She sighed as she made her way down towards the crime scene. It had long been secured, with no remnants of perimeters being established. Pedestrians were walking around, the intersection looking ordinary. She pulled out her notepad and flipped through the notes she had jotted down while Hoffman had been chumming it with the Captain earlier that morning. The names and descriptions of nearby witnesses were mostly the local homeless. She looked off in the distance and saw a few vagrants slumped against the dilapidated bricks, cardboard signs with sharpies begging for mercy and help, pleading out to the people who pointedly ignored and walked over them.

“Okay. Wait here. But back me up if things get dicey?” She shot him a questioning glance. “Hoffman?”

“I’ll keep my eye on you,” Hoffman muttered, avoiding her eyes.

“Thanks.” She took the box and left the car, clearing her throat and taking a leisurely stroll towards the vagabonds.

“I come in peace,” she called out as they looked up to her approach. They eyed her weapon and badge. One got up, squatting in preparation to run. “I’m not here to arrest anyone. I just have some questions about a hit and run. I know none of y’all had anything to do with it, but I just want to help his mom find closure. And there are some fresh muffins right here, all for you guys.” She squatted down to their level and opened the box, holding it out to the gaunt men, waiting for them to make the next move.

“We ain’t seen nobody,” one skinny, dirt-caked hand shakily reached out and grabbed a pastry. He looked down at it and then back at her. “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Will. I’m investigating a hit and run that happened,” she pointed at the intersection, “right over there Wednesday night. Little black kid was hit. His mom is heartbroken. Can anyone tell me about it?”

“Was he riding a bike?” Another man took one of the muffins, taking hungry bites and reaching for another in his spare hand. She placed the box in the middle man’s lap.

“Yep.”

“I saw it.” The third man shook his head. “It was a fancy car. Some rich guy.”

“Did you have a color?”

“Yeah. If you got twenty dollars.”

She smiled at the guy. “What’s your name?”

“None of your business, doll.”

She sighed. “Well, if I have information that is useful to this investigation… there is a reward.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. But I’ve got to hear the right information.”

“Sure. How do I know you’re telling the truth.”

“Well, I brought muffins. Doesn’t that make me trustworthy?” She smiled sweetly, her heart skipping a beat as she felt herself grow nervous. This could be a dead end.

“A little. Better than that partner of yours. You ask nicer than he does.” The man nodded towards her car, where Hoffman made no effort to hide or look as uninvolved as possible. "He broke my sign. I had to find a marker to make a new one. You have any idea how hard it is to come by one legally, miss?"

She sighed.

“Yeah, tell me about it. He’s kind of an asshole.”

The group laughed at this, snickering at the woman calling the big scary cop names. “Aight. Because you’ve been so nice, maybe I have seen something. But I want some proof that you’re going to keep your word about that reward.”

She pulled a wad of cash out of her sports bra. The men whistled, elbowing each other at the show. She counted the bills and handed him the money. “Here’s a down payment. There’s more in it for you if what you tell me is useful.”

“Honey, I’ve got some juice for you.” He leaned forward, his breath smelling of old liquor, onions, and baked goods. His fingers were yellow and melted to the bone. “It was an orange Mitsubishi. License plate was from this state. Said ‘sunrise’ on it.”

She raised both eyebrows. “You’re not yanking my chain, are you?”

“Not at all, Will. Not at all. Thought the car was a little loud. That plate sure stuck in my mind. Name’s Bryce. I’ll be here. Don’t you forget about me, girl.”

“If what you’re saying is good, Bryce, I’ll be back.”

“I like chocolate chip scones. Bring me some of those next time.”

She smiled at that. “I’ll remember.” She put her hand on his arm and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

He nodded and took another muffin from the box in his lap, chomping down. She got up and walked back to the car, ears humming. This was either one lucky break or a huge waste of time. But she was an optimist. She got into the car, letting out a breath.

“Well?” His deep voice was dismissive.

“They said the car was an orange Mitsubishi with the license plate, ‘sunrise’.”

“Sounds like they’re full of shit.”

“It’s the only lead we’ve got.” She looked at him. “Let’s check it out.”

“Fine.” He looked out back at the three men. “You gave them money.”

“Yeah. Only way to get them to open up.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Well, it doesn’t hurt to have some people on the streets in our pocket.”

Hoffman seemed to ponder this, then dialed on his phone. “It’s Hoffman. Run a registration check on an orange Mitsubishi. Local plates that say ‘Sunrise’ on it. Yeah, guy sounds like a real douchebag. Call me or Maddox when you get the results.” He hung up and nodded to her. “All right, let’s go.”

As she started the car and pulled out, he turned to her. “It’s lunchtime.”

“I can eat. What’re you hungry for?”

“I know a place. Take a left on Bronzeville.” She obliged, following his gruff instructions until they reached a hole in the wall. It was a gray brick building with no signs or indication it was a place to grab any food or do anything besides continuing to drive away. Hoffman didn’t say much, he simply got out of the car. She followed Hoffman’s lead, following him behind the unmarked door.

It was a smokey den; the smell of cigarettes, the sound of pool cues clacking, and large men turning their eyes on her greeted her as she entered.

She quickly shielded herself mentally, keeping her eyes straight ahead to Hoffman’s back. This felt like one of those machismo tests. Another way to make clear that she was not in her element. That she didn’t belong. This was not new for her. She kept her calm and joined her partner at the bar.

She noted Hoffman ordered a whiskey on rocks. The bartender raised an eyebrow at her. She ordered a coke. The bartender shot Hoffman a smirk and looked at her. “You new?”

She smiled and nodded, and the man handed her a greasy menu for her to admire and went off to serve some biker-looking types further down the bar. She turned to Hoffman, the urge to remind him that he was on-duty arose, but held her tongue. She had given him enough pain for the day. She simply swirled her straw in her drink, admiring the levels of condensation dripping down the glass as it pooled on the dirty bar top. This place sure is humid.

"So... what's good here?"

"The Jameson's cheap and hasn’t been watered down."

She sighed. "Food, Hoffman. What's good to eat?"

She looked through the list of lunch options. It was typical bar fare. Burgers, fries, sandwiches. She opted in for a chicken sandwich and fries, and Hoffman ordered a burger. He had taken a swig of his drink and was watching a football game on one of the TVs..

She smiled in her soda, enjoying how basic bro Hoffman was. He seemed to notice, blue eyes flashing at her. He glowered, his lips pressing his plump lips together in a way that made her ears feel warm. She kept her smile as their eyes locked. He had a decent face. He would almost have been considered attractive if he relaxed the hostility. She rested her hand on her cheek and let out a frustrated groan. “Come on, Hoffman. Lay off the scary guy routine. I’m not your enemy.”

He turned. “Look. I’ve got nothing against you. I’m sure you’re a hardworking, honest person. But this isn’t like out west. This city is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

“I’m counting on it hitting me with its best shot,” she responded, sipping her soda. "I think I'll manage."

“Look. We can put you with forensics. Let me talk to Grissom. We’ve got positions that will be more suited for your... stature.”

She kept smiling. She had seen this coming. Despite Hoffman’s aggression, it was far from abnormal of a reaction. “I get it. You probably could literally kill me with one punch. But I can handle myself, Hoffman. During this grace period, I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunities where you’re going to see this.”

“You’re not listening-”

“No, you listen,” she slammed her glass down. “I’ve spent eight years onin the force. I’ve seen my fair share of loss and death and I’m still here. I’m not going anywhere, Hoffman. You can either accept it and we’ll make one hell of a team, or you can drag your feet and only screw yourself in the process. I’ll keep my head above water. I’ll take down the bad guys in my way, just like you have your way of serving justice to the public. I’ll fucking thrive, like I always do. I’ve made it this far and I intend to keep going. And you don’t want to know what life will be like for you if you get in my way.” She realized she was practically jabbing her finger into his chest and curled her extended finger into a fist. “Shit, you made me lose it.” She grit her teeth and turned back to her soft drink.

She hated feeling the heat of triumph pouring off him hot enough to burn. She could tell he was positively brimming with exuberance at her outburst. The bartender arrived with two baskets of sandwiches, putting their respective orders in front of each other. She huffed and angrily chewed on the french fries, staring intently at the rows of liquor bottles lined up in front of the mirror that reflected herself and Hoffman who had his head turned to her with a teasing, shit-eating grin.

“Grissom said you could keep your cool. I guess he's full of shit.”

“Yeah, well Grissom said you were a decent person worth a rat's ass, and so far you haven’t proved that right, either.” She snapped, sipping from her soda again. The sound of the straw sucking and snapping from lack of liquid to siphon through reminded her that she had already finished her drink. She was suddenly too angry to eat. “I’m going to the head. Don’t eat my food.”

He let out a harsh laugh and she stormed down the narrow hallway nearby, the only bathroom around a corner. The smell was awful. God, I can’t believe this is what he considers a good spot for lunch. She shivered at the sight of the toilet and proceeded to do her business, squatting over the seat. After washing her hands she looked up to the cracked window to see that a hauntingly angry woman glared back at her. She looked like a banshee out for blood. Shit, he got to me. She gripped the sink and let the sound of water running help soothe her nerves. He had found her sensitive spot. It was an obvious one, but she had hoped that she could keep that insecurity in check, just long enough for him to be bored and find some other way to piss her off. But she had let him see her dirty laundry. She let out a laugh.

“He’s a fucking challenge, all right,” she muttered to herself. Grissom had told her as much. She shut her eyes, recalling the conversation before she officially met Mark Hoffman.

“He’s the biggest pain in my ass, honestly. But your boys back west say you’re good to work with. A real peacekeeper. I want you to keep an eye out for him. He’s a good man but he loses himself sometimes. It’s going to be a challenge working with him, but I’ve got hopes for you.”

“May I ask why me, specifically, sir?”

“Well, really it’s partially because I think you two would be a good fit if you both can look past each other’s major character flaws.”

“Which is?”

“He’s a bit old-fashioned. He’s not going to like you being a woman. And from what Rex told me about you, I hear you can be a bit of a pain yourself. That you have a bit of a chip on your shoulder with guys like that.”

She made her reflection soften her features into a pleasant smile. Just another challenge to overcome. This was doable.

She went to leave the restroom and jumped when there was someone standing right behind the door, waiting for her. It was a stranger. Hulking, bald head glossy under the fluorescent lighting, and oily goatee framing a crooked smile, the man had intent in his eye and sausage fingers wrapping around the open door frame. “Hey.” He pushed into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“Really?” She let out a scoffed admonishment. “I’m really not in the mood right now.”

“Come on, baby,” the stranger went to touch her cheek. “Why you here if you’re not looking for fun?” His hand was down to his jeans, beginning to unbutton his pants. His words were slurred. He smelled of liquor. And she was pissed.

She shook her head slowly, adrenaline pumping through her veins. She raised her hands in a defensive stance. “I'd say I really don't want to hurt you, but I'd be lying.”

He laughed. “Baby, you can’t hurt me.”

She swung her foot up to his groin with as much force her hips could swing. He let out a yell, doubling over. She jammed her knee into his nose, feeling the cartilage shatter. She let out a scream as she took her gun and pistol-whipped him over the back of his head, slamming the metal onto his skull.

He collapsed and fell onto his face. She wanted to swing once more but stopped herself. She took a deep breath. Control. She huffed and walked over the man’s body, pulling handcuffs off her belt and securing the man’s arms behind his back. Her fingers itched to strike him one more time, but she resisted. He moaned so she muttered the potential charges he'd suffer. “Drunk and disorderly. Assaulting a police officer. You just fucked yourself, asshole.” He didn’t get up and she wasn’t going to try to pull him up. She left him on the floor of the bathroom, pants down to his knees and strode down the narrow hallway back out to the bar.

The commotion had attracted attention. Everyone was staring at her, Hoffman included. She narrowed her eyes at him. He must have known that fucker was back there. Either that, or he was shit at watching her back. She shook her head like a disappointed parent, walked over to him, and said, “Bring the trash to the car when you’ve finished drinking on-duty, prick.” She stormed out, the typical whistles and catcalls chasing after her. She bit her lip as hard as she could, fighting the tears that were pressing out of her eyes.

She had done a number on the bastard who was currently delirious as he hoisted him up to his feet and forced him out of the small bathroom. His mind was replaying the last five minutes desperately, hoping against hope that this situation hadn’t just happened. That he hadn't just let some random drunk march under his nose to attack his, technical, partner.

He admitted it was ironic that the very reason he protested their partnership was thrown in his face. He was the one who dropped the ball. He had been watching the game, having a drink, while she had to beat this guy down by herself. He never imagined he would be the one not having her back in this dynamic. It was one hell of an existential mindfuck. Though he hadn’t been present in the altercation, judging from the jeans that had drooped down the oaf’s thighs, the visual gave him a clear indication of what happened. It made him even less sympathetic when the creep complained about his broken nose. Be happy it was just her that broke it. Blood was pouring down the guy’s chin as he coughed and sputtered.

“Put it on my tab,” he called out to Larry, the bartender who merely nodded and continued wiping the dust around on his bar. The sunlight burst as he pushed the guy outside, half blinding him. The air was warm and humid. This car ride back was going to suck.

He pushed him into the back of the car, slamming the door before taking his spot at shotgun. He dreaded having to apologize. But he knew he had to. It was only right.

She was on the phone, talking to what sounded like someone at the station. "Is that with two 'r's? Gotcha. All right, thanks a lot, Pike.” And she hung up. She kept her eyes straight ahead, waiting for him to close his door and buckle up. Her hair had come undone from its careful pullback, falling over her cheeks and framing her face in a delicate way that seemed alien to the front of the Crown Vic. She was pensive and unresponsive.

Once seated, she took the car and it soared ahead, careening around the city swiftly while they sat there in silence. The man in the back seat moaned and cried.

“Shut up,” Hoffman snapped at him. The car lurched suddenly into another lane, making his soul partially leave his body. It felt like she was intentionally driving more erratically than earlier. She’s pissed. He cast a glance at her; her jaw muscles clenched and the tendons and veins in her neck were standing out. Her shoulders were tense and her arms tight. “Maddox.”

No response.

“I should have been watching out for you. I fucked up.”

She kept her eyes on the road, lips pulled tight. She looked angrier than he’d ever seen a girl - no, woman - act. She didn’t scream or wave her arms. It was a simmering kind of hate that felt more uncomfortable than if she just got it over with and started yelling at him. He’d never seen Angie do that before. This was a foreign kind of rage.

“I’m sorry.” He wanted more than anything for her to just crack some lame joke and move on. To give him a hard time. The silence disturbed him. After spending the day with her, this new angry silence made him nervous. Especially after seeing firsthand the aftermath of the violence she could unleash when needed. It wasn't particularly brutal, not by a long shot. But it had surprised him. He didn't think she had it in her.

“You really did a number on this guy. I didn’t think you had it in you.” He licked his lips. “You… sure proved me wrong.”

She blinked and pulled into the parking lot. They had already arrived. She parked the car, turned off the engine, and simply left him alone with the moaning drunk in the backseat. He looked at the dashboard, tapping his fingers in uncertainty. She had simply walked back into the building, leaving him alone.

He took the man to the drunk tank. “Have him booked,” he instructed, “for assaulting an officer, attempted rape. And public intoxication. And whatever else you can come up with.”

The officer at the desk raised an eyebrow. “Attempted rape?”

“Yeah. It was the newbie, moron, not me.” He snapped when the man’s lips curled into a disbelieving smile.

“Oh. Well, have her fill out this, then.” He slid the form over.

Hoffman took the paper and walked up the stairs towards the main floor. He noted their desks were vacant. He looked around for that bundle of red hair, but it was nowhere to be found. He dropped the police report form on her desk and looked around.

“Hey,” he grabbed Bradshaw. “Where’s Maddox?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “She’s your partner, Hoffman.”

“She rushed in here while I was booking someone. Where is she?”

Bradshaw nodded towards Grissom’s office. Hoffman’s heart sank. Fuck. He was in deep shit. She was probably talking about his drinking. Or worse. How he had left her to take on a man over twice her body weight by herself.

He knew it was better to face this head-on, so he walked straight to the office. He barged in, bracing himself as though he would jump in an ice bath. “Look, I know I fucked up.”

Grissom and Maddox both stopped their discussion, looking up at Hoffman. Grissom had his reading glasses on. “Hoffman. What did you do?”

Maddox kept her back to him, hovering over Grissom’s desk, pointedly ignoring Hoffman’s entrance. “Sir, it looks like the vehicle in question is registered to a Forrest Rinder. We’ll need a warrant for his arrest and to seize the vehicle.”

“I understand. You did good, Maddox. Hoffman. First day on the job together and already set to close. I’m impressed. Excellent work.”

“Thank you, sir. If there’s nothing you need from me, I’m going to head home. It’s getting late.”

“See you tomorrow, Maddox.”

“Good night, sir.” Maddox pushed herself out of the office, brushing against Hoffman.

“Rinder?” Hoffman asked, feeling out of sorts.

“If the bums are speaking the truth, then it looks like the case is just about closed.” Grissom pulled out of a drawer of his desk a bottle of scotch and two glasses, pouring them in each glass. He leaned back into his chair. “Shut the door, Hoffman.”

He did so. He stood waiting for his ass chewing. He assumed it wasn't going to be about drinking on-duty, unless Grissom was going for an ironic tactic. He took the offered glass and smelled the oak. He took a sip, the warmth going down his throat like fire.

“What happened out there?” Grissom had cool eyes that would go analytical and probing with the passing of a stare.

Hoffman shrugged. “Maddox already informed you.”

“I want to hear your side. Tell me.”

Hoffman shook his head. “She did well.” His face flushed, recalling bits and pieces of the day. “I admit, she can handle herself.”

Grissom nodded, unsurprised. “Doesn’t seem like she’s a fan of yours anymore, Mark.”

Hoffman glared at him. “Was she before?"

"She had said as much. Said she was excited to work with you just this morning."

"Does it matter?”

“I’d like to know my partner doesn’t hate my guts, wouldn’t you?”

“Well, it’s too late. Probably best to just have her work with someone else.”

Grissom smiled and shook his head. “You’re going to need to start learning to either stop making messes, or clean them up. This precinct isn't going to keep bending over backwards to appease you, Hoffman. Remember that. And grow the fuck up, boy.”

Hoffman stared back at his boss. “Understood.”

“Good. Now get out of here. And make peace. No one else wants to work with her, and they all have reasons I can't ignore. Their wives wouldn't hear of it. So do this for the precinct, at least, Hoffman.”

He stopped at the door. "No one else?"

"I didn't want to start you off with that impression, but it seems you came to that conclusion already. Yes, everyone has expressly refused to work with her. And don't think she isn't aware of that either." Grissom looked tired. "We need more female detectives."

Hoffman looked out the window. He saw Maddox collect her belongings and disappear out the front doors. He looked back at Grissom. "Maybe we need less assholes."

“You fucking bitch.”

Will had ducked just in time to avoid a beer bottle shattering over her head. She kept her eyes forward, locking on the threat in front of her. “You’re drunk Frank.”

Her husband laughed harshly. “Why’re you late?”

“Work. You know how it is.”

“How many men hit on you today?” He stumbled forward and grabbed the back of her hair, pulling her head back. A part of her wanted to respond. To grab his arm, spin around and force his elbow to bend in the wrong direction. But she resisted. Control. She clenched her jaw. He doesn't mean this. He's just drunk. She let him pull her hair. It would all be over sooner the less she resisted. Or at least that’s what she thought. She closed her eyes as she felt his rough unshaven chin brush against her neck and he licked her skin. He took a bite and she let out a hiss of pain.

“No one. We keep it professional. This precinct is better than out west.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“You hungry?” She tried to shift his attention. "I could order us a pizza." He was stumbling and reeking of beer. He had started day drinking when he lost his job. And now he couldn’t seem to be able to find another. Why was that? Bad economy, he said. Totally had nothing to do with the fact that he was more drunk than sober these days.

“How’d you know?” He pushed her onto the couch. “I’m hungry for that pussy.”

She internally rolled her eyes. He wasn’t that imposing of a man, but he was larger than her. Stronger. He had been the perfect husband just that morning. He had been sweet, making her breakfast, kissing her as she went off to work. He told her they’d watch a movie together.

She had been looking forward to that movie. When she came home, she realized that movie night wasn't happening. And she craved the familiar comfort of going to work.

“Look at me,” he hissed gripping her cheek and pulling her face close to his. His eyes were wild and hateful. Beady gray eyes. He was practically panting, his breathing labored and erratic. She smoothed her hand over the back of his.

“Please. You’re hurting me, honey.” She pleaded with him to come out. The real him. The him that she fell in love with. He was in there. He had to be.

Otherwise, she was a fool and just a textbook victim of domestic abuse. And that couldn't be her. She knew better. She was supposed to know better.

Her phone rang and she internally sighed in relief. She went to reach for it but her husband grabbed it, flipping it open to answer it. “Who the fuck is this.”

“Frank!” She snapped in horror. She quickly swiped the phone and ran into the master bedroom, locking the door. Frank had been too drunk - too disoriented - to follow her in time. He was pounding on the door, calling out to her.

“Will! Let me in! WILL!”

“Hello?” She felt her cheeks burn with humiliation and hope. Please let there be work.

“...You all right, Maddox?” She narrowed her eyes at the sound of his voice.

“Hoffman. Fine. What do you want?”

“Let’s talk. I’ll pick you up. Where are you?”

“Will! Let me in you fucking bitch!”

“Where are you, Will?” Hoffman’s voice called at her, his deep voice beckoning. "You sound like you're in danger."

"I'm not. It's a long story." The pounding on the door was distracting. It made it hard to come up with an excuse. She wanted more than anything to not be where she was. No matter how much she hated Hoffman, he was still more preferable than what was on the other side of the door she was pressed against.

“The corner of Parkinsons and Gorge. I’ll meet you there.”

“...Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Hoffman.” She pushed the dresser in front of the door in order to buy herself some more time. She went to change, taking off her sweaty work clothes and slipped into a baggy black T-shirt and a hoodie. She kept her work pants and shoes on. She looked out the window, studied the fire escape. They had moved a month prior, into this apartment on the west side of town. She was still unfamiliar with her surroundings.

She and Frank were supposed to go explore, but he preferred to take detours to the nearest liquor store. Instead, she just went to work. He had promised things would be different if she moved. If she just transferred away from the men she worked with. He just needed a fresh start. They needed a fresh start, he said. He had promised so much.

She waited half out the window, trying to ignore Frank’s weakening pounding. He sounded like he was tiring himself out. He would hopefully pass out and not remember what happened the next day.

Her phone went off. “Yeah?” She breathlessly answered, her heart slamming.

“Where are you?”

She looked down below, at the six stories under her feet. She recognized the grayish-blue hood of the Crown Victoria far below. “I’m coming out. Give me five.” She hung up, put her phone in her pocket, and began going down the narrow spiral black metal staircase, scrambling down ladder wells as they alternated. When she finally reached the concrete pavement she looked up to see Hoffman staring at her behind the steering wheel, his face expressionless.

She didn’t plan to explain anything to him. She got into the car. “What is it?”

His eyes scanned and flashed across her face, her neck, her chest. He reached his hand to push her hair aside to see more of the skin of her neck but she quickly grabbed it and tossed it back at his chest. “Don’t.”

“You have something on your neck.”

“Yeah, well it’s none of your business.”

His eyes narrowed. “Fine. Want to go somewhere specific?”

“Just away from here,” she exhaled. Her phone was ringing. She checked the caller ID and silenced it.

Hoffman thankfully didn’t ask any questions. He didn’t need to. It was obvious. The humiliation she was used to feeling returned. It was worse when it was in front of the man she hated at that moment. A man who was probably judging her at that moment. “Fuck,” she whispered, putting her hands over her eyes. “I was hoping to keep this shit under wraps for at least a few months. Not on the first fucking day.”

He didn’t respond. He kept driving, silently. Patiently. He turned on the radio, letting some classic rock play in the background while she covered her face and pressed on her eyes, feeling tears sneak past her fingers. She turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t see. "My husband is an alcoholic. Okay?"

"Okay." That was all he said. The silence was deafening.

"He's not always like that. He's actually very sweet. He can be kind and is a good person."

"Okay."

Fear rose up her chest. "Don't tell anyone. Please."

"I won't."

She didn't believe him. Her eyes watered and she sobbed. "Fuck. I bet I've just proved you right. I bet you're loving this."

"I'm not. Not even a little bit," he growled. She looked at him, his face contorted with rage. "The only reason I'm not up there knocking his teeth out is out of respect for you. And I do respect you, Maddox. After today, you've earned your respect."

She blinked and sniffed. "What changed?"

He looked at her. "You didn't go tell Grissom about what happened today. Though you could have. You keep things in house. I get that. You're doing that with your husband. Trying to deal with it yourself. In some cases, it's commendable. But concerning... Frank, is that his name? I think that's poor judgement."

She blinked at that. The embarrassment she felt was morphing into a shell-shocked state. She glumly stared at her lap as he drove on. She wanted to evaporate and disappear from existence. This was a new level of humiliation she couldn't bear.

She felt the car turning and continuing for a couple of minutes. It bought her time to collect herself. She inhaled deeply, exhaling and finally showing her face. They were at a park. Or really, a graveyard.

“Where are we?” She blinked, turning to Hoffman.

“The Lady of Perpetual Sorrow Cemetery.” He got out of the car, went to the trunk and pulled out some fresh flowers, and took a walk. She watched him as he strode down the grass in a direction, standing in front of a tombstone. She watched him replace the flowers of a vase, the dead flowers replaced with the small bundle of red and yellow flora. They were just outside the city. They must have been driving at least an hour from her apartment.

She blinked, confused. He stood there, looking down, as though waiting for something. Curious, she went out to him. She slowly approached his form, looking at the name of the tombstones.

Mark Hoffman.

Darcy Hoffman.

She blinked, studying the dates. Five years ago from today. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, feeling out of place. She stood next to him looking up at his expressionless face. “Your parents?”

“Yes.” He turned to her. “It was a DWI. Someone on PCP decided to go for a joyride. They were good parents. Supportive. They encouraged me to become an officer of the law. They always wanted to see the good in people. And then they died the same week I graduated from the Academy.”

Her eyes widened. “That must have been hard.” She wasn't sure if she should try to put her hand on his back. She instead put her hands clasped in front of herself.

“Yeah. They left me and my sister out here. In this city.” He looked out towards the skyline in the distance, the skyscrapers cutting through the gray haze of the evening fog. The sun was setting, shining golden light through the silvery mist. “This city changes people. It’s a terrible place to live. Justice is just a pipe dream here.” He turned to her. “But we can't just give up on it. Otherwise, everyone who was ever good died for nothing. It needs all the help it can get. I’ve chosen this life. And so have you. It wasn’t fair to disregard that choice. And I realize that now. You want to help. And you can.”

She looked at him, hugging herself. “Thank you. And… thanks for sharing about your parents.”

He gave her a gentle smile. “There are no secrets between partners. I know your family life. I'll tell you mine." He took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose, looking down at her with a cool, amicable gaze. "I know I’ve been difficult. I’ve been skeptical and didn’t trust you. But you didn’t rat on me to Grissom. And you did your job. You’ve given me nothing but reason to trust you. So I hope we can start again, Will Maddox.” He held his hand out and she took it, his handshake less of a tight anaconda squeeze this time and now full of warmth she welcomed to her cold fingers.

“All right, Mark Hoffman, then let’s start.”

Chapter Text

“How come I haven’t met your new partner yet?” Angelina Hoffman rested her chin in her hand and glowered at her older brother, who was in the process of devouring the grilled steak she had prepared for him.

Mark Hoffman’s skewered fork hovered above his plate, his eyebrow furrowed at the sudden question. He had been enjoying the food while he tuned out the small talk that Angie and her long-time boyfriend, Peter Acomb, had been sharing. He had to let his mind return to the present, wondering how the hell this subject had come up. “No reason to.”

“It’s been eight months, apparently, right, Peter?” Angie pulled Peter into the gang up.

“Uh,” Peter shot a glance nervously at the man, cracking a peace-giving grin. It had taken a while, but Peter had finally won Hoffman over, after the second year together. He saw the man like a brother, his only shortcoming was wondering when the hell he would finally propose to Angie. “Well, if he doesn’t think it’s appropriate, that’s his call, Angie.”

“I want to meet your partner, Mark.” Angie always had such skill at selective listening. She smiled at him, brown eyes sparkling. His kid sister was used to getting what she wanted. He couldn't stop her. “You know how I learned about your new partner?”

Hoffman didn’t answer, though he narrowed his eyes and went down the list of choices mentally.

“I ran into Tracy Rigg. She’s met your partner. Will? Is that it? How come I haven't yet?" She pouted playfully. "Invite him over, I’ll cook everyone dinner Friday night. Please?”

Hoffman’s brain sputtered. Shit. “Um. Angie.” He took his sister’s hand and mustered up all the concentration he could into putting on a genuine act. “I like keeping work at work. You know that.”

She shook her head. “That's baloney. I’ve been to all of MPD’s functions. Cookouts, award ceremonies, and, unfortunately, the funerals. Mark, you live at work. And you can’t even pull that excuse when the last partner you had, I’ve cooked for. Invite Will over. Please. Peter,” Angie shot a predatory gaze at her boyfriend, instructing him to come to her aid.

“Uh-geeze, Angie.” Peter’s face reddened. “Don’t pull me into this.”

She let out a sigh. “Mark,” she drawled his name out, batting her lashes. “For me.”

Hoffman inhaled sharply. He closed his eyes. “Fine. I’ll invite Will over. But that doesn’t mean… it’s happening. I’m likely going to get turned down. You think I’m antisocial? Will goes home as soon as the day's up. Like clockwork.” He would give up his firstborn to not have Will accept. He didn't want Angie to start getting the wrong ideas.

“Oh, well then tell him that I’m a great cook,” she bragged. “And let me know what he likes.”

“Uh,” Mark didn’t want to confirm or deny his partner’s gender, knowing that was a highway he didn’t want to cross unless he had to. Besides, Will wouldn’t accept. She was good at keeping her distance from socializing outside of work.

“And if Will’s married, invite his wife!”

Goddamn it. “Fine.”

“Don’t look so upset,” Angie beamed at him. “I’m so excited! Ooh, I think I’ll bake something special. How about a croquembouche?”

“What?!” Peter was pleased, a toothy smile in a large crescent moon. “Oh, I can’t wait.”

Hoffman paused at this. Angie had chosen to study culinary arts and worked as an aspiring gourmet chef. And she had spoiled his pallet with her weekend dinner parties since she graduated from cooking school. Her croquembouche was such a rare treat, he reconsidered his reservations on bringing Will into his personal life. Maybe the hell Angie would give him when she found out his partner was a woman would be worth it. Maybe. At least, this once. Fuck, he liked that dessert so much, he was torn over what to do.

“Will they be with chocolate cream?” Hoffman quietly asked, keeping his stare focused on his steak. He might as well haggle to swing the scales in his favor.

“If Will comes, yes,” Angie enthused. She giggled. “And I’ll make another one of your favorites. Ravioli. From Scratch.”

“Damn,” This almost convinced him. “What if - Will - doesn’t want to go?”

“Well, then guess I’ll just have to cancel. I can’t make all that food for just us three.”

“Now, hold on,” Peter protested, “We can always freeze the leftovers.”

“Do not say the f-word in this house,” Angie teased. “Besides, why would Will say no? I can’t wait to meet him! Oh, and his wife. He’s married, right?”

“Will’s married.” To a scumbag no one here needs to meet.

“Great! I’ll make sure there’s enough for five.”

Hoffman suddenly lost his appetite as he realized the hell he was in for if his partner, Will Maddox, did happen to decide to accept the invitation. But why would she? Especially since she was keeping her husband, Frank Griffin, far away from him and everyone else at the precinct. Hoffman was comforted by this idea. Disappointed that he’d be missing out on Angie’s blatant bribes, but there would always be future opportunities for her to make croquembouche and ravioli. He was a patient guy.

With confidence that nothing would come of this, he returned to enjoying his meal and tuning out Peter talking about some story of a magic gig gone wrong, likely the cruise-ship story, and enjoying the rest of his Sunday night.

Will’s alarm went off a Monday morning, jostling her dreamy state as she fumbled to silence the shrill disturbance.

The smell of pancakes and coffee beckoned her to get up.

She stretched, naked and cold, but eager to grab breakfast. When she crawled out of bed, she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. The reddish hickeys on her neck grabbed her attention. She let out a bemused, “Fuck,” as she pulled her wild bedhead out of the way to study the damage.

It had been their anniversary the night before. It had been a magical night. Definitely one for the books. Frank had taken her out of the city where they had a picnic and watched the sunset over the cliffs of the national park. When they got home, they drank wine and at first, the love-making had been gentle and sweet, before growing into a rough passion that Frank tended to get as he had progressed through the bottle of red that night. It hadn’t been bad, though. Really.

She honestly had enjoyed the wild night, not remembering the last time she really got off with Frank. Or even with herself. It was just a while since she woke up as satisfied as she did at that moment.

When she got changed, she wore a black turtleneck and black slacks, glad it was a cool autumn morning. She already dreaded the shit Hoffman was going to dish her, always with his hawk-like eyes and attention to detail. He had made a habit of passively pointing out when she had a bruise or some minor injury that she tried to play off as nonexistent. She’d try to be cool about it, but he always seemed to know the truth; demanded she admit what she normally pushed in the back of her mind.

She entered the kitchen, smiling at Frank, who wore an apron and winked at her with a domestic smile painted on his lips. “Hey, beautiful,” He was flipping flapjacks, the batter hissing and steaming. She reached out and kissed him on his cheek, resting her head on his shoulder. “Are these for me?”

“Of course,” He nodded at the table, where two plates were set. “Have a seat. I’ll pour your coffee.”

She sat down in the chair, a tender soreness reminding her of the crazy night they had. She blushed and looked out the window to the forest of skyscrapers and the lavender light of pre-dawn just barely glowing on the horizon. It was going to be a pink sunrise. Nice.

The sound of coffee pouring made her spin her head but she smiled pleasantly as coffee poured in the mug. “Tonight, when you get back, we can go out to a movie,” Frank plopped pancakes on both plates and after returning the frying pan, took his seat across from her. “They’re doing screenings on classics. Casablanca is showing over at the Promenade.”

“Ooh,” Will raised an eyebrow. “You hate Humphrey Bogart, though.”

“Eh, he’s all right. Besides, I want to make it up to you.” He reached out and squeezed her hand resting on the table. “I know I’ve been… awful this past year. But I hope I’m proving that I can change.”

She blinked through blurred vision. “Yeah. I see it. You’re really trying.” Besides the wine the night prior, he had not had a drink in a month. It was progress.

“And I’ve got an interview today,” He twitched his eyebrows flirtatiously. “At a call center, which sucks, but it’s something.”

“That’s great,” She squeezed his hand back. “Good luck. You’ll do great.”

“Thanks.” They ate their breakfast, Frank watching her carefully while she kept smiling back at him. A month ago, she had given him an ultimatum: marriage counseling, that he begin going to Alcoholics Anonymous, or she would file for divorce. She had braced for everything to go violent. She had a night bag packed, under her desk at the station, ready just in case. She had made this ultimatum in public, at a lunch bistro one Saturday. She had been ready for him to scream. To attack. She had been ready for anything, she had thought. But instead, he had broken down in tears. And she had grossly underprepared for that.

She had not expected the emotional vulnerability. It touched her and made her reconsider. So she compromised. If he could just get his act together, then she’d stay. And so far, he had. It gave her hope.

“Okay,” she checked her watch. “I’ll get home as soon as my shift’s up. I’ll call if something changes. I love you.” She got up and kissed him. He had quickly put his hand to the back of her head and pushed her closer to him, deepening the kiss.

“Here’s to you, kid,” He quoted, gray eyes intense and stormy. “Get home safe.”

She waved, grabbed her coat and bag, and was off, sighing in relief. The heavyweight on her shoulders lifted noticeably as she descended in the elevator, as though she was escaping a magnetic force that kept her compressed and tight. She could breathe, just a bit easier and deeper.

When she reached the station that morning, she had been humming to herself a light tune and tossed her purse onto the desk where Hoffman had his legs propped, the headline of the newspapers blocking his face read, “Four Walls Build A Home”, with a picture of two older men smiling back at her.

Hoffman had slightly lowered the paper, his nose just poking up from the headline. “You’re in a good mood.”

She smiled back. “Had a good weekend.”

“You’re serious.” He was watching her intensely. “That turtleneck disagrees.”

She rolled her eyes, taking a seat. “Actually, the turtleneck can attest. Things are looking up,” she volunteered the smidge of personal information, looking at the tray of her inbox. Folders needing her signature were already collecting and the week had only just started. She sighed and began going through the paperwork.

“All right, this is a first. You’ve got me. What happened?” Hoffman rested his elbows on his desk and leaned forward, lips pursed as he considered her. “You have this look about you that just… glows.”

She cringed, trying not to laugh. “Uh, well, it was our wedding anniversary yesterday.”

His face contorted in disgust. “Gross, Maddox. Sorry I asked.”

“Oh, fuck off. You’re the one who pried,” She began scribbling her signature, confirming she had been the investigator to various legal documents.

“So good ol’ Frank’s staying? You told me weeks ago that it was over.”

She kept her smile frozen. “Well, he’s made some changes.”

“You think he’ll stick to them?”

“Well, it’s none of your business, Hoffman. I don’t want to talk about this!” She had raised her voice suddenly, instantly regretting the hostility. He rarely inquired about her marriage and surprised her with his level of respect towards her need for privacy over the course of their partnership. Throughout their many months together, she had been relieved with how little Hoffman intervened. He had picked up on her need for him to stay back and look the other way, and he complied, even though it clearly pissed him off.

Hoffman was silent, the pause a relief as she tried to focus on her paperwork. But that day, he was talkative for some reason. “You like ravioli?”

“What?” Her head shot up, confused. She must not have heard him correctly.

“Ravioli. My sister found out through the union wives that I have a new partner. And wants me to invite you to her house for dinner this Friday. And to mention that she is a damn good cook. And will go all out if you come.” He sounded like he was forcing himself to say these words, droning them like a checklist in his head. Like they were rehearsed. His eyes seemed to plead for her to do the complete opposite of what his words were asking.

Will blinked slowly. “You have a sister?”

“Yeah. Oh, and she thinks you’re a man. So… you don’t have to go, of course. I told her you don’t like doing these things.”

Leaning back in her seat, she contemplated this. Her curiosity piqued. What sweet poetic justice that Hoffman's personal life was opening up for her to poke through and sniff around. “You know, I’d love to meet her, actually.” She smiled maliciously, “Consider this payback for all the shit you give me. I’ll ask Frank and get back to you on that.”

He looked bewildered. “Seriously? He'd go? You'd want him to?”

“Yep. I think we’ll go.” She briefly considered what Frank would say. He knew she had a male partner. Maybe meeting him would help calm his nerves. Put to rest any insecurity he felt about it. “I think it’ll be fun. Who else will be there?”

“Her boyfriend. And me.” He folded his arms across his broad chest. “You don’t have to feel obligated to do this.”

“Oh, I’m going. Because I want to. I can’t wait to meet your sister and tell her all the shit you pull at work.” She wanted to let out an evil laugh to rub salt in his wounds, but before she could tease him any further, a stack of papers slammed onto her and Hoffman’s desks, making both of them jump.

“Having fun, Maddox? Hoffman?” Grissom and two of his lackeys had appeared out of nowhere.

“Sir,” Maddox looked up at the Captain. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” He smiled at her before frowning at Hoffman. “Why aren’t you reporting to the scene?”

“Sorry, sir, what case is this?” Will ruffled through her papers, trying to find any hint to what he was talking about.

“I briefed Hoffman before you arrived. There’s been a few murders southside. Hookers in trunks and dumpsters, the bodies are piling up. It’s getting to the point that I’m getting chewed out by topside about this. It’s triggering a women’s protest.”

Maddox shot a hostile glare at Hoffman who passively looked up at Captain Grissom. “We’re on it, sir. Hoffman, the file?” She held her hand out. Grissom nodded, pleased, and went to another desk where his assistants proceeded to drop more cases off while he castigated the other detectives for dragging their feet as well.

Hoffman opened a file cabinet, pulled the thick coffee-stained file, and tossed it towards her. She thumbed through the various forms and images, eyelids stretching open. “Hoffman, what the fuck? Why didn’t you tell me this as soon as I got here?”

“Didn’t think Grissom was going to be breathing down our necks,” He calmly drank his coffee. “The man’s up for promotion. Only reason he’s riding us so hard.”

“It’s also his job,” She reminded him as she got up and pulled hercoat back on. “Dibs on driving today,” she rushed past him, power walking to the door.

“Maddox!” Hoffman called out to her, the sound of his pursuit had her picking up the pace. She practically ran out to the parking lot. It was the little things that made the job tolerable. Making Mark Hoffman nervous with her driving was one of those small pleasures she savored.

Hoffman was too late in stopping Maddox from sliding into the driver’s seat. He sulked while holding on for dear life as she careened and sped down the interstate, screaming down towards the worst side of town. The suspension on their assigned unmarked car was starting to go, his back ached for being jarred so often by her penchant for taking steep hills at top speed.

“Read the latest victim to me,” Will kept her eyes on the road while taking a sharp right to dodge a cluster of cars and continued down an alley.

He felt like he was going to lose his breakfast but kept his stare on the most recent report. “Woman, dyed blonde hair, early 20’s. Dressed like a sex worker. Found bloated in the back of an old sedan registered to a Nicki Malone. He’s got a long rap sheet. He’s also one of Toni Rosello’s goons.”

“Who?”

“Toni Rosello.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Seriously, Maddox? He’s made. You know, classic mobster. Leads one of the biggest crime families in this city.”

“I see.”

“He’s a real charmer. His family is suspected of drug trafficking, human trafficking, arms distribution… a real piece of shit.”

“What else is new?” Maddox made it to the location, underneath a rusted bridge of the city’s public transit train system. A squad car had its lights on while uniforms guarded the yellow taped perimeter. A run-down vehicle with its trunk popped wide open beckoned.

Will parked the car and they made their way to an already rank smelling crime scene. Hoffman was relieved it was Fall and early enough in the day that the sun hadn’t baked the corpse further. But a few days in the trunk had probably already done all the damage required to ruin his lunch.

Maddox was eager to witness the scene, nodding at the uniforms who watched her intently, waiting for her to faint or throw up or gasp. She would disappoint them. She was pulling gloves on as she bent over the body, to study the mess.

Hoffman could barely recognize the lump of greenish-gray flesh and bone as human. Flies and maggots writhed on the rotting rib cage, its skin patchy with missing tissue. It was an ugly sight but he kept his gaze on it, burning the gore into his brain. The face was surprisingly intact. She was young, younger than Angie. Anger was hot from his chest up to the back of his throat.

“Victim ID’d?” Maddox reached into the trunk with her gloved hand. She pulled out a small bracelet with a flower dangling off it. One of the Crime Scene Investigators took it from her and put it in a clear evidence bag. “I’ll hold onto that,” she smiled at the woman as she took the plastic package out of her hands.

“Nope. No one around wants to talk, either,” The uniformed officer was looking towards the cluster of young women, under-dressed for the cold morning and huddled together. Hoffman knew they wouldn’t talk. At least not to him or the other officers. He looked at Maddox expectantly, who was staring at the young women, as though formulating a plan as she took them in.

They continued to scan the scene while the officer continued, “We can’t get a hold of Malone. Apparently, when we knocked on his door, he'd already been incarcerated for three months. The family reported the car stolen last week.”

“All right. You good, Maddox?”

She nodded, her body turned to the next block. “Let’s have a talk with the kids,” she suggested. “You just stay in the distance, Hoffman.”

He nodded. “All right, get her out of here,” Hoffman told the man as he nodded at the trunk. “We’ve got everything we need.”

Hoffman stayed a healthy distance from Maddox as she waved and strode to the group of girls. He felt uncomfortable seeing their bare backs and the majority of their legs. They looked like they should be in high school. Or maybe he was just getting old. Likely, both.

He stood by a brick building across the street, keeping one hand just touching his gun while the other leaned against the brick to make him look as harmless and uninterested as possible. He knew it did little to ease the concerned faces, all eying him like gazelles realizing a lion was watching them.

He watched Maddox hold her hands up, the bracelet visible. She said something that resulted in some of the girls scattering, but one took a step up. The girl seemed emotional, pointing at the bag. His partner nodded and let the girl hold the evidence and look at the jewelry closely. He tensed at this, straightening. That was a reckless move. After a few seconds, the girl began to cry and handed back the bracelet, her sobs distinct over the passing sirens and sounds of traffic in the area. Maddox put her hand on the girl’s thin shoulder, soothing her.

He admitted Maddox had made his investigations significantly easier with her methods. She was good at getting people to open up. It definitely helped save all the paperwork he was used to filling. They tended to find more open and willing witnesses to take them out of the dead ends these cases normally came with.

After a bit of more talking, Maddox waved goodbye and returned to Hoffman. “Her name was Effie. No known last name. She had been working the corner for a little over a year. She was a runaway from Georgia, apparently.”

“That will narrow down finding family,” Hoffman congratulated. “What else?”

“She had a pimp. A real mean one.”

“Are there nice ones?”

“Nicer than this guy. He’s our likely suspect, from what Regina told me.” Maddox looked haggard. “Guy likes them young. He sounds like he’s got a system where he collects from schools out of state and forces them to work for him here.”

“Jesus.” Hoffman had the sudden urge to spit. “What’s the fucker’s name?”

“T-Rod. Quaint, aint' it? He’s got a VIP spot every night at the Velvet Rush.”

He snorted. “Of course he does. Well, looks like we’re staying up tonight.”

“Yeah,” she looked worried all of a sudden. “I need to make a phone call, real quick.” She handed him the evidence bag and took her cell out, flipping it and going off. Her shoulders had tensed, her head bowed as she spoke quietly.

Asking Frank for permission to do your job? He shook his head, shoving the plastic into his pockets, keeping his hands fisted in them. He didn’t get Maddox. She was far too forgiving in the worst kind of people. As though she could sense he was watching her, she turned to him briefly to give him a pregnant stare before showing him her back again. The look had said plenty. She knew he knew. And her eyes were practically growling at him to not even think about saying anything about it.

He had noticed she had seemed in higher spirits the past month. She was the happiest he had ever seen her, lately. Maybe the fucker got his shit together. Maddox was a big girl. Only she knew the whole story of her life. He had to trust her on that. Or really, it was none of his business. Like she always said. He kicked at some imaginary pebbles with his shoes, trying not to get so worked up. He instead let himself take in her silhouette. The sun was bright and strong, casting her shadow long across the concrete. Her reddish curls caught the sun and burned orange. He liked that color. It was like fire.

She got off the phone and returned to him, a relieved smile on her face. “Well, I’ve got good news.”

“Yeah?”

“Frank is looking forward to dinner Friday.”

He blinked. That was what she had been asking. “Really.” He quickly recovered. “That’s great.”

“Yeah.” She let out a nervous laugh. “He also got a job offer today. I’m going to head off. Meet you at the Velvet Rush tonight? We’ll confront this T-Rod.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Dress like you’re going clubbing. I think we should catch him off guard.”

Hoffman smirked. “You can’t be serious.”

“You know, button-down. Wax your hair a little,” she eyed him up and down. “Just… try not to look so blatantly cop-like. Like right now.”

“Besides these clothes, I’ve got jeans.”

She nodded but had little faith in her smile. “Just. Dress like you’re ten years younger.”

“And you? What are you going to wear?” He countered, looking back at the remaining streetwalkers shivering across the street. “Any inspiration from them?”

She let out a low laugh. “Don’t worry about it. I'm sure I’ll blend in. I’m good at that.”

He couldn't argue with that.

Will sighed as she readjusted her clinging halter top, shivering while her bare shoulders were struck by a sharp icy wind blustering through to her bones. She stood in line for the club, hugging herself tightly while she impatiently shuffled back and forth, as though the movement would restore body heat into her numb hands. She should have brought a jacket. She should have just worn something more practical.

There was some comfort in the fact that every other lady around her shivered in their attractive but skin-exposing outfits. She envied how they huddled with their dates, some fortunate enough to get a blazer slung around their shoulders or a big arm draped around them to help ease the pain.

Her brain was egging at her to just follow suit as soon as her partner got there. Professional bearing, be damned. She was too fucking cold to care if it would be inappropriate. She just needed to stop feeling so cold.

“Hey,” The familiar deep growl made her turn around. She smiled in relief. He stood there, tall and surprisingly fitting in, his brown hair combed and wetted back, emphasizing his cheekbones and jawline. She didn't stop to admire for too long, though. Her joints stung too smartly.

“Oh, thank God. Give me your jacket.” She desperately gripped the cuff of his windbreaker, hands shaking.

“You cold?” He thankfully didn’t argue, unzipping and shrugging out of his jacket and handed it to her. She pushed her stiff fists into each sleeve, sighing from the lingering warmth he had left it. It smelled like his deodorant, a rich woodsy musk filled her nose and gave her stomach butterflies.

“Freezing,” her teeth chattered. “Wow, you smell good.”

He gave her a look. “You all right?”

“Just been standing in this fucking line for an hour,” she shamelessly leaned into him. “Sorry, but I’m literally dying of hypothermia here. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be doing this. Just pretend this is part of keeping our cover.” She took in slow and pleasurable breaths. The smell of him freshly showered caught in her lungs. He was so warm, like a fireplace.

He stood there awkwardly but thankfully without comment. She continued to tremble violently until he put an arm around her, pulling her under his arm and against his side. She felt herself surrounded by his heat, like a ring of fire that burned into her back. He continued to say nothing as they stood there but his distinct feeling of awkwardness was clearly pounded into her ears. His heart rate was accelerating as she pressed the side of her cheek into his lower chest. His arm was rigid as he patted her back shoulder heavily and mechanically. She giggled at this. She was picking up the vibe he was not finding as much comfort in this situation as she was, his form stiffening like a mannequin.

“How are you this warm?” She tried to stop the tension from growing, her voice soft and incredulous but not really complaining, pulling back to spare his embarrassment. She felt instantly reborn, the jacket letting her hold onto the newfound energy and shielded her from the cold wind. She took in the rest of him. He had worn white jeans and a deep cerulean silk collared shirt, unbuttoned to show just a bit of his broad chest and shoulders. He had some body hair, rough brown hair that poked where the shirt opened up.

He had even done his hair. Thick brown locks were slicked back, bringing attention to his strong cheekbones and jawline. She admitted he looked like a tasty snack, not quite the disgruntled detective she was used to seeing every day. She had never pictured him as handsome until then, often his personality made his face twist into a sour expression that would mar the impression. It was as though she was glimpsing into an alternative reality, seeing him out of place amongst the eager patrons who were out for a fun time.

She finally broke away from admiring his body, seeing his face was grimacing and his ears were a dark shade of crimson. He knew she was eye fucking him. Her cheeks began to share that color palette and she cleared her throat when she pretended she wasn’t drooling. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Yeah. Don't mention it." He folded his arms, clearly cold, but kept a healthy step back from her as the line progressed further. Now she just felt silly. They were working and she was just being unprofessional. After a few moments of shuffling, his voice went back to the deep and perpetually antagonistic. "I’m surprised you left the house dressed in just that. Angie used to do that, too.” He let out a smirk while adding, "You chicks sure love to not dress for the weather."

“Summer was like a month ago, this is a nightclub, and remember asshole, I didn't realize it gets so fucking cold here so fast.” She felt her regular dose of annoyance flood into her, helping keep the heat that she had absorbed from Hoffman. The corners of her smile curled up, though, glad they could just move on from the moment like it never happened.

“Oh yeah. You’re from San Diego, right?”

“Yeah, up in La Jolla. It’s literally seventy and sunny all year round.”

“Just wait until it starts snowing. You should buy some decent boots soon if you haven’t already.”

“Noted.” The line continued and they were almost at the bouncer.

“I’m surprised Frank let you leave in that.”

She looked up at him, seeing he kept his gaze focused on the large man checking ID’s. “Well, he knows it’s undercover work. I explained it.”

“I never realized he was so understanding,” there was sarcasm there, rough around the edges, but clear as day. "The makeup doesn't cover up your neck well."

Her hands darted up to her neck, touching her neck lightly, realizing her foundation was starting to run. "Shit. Sorry, I'll have the jacket cleaned."

"Don't worry about it. Not the first time." He looked away, frowning and furrowed. "So you're really giving him another chance?"

“When he’s not drinking, he’s actually pretty understanding,” she defended. She quickly shifted gears. She scanned Hoffman’s outfit, desperately looking for some feature or flaw to poke fun of and turn the hard time back to him. It was only fair. Thankfully, she had kept her true opinions of his appearance to herself. It made lying a lot easier. “I see you’re going for the ‘I’m totally not a cop, everyone, really’ vibe.”

He shrugged, his face passive. “This is the best you’re going to get.”

“At least it’s not just a white shirt and suspenders,” she teased, easing the pressure. “And good call on leaving the shoulder holster at home. Though… did you bring your Glock?”

He looked down at her, his face like an eclipse in the sky. She realized that they were up close and personal, the shortest distance in proximity they had ever been before. Her cheeks grew hot as she couldn’t help but take in the way his full lips curled into a smile that looked as dangerous as it looked sweet. “Well, I have pockets.”

“Yeah, must be nice.” She was in a mini skirt and halter top, her only weapon held in place at her inner thigh holster. It was a tiny peashooter, still a fatal weapon, but not very intimidating. If she needed to get it, she was going to have to just reach in between her legs, but she wasn’t planning on drawing tonight. Hopefully, she wasn’t going to have to flash the entire club in the next few hours. “But remember, we’re here just to get information.”

“You’re no fun.”

They reached the bouncers who took their ID’s and waved them in. The security was lax, just waving them in without a care in the world. Once they stepped into the warm building they were wrapped in darkness. The room smelled of smoke and thumped with bone-rattling bass beats. Electronic music and the yells of hundreds of voices hurt her ears.

Returning the windbreaker to Hoffman, she stood on her tiptoes, trying to scan the crowd. She grabbed Hoffman’s sleeve and pulled at him to bend over so she could put her mouth to his ear. “Where are the VIP Tables?!” She shouted. He stood up straight and looked around, standing a good head taller than most of the crowd. They were getting bumped into and nudged, so Hoffman pushed his way through the throngs of people, his hand gently pushing her upper back to guide her.

She felt herself struck in the shoulder and they separated, with Will shouting, hand outstretched, “Mark!” and Hoffman turned quickly and grasped her hand. He pulled her back to him. It happened so suddenly that she face planted into his solid chest and pushed herself off of him in frustration. He looked uncertain, clearly out of his element. She mouthed, “Over there,” towards the other side of the building where black tables and lounge cushioned seats draped in blacklight and strobing colors. She pointed out a single man with tattoos on his face and sunglasses covering his eyes.

She figured the only guy on a Monday night in VIP was their T-Rod. She took the lead, grabbing Hoffman’s bear paw of a hand and pulled him through the masses of people grinding their bodies and teeth to the sound of the music.

There was a guard at the VIP section, a big bald man that looked like he would give Hoffman a run for his money, folding his arms at her approach. “You got a wristband?”

She shook her head. “I want to talk to T-Rod. Tell him it’s Trish.”

The man looked uncertain but turned to the lone lounger and shouted, “Hey T.”

The man turned his head, black shades blocking his expression. The bouncer thumbed at Will, mouthing, “You know her?”

T-Rod got to his feet, a slimy smile crawling across his cheeks. He had glittering diamonds and gold wrapped around his neck, in his teeth. His hands had more letters and symbols than a keyboard. “Hey there, baby,” He slurred, leaning into Will’s ear. “You looking to ride the rod?”

She refrained from bursting out in laughter but instead gave a coy smile, putting her hand up to the man’s cheek. She felt the stubble, thumb caressing his chin. “Maybe, sugar,” she shouted into his ear. “But first, can we have a seat? Get to know each other better?” She pursed her lips. “I need a favor.”

An eyebrow poked above the wayfarer shades and the man shrugged, waving her in. The bouncer stopped Hoffman and pointed at him.

T-Rod shook his head, flicking his wrist to shoo him away. Will cast a glance and mouthed, “Wait,” while pointing at the floor as she made her way to T-Rod’s table. She knew it was risky in the crowded space to break from Hoffman, but it was necessary. Besides, he was right there.

Once she sat, T-Rod beckoned for a buxom waitress in tight leather and a champagne bottle with lit sparklers and placed the bottle at the table with two champagne flutes.

T-Rod poured the drinks, scooting close and personal to Will. She could smell the sweet, dank smell of weed and his body spray as he draped an arm around her shoulder, his fingers tickling her skin. She resisted the urge to shiver, her neck hairs standing on end from discomfort. Ugh. She kept smiling sweetly back at him.

“I’m trying to find my sister,” she yelled into his ear, making sure she sounded southern with a drawling accent. “I hear you may know where she is?”

“Baby, if I saw a hot redhead like you running around, I wouldn’t be here,” he let out a chuckle.

“Well, maybe you’ve heard of her? Her name’s Effie.”

The man flinched slightly, lowering his glasses to reveal pale eyes with pupils so dilated that they were mostly black holes boring into her. “Effie, you say?”

“Yeah. You know her?”

The man recovered but pulled his arm away. “Maybe. I heard she left town.”

“Can you tell me where she went? I’ve been looking all over for her,” she leaned forward and tried to get the pimp to give eye contact. She put her hand onto his lap. “I’ll do anything to know what happened to her.”

T-Rod seemed to forget himself, looking down at his lap. “Baby, you wanna know where your sister is that bad?”

“Yes,” She nodded, playing the naïve, small-town girl. “I’m desperate.”

T-Rod smirked, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, maybe we can work something out. But we got to go somewhere more private.”

Will gave a dazzling smile, while internally felt her anger build. This fucker is about to fuck the sister of the girl he killed. And then what will he plan to do? Kill me?

“Aight. Come with me.” He took her wrist and pulled her up to her feet. The man led her out a back entrance from the VIP area, and suddenly she was in a hallway. The noise had muffled. She turned to see if Hoffman had followed to only see a flash of his alarmed expression, mouthing, 'wait', as the door was slammed shut.

She felt the blood drain from her face when T-Rod went to deadbolt the door. She spun around desperately, not seeing another door in the narrow hallway.

Hoffman tried to push past the bouncer but was stopped from stepping over the line that separated VIP, despite yelling, “I need to talk to her.”

“Sorry, back there’s restricted. Only staff.”

“And her?” Hoffman waved, holding in as much rage as he could. His heart was pounding, his instincts spinning in place. She just went off on her own with that creep. That's a whole new level of stupid, Maddox.

He reached into his pocket to pull out his badge, flashing it in the face of the man. “Metropolitan PD. Let me through.”

The bouncer’s eyes widened but shook his head. “You got a warrant?”

“I don’t need one,” He yelled into the man’s face and pushed him out of the way. The bouncer backed but still looked uncertain. Hoffman reached into his pocket to pull his Glock out, keeping it pointed at the floor. He heard a woman scream and there was chaos behind him as the patrons of the club began to scatter and flee the scene. He moved across the restricted floor and pushed the door open, but it was locked. He pounded on it, his heart sinking. Fuck.

The door was made of old heavy oak, heavier than the typical bedroom-hollowed-plywood type. He kicked and shouldered into the door, anyway, feeling the resistance bow slightly against his body weight. After a few heavy kicks, the door finally cracked until it crumpled, a portion of the lock casing itself splintered. He pushed the hunk of wood forward and entered a hallway. He looked both ways, desperate to detect where Will had gone from.

“Will!” He shouted, then paused when he heard a man curse and a sudden slap echo off the brick. He sprinted towards the source of the noise, turning the corner to see Will pressed against the wall with T-Rod holding a blade against her neck.

“You fucking bitch,” the man slurred, not noticing Hoffman pointed a gun at his back. His mouth was against her cheek and ear, oblivious to his surroundings. “I’ll make you beg.”

“Drop it!” Hoffman roared, “Or I’ll shoot.”

The man froze, then slowly turned to Hoffman. “Nah, pig. You drop the gun, or I’ll slit her little throat right here.”

“Don’t, Hoff-meh,” Maddox choked the last part as T-Rod slammed her head against the wall. Her hands that had gripped his arms flopped to her sides as her eyes rolled up under fluttered eyelids.

“Shut. Up.” T-Rod whispered against her face.

Hoffman glared daggers at the pimp, looking at his stance. The pimp seemed experienced with scenarios such as this. The blade was already embedded partially into Will’s skin. He could take a headshot but the pimp had pressed his face and head against Will’s cheek, thus using most of her face as a partial shield to his. If he went for the head, he could miss and hit her, instead. He hadn't been going to the range as often as he'd like lately.

It was too risky.

“I’ll fucking do it,” T-Rod, without flinching, slid the blade across Will’s throat and she let out a gasp as blood began to trail down her neck. “Put that piece down, slow.”

Hoffman pointed the gun upwards, turned the safety on, and slowly lowered it to the ground. He didn’t want to, but there was little choice.

“Good. Now kick it over here.”

Hoffman kicked it over, hard but in a direction that was intentionally inconvenient for the pimp. T-Rod pulled back and looked at where it went, the blade lifting away from Will’s throat as well. This gave Maddox the opportunity to knee him sharply in the groin while ducking out of the knife’s bite. The knife struck brick, scraping the stone. Some of her hair had gotten caught in the crossfire, a small lock of red curls floated to the floor.

The criminal collapsed partially, screaming but slashing the blade. Will crab-shuffled backwards away from T-Rod, leaving him open to attack Hoffman. Hoffman moved fast and grabbed the man by the ponytail and slammed his forehead against the other brick wall. Once T-Rod crumpled onto his back, the fight was over, but Hoffman didn’t care. He continued to throw punches square in the man’s cheek and nose.

He saw red. Red blood. Red floor. Red brick. The very light had gone red.

He kept pounding the fucker’s face, while hearing his name chanted in his ears.

He felt cool, soft hands on his neck, pulling him backward. He was caught off guard and froze, realizing the chanting was feminine and shrill. Her hands had fallen onto his shoulders and her arms were pulling him, a weak force that more tickled than caused him any dislocation.

“Mark! Mark! Stop it!” She screamed, trying to pull him off of the perp. He blinked and got to his feet, catching his breath. His heart was blaring in his ears. His pulse pushed in a fast rhythm up his neck, his temples twitching. His chest heaved in and out rapidly.

“It’s okay,” She appeared in the red sea, eyes wide and afraid. “It’s okay. We’re fine.”

He turned to T-Rod, who had gone very still. His face was a bloody mess. It looked like he had knocked out some teeth. As the adrenaline ran its course, his knuckles began to throb and sting. He saw the skin had been torn off most of them. His fists were vibrating. Shaking.

“Mark. Let me handcuff him,” she held out her hand, avoiding eye contact as she stared at the bloody mess at their feet. He didn’t understand until he realized she was asking for his handcuffs. He pulled them out of his pocket and handed them over. He fought the urge to squeeze his fingers through the hard metal rings and slam them onto the fucker’s neck.

“T-Rod, or whatever your name is,” she grunted as she rolled him over and reached for his wrists. “You are under arrest for the murder of Effie Rhyne. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

Her words, reading the Miranda rights, helped calm him. Restored him to normal. It was her voice. She was speaking. She was fine. She was alive. He eased the grip of his fists, remembering to relax them. Lost control.

“Mark. Check on if back up’s been called. Maybe a 131’s been called already.`` She was calm and giving out orders clearly, nodding at him to snap out of it.

He pulled out his cell phone and made the call. The pimp wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

She stood up and shivered, her shoulders returning to the same trembling vibrato earlier in line. “You okay?” She put her hand on his upper arm, face wrought with worry.

“Are you?” He gently thumbed the stain of bright red blood on her neck, a fresh addition to the welts on her skin. It looked wrong seeing her so damaged. "This may scar." She felt cold to the touch and it reminded him to take his jacket off and put it around her. He had the urge to put an arm around her like before, but remembered himself. “That was stupid, Will. You can't just go off on your own like that. Stupid.”

“It just happened so fast,” she pulled the oversized parka around her, shaking her head. “Sorry, I didn’t realize that door was the only one here. It won’t happen again.” She was fascinated with her heels, kicking her feet as she kept her head low.

“It better not,” Hoffman muttered. “He could have-,”

“Let’s not dwell too long on the possibilities,” she snapped, then softened her tune as she quickly surmised. “Well, I don’t know about you, but as soon as he’s booked I could go for a drink. Or two.”

He smirked. “Yeah. You owe me." He, too, didn't like to dwell on things that could have or could not have happened. What happened happened. She was alive. "Larry’s?”

“Ugh. It’s so gross there.”

“Fries are good.”

“No, the cheap liquor is what’s good to you,” she shook her head. “Your cheap ass better not worry about buying. You saved my ass tonight. Drinks on me.”

“Oh goodie,” he snickered. "Top shelf brands." She punched him playfully on the arm. Relief washed over him, cool and soothing, as he reveled in Will goofing and smiling up at him.

His heart was still taking a while to slow down and he frowned as he replayed the last few minutes in his head. This was exactly the kind of situation that made him question whether she should be working in the field or not. It was just too dangerous and they had gotten to the point of their working relationship where he cared what happened to her. Cared too much. And that was bad. A liability.

If anything bad happened to her, would he respond properly? Follow protocol? He had seen what happened to partners that were close - so close that when the inevitable injury or death happened, it wasn't just the desire to save people. It wasn't the need to do the right thing that had them obsessing and incensed. What spun them out of control, lost them their badge and gun, didn’t emerge from a sense of duty. It was a deep and terrifying rage that just wanted to inflict pain;to hurt as much as possible.

It was a familiar feeling. It was something he had thought he had locked down and under control. He had almost let the beast out. That scared him.

"Ugh. Great. This will take forever to grow back," Will studied the uneven part of her hair where a cluster of curls were clearly missing. She pouted at him, making his insides twist in ways he didn't want them to.

He forced a smile back. "Just shave it all off, Maddox."

"Fuck off," her eyes flashed and nostrils flared, making his throat dry. He liked making her angry. Fuck. This is not good. His head hurt. He tried not to think about it.

When the cops arrived, they had pulled the unconscious suspect up roughly and dragged him to the exit. Maddox followed. Hoffman hovered around where bits of her hair still sat discarded on the floor. He didn't think things through when he knelt down and quickly shoved them into his pocket.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know,” T-Rod’s nose was bandaged up, his eyes swollen and purple. He didn’t look so intimidating, what with the shit kicked out of him the night before.

Will Maddox leaned forward from her stance, pressing her palms into the backrest of the chair she had been resting in just earlier. Freshly showered and dressed in her suit, she felt more in control than she had just the day before. She smiled gently, playing her role with ease.

At her side, her partner muttered, "You're full of shit." Hoffman was playing the bad cop, arms folded and throwing in threats and insults every few minutes while she played the good cop.

“Now, Terrance, we can’t just let you go. I’d like to, really, but after assaulting a police officer, it looks like you’re getting at least five years. Now, I know you’re a good person and can do the right thing-,”

Hoffman let out an extra loud snort, the show meant to be disruptive and anachronistic. “This piece of shit should just rot.”

“-and the right thing is to do good with Effie’s family. They want to know what happened to their little girl. They can’t sleep, not knowing what happened to her.”

“Bitch died. End of story,” Terrance “T-Rod” Rodders had a congested voice from both his nasal passageways being clogged up with bandages and dried blood. His eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, not having slept since the assault took place Tuesday morning. His face had gone stoic and expressionless as the hours dragged on. It was now Wednesday afternoon. Will and Hoffman had gotten their six hours of sleep and were fresh enough to begin interrogation procedures. Rodders, according to the jail security, had been kept up with loud rock music and regular police baton strikes against the bars. This was to their advantage.

They wanted Rodders to confess to the murders, especially after his guilty behavior of trying to kill her Tuesday. He held out, though, the interview having gone on three hours already. It was going to be a long night.

“All right, T-Rod,” Will went back to her seat, opened up a bottle of water, and took leisurely sips. She had herself stretch and let out a yawn, giving the pimp a lazy smile that looked completely at ease.

This was Hoffman’s cue. He slammed his fist hard onto the table, making the wannabe badass flinch, wild eyes flashing up at him. The criminal was scared of him, which was fair, considering he would need a nose job to get his sniffer looking like it used to. “I’m going to make sure we throw the book at you,” Mark growled, hate flaring out of him. “You’re lucky Detective Maddox is here and she's such a stickler for the rules. I don’t give a fuck about this murder. If I had it my way, you'd be shoved in the same trunk you stuffed those girls into. Getting locked up would be a mercy, after what you did to my partner. If I had my hands on you, it'd be a lot worse. She’s the only reason you’re sitting here in one piece.”

She couldn’t help but glance over him, his intensity making her uneasy.

Easy, Mark. We need him respondent.

“I didn’t know she was police,” he softly whined, lips trembling. He was starting to break. Good.

“Terrance,” she tried to sound maternal and warm. “Look at me. I’m here for you.”

He began to cry. She slowly slid a box of tissues towards him. “You can tell me what happened,” she whispered back. “I just need to know.”

He looked up, blinking tears. “Ya know, I liked Effie. But - she saw something she wasn’t supposed to.”

“What did she see?”

He shook his head profusely. “They’ll kill me if I tell.”

“If you tell me, Terrance, nothing bad is going to happen to you. I promise.” She lied. She didn’t know exactly what would happen to Terrance, good or bad. But she just needed him to spill the beans. Until he provided enough information, she wasn’t sure exactly what hypothetical danger he would need protection from. She was just glad he never asked for a lawyer. That was the last thing they needed.

“I didn’t want to kill her. It’s bad for business. You understand.” He looked at her imploringly, as though killing young girls he forced into prostitution was just standard capitalist practice.

“Of course,” she sympathized. “That’s why I know you didn’t make the call. Why screw yourself like that?”

“Exactly.” He cleared his throat. “Okay. I got the order from the top, Toni Rosello himself. Apparently, some of his trustees hired my girls for a party. But something went down. I don’t know what, and then I was given the order to keep ‘em silent. Real silent.”

She nodded, her heart beginning to flutter. “And the other girls?”

“All collateral. The ones you've shown me were most of them. We can always get more.” He looked up, the disconnect to the fuckery he was saying not registering as bad or ill-conceived. Just business. She looked forward to locking him up.

“Where can I find Toni?” She had Mark in the corner of her eye. His arms were flexing, his entire body rigid as he restrained himself in his seat. He had his hands folded in prayer and resting on the table in front of him, mean-mugging the pimp with as much venom as his scowl could throw.

“He likes hanging in Tagliatelle, his first business. The one in Little Italy.”

“You’ve been very helpful, Terrance. Thank you.” She kept the good cop bridge open, in case they needed to cross-examine him later.

“You’ll keep me safe, right?” He reached out to grab her arm and her fingers twitched at his touch.

Hoffman grabbed the guy’s wrist and threw it back. “Yeah. You’ll be safe. Safe in prison.”

The man paled. “But Rosello’s got guys inside. I’ll be chum for the sharks.”

“Not our problem,” Hoffman got to his feet and made his way to the door. He looked at Will expectantly but she shook her head.

“Let me figure that out, Terrance. For now, you’ll be just across the street. You’ll have your own cell. We’ll keep any Rosello-connected inmates away from you.” When she left and they closed the door, she turned on Hoffman. “We need him cooperative, Mark. You can’t just burn everything to the ground after one lead.”

“He’s not going to have much more to give,” Hoffman griped. “If Rosello's involved, this is about to be a shitshow." He rubbed his temple as though a headache was forming.

"Who's Rosello?"

"You know. Toni Rosello." He shook his head. "I wouldn't waste time on Rodders anymore. He's not going to be able to help much. I'd put money on it. And after the shit he pulled, it’s going to feel real nice leaving him alone at Blackwell Corrections.”

“What’s the likelihood he’s going to die prematurely in there?” She folded her arms and looked at the shut door.

“Guaranteed. Before the week is up.”

“Shit.”

“No shit, Maddox. The fucking guy’s a pimp. He’s an animal that needs to be put down.”

“Rehabilitated,” she countered as she made her way out of the interrogation wing. "We shouldn't be putting people in prison to just die."

“People like that can’t be rehabilitated,” he argued, his voice getting huskier with frustration. "Don't go bleeding heart on me, Maddox."

“Whatever happened to second chances?” She looked at him, then, frowning as she looked up to find him stubbornly glaring back. "What's the point in paying to have incarcerations?"

“Yeah, second chances on a fender bender, drug offense, I get that. But he’s a repeat offender. Lost cause. A fucking murderer, Maddox. He's taking kids, Will. Leave him to rot.”

“Obviously, I think he should go to prison. But unless he’s sentenced to death by a court of law, we are obligated to keep him alive. It's up to the judge."

"The judge would agree with me. Let the fucker die."

"You know we've moved beyond Hammurabi's day. Justice is not vengeance, Mark.”

Hoffman laughed, rough and loud, trying to shake off his disbelief. “How cute. You’re so naïve, Maddox.”

“Maybe we need more of that here,” she muttered, storming off. “Otherwise, what’s stopping us from just eating each other in this godforsaken city?”

She was mad at him again. He drove the car with the radio blasting sports numbers, hoping she’d comment on the poor performance their baseball team was doing that day, but she merely kept her arms folded and stared out the side window as she sulked in the passenger seat.

He didn’t get why she was so angry with him. Well, he figured why, but it was a dumb thing to be mad about. Maybe it’s that time of the month, he passively smirked, before shaking his head. Better not even suggest that. Her punches are starting to sting.

He drove them through the many historical Italian businesses that neatly lined up the district. He loved taking Angie out to these restaurants. This was where she first got inspired to cook. He parked on the curb, to Tagliatelle.

He had rued the day they would have to have this talk. But he knew it was time.

“Maddox,” He spoke to her softly, waiting for her to speak up. She shot him a look, honey-glowing eyes heated in the late afternoon sun. “Follow my lead when we talk to Rosello. He’s not... known for handling the female cops well.”

She shot him an incredulous look. “What, so keep my mouth shut and look pretty?”

“That’ll get him to open up more, likely. I know him. I think we can work to an understanding.”

“We’re arresting him, Hoffman. I’m not sure how much understanding we can provide.”

He held back a scoff. “Will, we’re not going to arrest him.”

“What do you mean?” She turned on him, confused and alarmed. “Why are we here?”

“To cover our bases. But if this is leading to where I think it is, we’re going to have to close the case with Rodders taking the fall.” He went to open his door, hoping this was enough information to satisfy her.

Of course, it wasn’t.

“Why?” She gripped his arm before he could open the door, her grip tight like a pressure point on his bicep. “We need to at least take him in on suspicion for conspiracy to commit murder.”

“We can’t, though.” He leaned back and stared straight ahead, thinking of the right way to break this to her. He gently pried her hand off his arm. “He’s… untouchable.”

“Mark. I swear to God you better not be going ‘big city cop’ on me now.” She shook her head, like a kid who was told Santa Clause didn’t exist.

“You can try, Maddox. Bring him in. I won’t stop you if you decide to do that right now. But you’re going to hit more roadblocks trying to process him than it's worth. He’s got a team of lawyers ready to tear apart any charge we throw at him.. We’re underfunded as it is, Maddox, you know that. And he’s only going to be held for 24 hours before we have to release him. All evidence we had on him will vanish. And just to spite us, everything related to this case will simply get lost.”

“You’re fucking kidding.” She sat back and shared his numb expression as she looked off to the restaurant’s front windows. “How many of us are dirty?”

“All of us, if you look at things black and white. But it's more complicated than that. Plenty of guys take bribes to afford their kid’s leukemia treatment, not for a downpayment on a supercar.”

“Who? Or at least give me a number.”

“Griggs. Fenton. They’re the most obvious. Griggs’ daughter is the one with leukemia. Fenton has a gambling problem.”

“How many of us?”

“At least half the department is culpable. The other half just turns a blind eye.”

“And you?” She looked at him warily, as though seeing him for the first time.

“I haven’t taken money from Rosello,” he defended but clenched his jaw. His chest tightened. “But I’ve gone with some coverups. I’m not going to lie to you, Maddox. I’m just being a realist. This is a force out of your jurisdiction.”

Her eyes brimmed and flashed, her voice wavered. Fuck. He really pissed her off this time. “Have you ever tried to stop it?”

He gave her a piteous smile, his stomach flipping slightly. “Maybe when I was a rookie. Knowing you, I have an idea on what you'll go for. If anyone would try, it’d be you. But if you go down that road, I can’t protect you. You’ll get shit from all sides. And your job will get real hard.”

“I don’t need your protection,” she snapped. “Damn it, Mark, what have you done?”

He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter, Maddox.”

“It does, though.” She punched the side of the car in frustration. “Damn it! It does! What is this job to you? Just a paycheck?” She sounded tired. Frustrated. "What's the point?"

He laughed to push down the familiar feeling he knew she was experiencing. “You asking if I started off wanting to be a hero? Yeah. We all do. We think we’re going to change this city for the better. Just like you. But then reality hits you, that the problem goes beyond the city. That your morales mean shit. You’ll get knocked down a peg, sooner than you know it. Maybe it’ll be watching the scum here go too far and you lose it. Maybe it’ll be one of your friends who had some of Rosello’s goons come and knock on his front door and shake hands with his wife - hold his goddamn two-year-old in his arms - and ask for this favor. So he goes to shred a document here or lose some paperwork there, just out of preservation for his fucking family. The next day, all his debts - just like that - have been paid off. And he doesn’t report it. Why would he? He’s more than culpable now, he’s knee-deep in Rosello's shit. Shit happens.”

“Jesus, Mark.” She hugged herself. “If this is the norm, then why are you even here? Why am I here?”

“Because the people here are good people deep down. Flawed, but good people. And we look out for our own. And we’re trying. We aren’t Jesus Christ, Maddox, not even you. But we’re not just blatantly siding with the mob. We try to clean up his messes and try to make some changes in spite of him. It’s an uphill battle, but we’ve been waiting. As soon as he’s vulnerable, we’re going to get him. But that’s not today, Will. You understand me? If you try to take on the bull today, when his horns are nice and sharp, it’s going to just screw all of us.”

“You want me to just standby,” she muttered, disgusted.

He leaned toward her. “You’re going to have to make choices like this, working here. It’s time you get the brutal truth. Hard choices that aren’t so black and white. So, it’s up to you, Will. We’ll get one of his goons locked away. He may throw us another, out of his fucked up sense of respect. We can either take it and continue on with our lives without much pushback or he’s going to make shit real hard for us.”

“I can’t just go with this.”

He ran his hand through his hair. He had said the same thing back when he first started off. “The best thing people like us can do is focus on getting promoted. That way, we can start getting the power to make some changes. Clean house. But it gets political, Maddox. I hate politics. Grissom tries his best. So does the Commissioner. But that’s above your paygrade for now. ”

“Who can we trust? Are you saying Grissom just lets this happen?”

“Don’t go holier-than-thou on me, Maddox. Grissom does the best he can. You’ll find he’s promoted only the people who show some restraint and aren’t at risk of being targeted by Rosello. Kerry is one of them. Tapp. Sing. Matthews. So clean, they’d squeak if you stand too close to them. A fine bunch of detectives.”

She let out a laugh. “Get off it, Hoffman.”

“You’re another one. He hired you and brought you here for a reason. He could have brought on any other beatnik who submitted a transfer application. Try to see the big picture, Maddox. All right?”

They stared at each other until she nodded gravely. He could have hugged her at that moment. She was handling it just fine. “All right," she whispered, composed but unhappy. "Fine. I trust you. I don’t like it, but I’ll follow your lead. Just don't make me regret this, Hoffman.”

“Good. It's for the best, I promise.” Hoffman went to open the door. “You’ll do just fine here, Maddox.”

“Don’t pretend that’s a compliment,” she grumbled as she made her way out of the car. He followed suit and led the way to the restaurant to confront Rosello.

Chapter Text

Toni Rosello had eyes like a shark. Will had decided she didn’t like him as she quietly watched him from across the red and white checkered tablecloth. He sat with a stained handkerchief stuffed in the front of his shirt. A big suited man stood behind him, a gargoyle of a bodyguard that glared down at them as though he wished to eat them. Hoffman had his hand resting on the table, moving his digits fluidly as he calmly explained to the godfather why two Metropolitan Police detectives had decided to disturb his meal of baked ziti and salmon. She was impressed with how well he had been handling it. It was a first for her, seeing him speak smoothly with charisma.

“A couple of broads get capped and you guys think you can show your face?” The man had a slight Yankee accent, his vowels ending with a 'wuh' sound that Will crinkled her nose every time he sounded it. He noticed. “What’s with you, Red? Allergies?”

Hoffman had gently nudged her with the side of his foot. “Yeah. Sorry.” She needed to remember herself. It was out of place, being the one having to remember to stay in character. She gave him a small smile, blinking slowly, letting her face relax as though she was a ditzy space cadet. The shark eyes eyed her hungrily, wondering what type of fish she tasted like. “You need some Benadryl, honey?”

“If it’s no trouble,” she let herself keep the charade, running her hands through her hair, fluffing it out, and getting comfortable. Her collared shirt had the top button undone, so she pulled her shirt down as though to fix her outfit. Really, she just wanted to let the skin of her lower neck and chest begin to peak through.

Rosello snapped his fingers at his lackeys. They straightened in attention and went to the kitchen, disappearing behind the white swinging doors.

“Mr. Rosello,” Hoffman’s voice was patient and respectful, “the victims were found in trunks of cars registered to men who work for you. Now, we don’t want to cause you any headache. I know you have better things to worry about than the killings of a couple of girls. We’re just concerned that there were more involved than the man we apprehended.”

“Who you got, Markie-boy?”

Will fought the urge to let her eye twitch or give Hoffman a look. Markie-boy? She wondered where that name came from. In fact, she was beginning to wonder about Hoffman's early career with MPD. He never spoke of it.

“Guy calls himself T-Rod. Some thug.”

“Who’s a rat.”

“Well he’s facing life in prison. He was hoping for some leverage. Or maybe he felt some regret.”

Rosello’s laugh was high and whiny, like a nasally mad scientist. “That’s cute. Yeah, a quick death is probably better than life. So how many pounds of flesh you need?” The man’s eyes darted from Hoffman to Will. “Lemme guess. You’re new, aren’t you, Red?”

“I’ve been working with Hoffman for a little over eight months.”

Rosello whistled. “He kept you from me for that long? Markie-boy, she’s stunning. I always have a thing for a woman with freckles.” He licked his teeth, letting out another donkey giggle. “I bet you’re pretty hurt about all those girls. You lady cops always get extra sensitive about ‘em.”

She let him bore into her, taking in the black beady irises, his long face, and the tomato sauce-stained teeth that grinned in bemusement at her. She had the urge to pull her gun out and shoot him point-blank. She never had felt that, in her life, and it scared her. This man was toxic. “Truthfully?”

“Of course, honey.”

“I’m very upset about what happened to Effie. I’m sure her family’s very upset too.”

“I understand, Red. You’re a family type. I respect that.” He scratched his cheek, finally looking away from her. “You remind me of this dame I was attached to. She tried to talk me into retiring.”

“She sounds lovely,” Will folded her arms, as a hunk of ice grew in her stomach. “Why not listen to her?”

The gargoyle returned, placing a pill bottle in front of Will with a glass of ice water. The humidity had caused the glass to sweat, dripping down onto the tablecloth as she stared at it.

“She’s in a barrel somewhere. She started getting a little too naggy. One day, I just had enough. Quicker than a divorce, eh, Markie-boy?” He let out another laugh, tossing his head back. Hoffman smirked back while Will smoldered at the two of them. After the fit was over, Rosello let out a low, “Hahhhhh. Well, I bet you’re doing everything you can to stay civil, Red. I respect that. You know what, because you’re such a well-behaved young lady, I’ll be a gentleman. T-Rod? He’s out. All his boys? I ain’t supporting anymore. You want to take ‘em? Or you want me to clean house?”

“We’ll take them,” Hoffman smiled and got to his feet. “We appreciate your time. Go in good health.”

“And you as well,” Rosello took his fork and stabbed his salmon, taking a big bite. “And Red?”

Will had gotten to her feet and was standing patiently. “Yes?”

He winked at her. “If you ever want a taste of danger, you know where to find me, okay, beautiful?”

She blinked back at him. Just be polite. “Goodbye.” She went to leave but Hoffman’s hand gently wrapped around her wrist. She looked up at him alarmed but he nudged his chin back to the mob boss.

“Goodbye, what, young lady?” The man was chewing violently, watching her closely. The gargoyle had folded his arms, eyes narrowing.

She hated him, more than she ever hated a man before. But Mark, with his shoulder blocking view of the criminals, took her hand in his. His grip squeezed.

“Goodbye, Mr. Rosello.”

“That’s a good girl,” The man winked again. “I’ll think about you tonight, when I go to bed, Red. I hope you think of me.”

As soon as she stepped out of the restaurant she flung herself to the nearest wall, holding herself up as she contained the desire to let out a scream. Her head was spinning and her heart thudded in her ears. She had never felt so angry before.

“Will,” Hoffman put his hand on her shoulder but she shrugged it away violently. “Don’t. Touch me.” She cast a hateful look his way. “He’s a monster.”

“Yeah. He is. But he’s given us something. He just willingly gave up a whole branch of business, just like that. That’s more than I’d ever have hoped for.”

“What, so he’s suddenly a saint?”

“No. But you did good there. He likes you. He wouldn't have done that, otherwise.”

“Ugh. Don’t remind me.” She shivered at the thought. Hoffman’s phone rang as she walked back towards the car. She got into the driver’s side and watched him as he spoke, their eyes locking as he moved his lips. After a while, he got into the car.

“That was Riggs. He needs some backup on this domestic abuse call. Mind dropping me off at Lakeview Elementary?”

“Sure. Want me to sit tight?” She’d prefer to just go back to the station and drown herself in work.

“You don’t have to.” Hoffman was quiet. “Rosello’s a piece of work. You probably want to take off and recover. I’m proud of you. You handled him a lot better the first time than I did.”

“How did you handle it?”

“I tried to deck the son of a bitch.”

“Really?” She started the engine and began driving, only going the speed limit to keep him talking. “Tell me more.”

“My old partner had warned me to behave. Gave me the same spiel I gave you. Wanted to talk to him about the latest drug lab we uncovered. We had some decent evidence. His fingerprints, even a video of him at the scene. But then I lost my cool. The bastard likes pushing buttons on rookies. I think he just enjoys seeing us lose our shit. You not giving him anything is probably pissing him off.”

“How did he take the punch?”

“I didn’t make it to his face. That oaf, Boris, took the brunt and then tossed me out. After that, all hell broke loose. People got hurt. The entire case got thrown. Suddenly, there was a whole thing about the evidence being faked. Tampered with. Who knows, some stupid conspiracy bullshit. Internal Affairs didn't even bother with an investigation on that end. I got taken off the case.”

“You’re serious.”

“Why you think I’m still just a Detective, Will?” He smirked at her. “Really shot myself in the foot over that.”

“Well you’ve come a long way,” She gave him a small smile. She punched him gently on his shoulder. “I guess I should thank you for helping me not blow it in there.”

“Yeah. Although,” his voice went low with concern, “I didn’t like how he looked at you.”

“Plenty of guys look at me like that.”

“Not Rosello. It gave me more creeps than he usually does. Just keep your eyes open. He’s not known for being… gentle with women.”

She let out a small, sarcastic laugh. “Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Keep your gun with you. Don’t take the same route. Frank know how to take care of you?” He had serious eyes, concerned eyes.

“Fuck, Mark, I already have enough on my plate. I don’t need the godfather trying to take me out.”

“It seemed like more than that. Just a gut feeling. Have one of us take you home, at least for the next few weeks.”

“Great. Just great,” she muttered as she approached the elementary school. She didn't plan on following his request. She sighed and tried to think of what to do. All she wanted was to change the subject and pretend it wasn’t a new problem. “By the way,” she turned to Hoffman. “Who was your last partner? Does he still work with us?”

Hoffman lowered his face, eyebrows furrowed. “No.” He got out of the car and slammed the door, not bothering to look back as he entered the school.

Will went back to the station, parked the car, and slid into the uproar that was her paradise. The large, old building had character that she appreciated. Yellowed marble pillars, cracked concrete floors, and peeling walls; the station had quickly become a comfort to her so far on the job. Familiar faces nodded at her as she fast-walked towards the detective floor. The smell of burnt coffee greeted her as she walked by the break room.

“Hey, Maddox!” A vaguely familiar voice called out to her. She stopped and turned back toward the shabby kitchenette. David Tapp and Steven Sing were sitting back, ceramic mugs steaming. Tapp waved her over. “Still here?”

“Well, can’t let you two have all the fun,” she smiled at the two detectives. Detective Lieutenant Tapp was someone she admired from a distance, always hard at work. He was one of the oldest veterans in the precinct, with a track record that had him lined up to take Captain one day. She rarely saw his personal parking spot empty when she came and left the station.

“Where’s Hoffman?” Sing asked, sipping his drink.

“Out with Rigg.”

“It’s weird seeing you on your own. You two are usually stuck like velcro,” Tapp smirked up at her. “Good to see he's kept his nose clean with you. What’s been going on?”

“Oh.” She paused, then folded her arms. “I finally met Toni Rosello, just an hour ago.”

Tapp’s eyebrows went from intrigued to harrowed, his dark eyes going cold like steel. “Yeah? Sorry to hear that.”

Sing looked around before leaning in, “I know he’s got a lot of people here on his payroll, so it’s probably best if you keep any strong opinions to yourself.”

“Yeah. Hoffman enlightened me.” She sighed, resting her hip on the nearby counter. “He also told me that you two were some of the good ones trying to clean house.”

“Hoffman said that?” Sing’s incredulous expression and the tone of his voice puzzled her. Sing was one of the newest detectives in MPD, younger than her, crowned Prince Rookie of MPD, last she checked. By a month, she admitted, but still. One of the reasons he was with Tapp was because their experience gap was so wide, as was why she and Hoffman had been paired together. So what did he know that she didn’t about her partner?

“Yeah. Why’s that surprising?”

Tapp and Sing exchanged looks and gave her a wary stare. “Look. We’re not trying to stir the pot,” Tapp slowly explained, “but Hoffman has a history of not being exactly by the book.”

“Care to elaborate?”

Tapp kept eying her. “How loyal are you to your partner, Maddox?”

“At least as loyal as Sing is to you.”

“Then I’ll say this as respectfully as I can. You could do better. Have you considered getting reassigned?”

“I don’t see why, though. Hoffman has never let me down. He's good, though kind of an oaf.” He hasn't let me down yet. Not really. She didn't count their first day together. That was old news.

“You probably should hear it from him. I’m not going to gossip,” Tapp leaned back. “I like Hoffman. I think deep down, he’s just a little troubled. But he has a temper and struggles to keep it in check.”

“Yeah. You’re right,” she admitted. “But I don’t get why you think I should get reassigned.”

“It’s just… dangerous working with him, sometimes. He's got this reckless streak, where he hits first and asks questions late," Tapp let out a laugh, "I’ve said too much. You wanted to talk about Rosello. What do you need to know?”

She blinked and unfolded her arms. It was best to let things go, for now. She’d figure it out. One of these days, Hoffman was either bound to trust her enough to tell her or she'd find another way. “I was told you two were trying to take Rosello down. I want in.”

Sing smiled wide. “Nice. I did not see that coming.”

Tapp raised a brow, humming to himself as he tapped his coffee cup. Sing looked at him expectantly. “Well, Grissom always speaks highly of you. In fact, maybe you can help us out. We need to pick up several parcels of evidence across town. Whatever forensics finds from this old slaughterhouse we checked out today may give enough for a warrant. The place is supposedly a big heroin lab of Rosello’s. We were getting ready to go in about,” he checked his watch, “seven minutes from now. You free?”

“Actually, yes,” she ignored the image of the stack of files on her desk, not wanting to miss this opportunity. “I’d be happy to help.”

“Just - do us this one favor,” Sing’s face was stoic, his mouth frowning.

“Sure, what?”

“Keep this just between us. Hoffman doesn’t need to know. Just in case.”

Her throat tightened but she nodded. She couldn't pass this up. Besides, Hoffman probably wouldn’t care. The man wasn’t exactly eager to take on more assignments outside of what Grissom slammed on his table. Besides, he was out with Rigg. He'd probably be gone for the rest of their shift.

What a fucking trainwreck. Hoffman was pulling Rigg off of the man, forcing the uniformed officer to stand down. “Get the fuck out,” Hoffman snapped at Officer Daniel Rigg. “Leave!” Before Grissom takes your badge away, you hot-headed fuck. It was just perfectly ironic that he was the one maintaining composure in this situation. He impressed himself.

“You’ve just made the biggest mistake of your life! Cocksucker!” The man was cradling his hands in front of his nose, blood profusely dripping down onto his pale blue shirt. He screamed at the retreating backside of Rigg.

“Calm down,” Hoffman had his hand on the hysterical man’s shoulder, his adrenaline pumping as his mind flipped through the mental pages of his emergency response. Fuck, this was going to be another mess he was going to have to clean up. And the paperwork. Where the hell is Will when I need her? “We’ll have someone take a look at it, all right?”

The man glared up at him. “You guys are going to be hearing from my lawyer. You hear me? I’ll have his badge.”

Hoffman bit his lip, desperately trying to come with the right words. He had used all his suave talking with Rosello and was coming up short. “Let’s get you to a hospital.”

He looked up at his wife, her eyes wide with fear as she stared at her bloodied spouse. “Can you take him?”

“Yeah,” she whispered, lips trembling. Hoffman didn’t really care, though he was getting strong vibes that she didn’t want to be left alone with the man. But he wasn’t in the mood. “If he wants to make a complaint, tell him to call the station downtown and come in to make a statement.”

He walked by the couple and left, hearing Morgan’s hostile yells, “You’ll hear from my lawyer! You hear me? You sonsofbitches?!”

Hoffman practically kicked the exit door out of frustration, searching the streets for Rigg’s marked car. The squad car was parked. Rigg sat in the driver’s spot, gripping the steering wheel tightly. When he got into the passenger’s side, he let him have it.

“You really just fucked yourself, you know that?” He glared at the fresh rookie, contempt in his voice. “You knew there was little we could do. I told you. The girl wouldn’t speak.”

“But I know he hurt her,” the man’s eyes were wide with conviction. His mouth was curled in regret. “I just - lost control.”

“Yeah. I know.” He didn’t just know. He understood, more than Rigg could imagine.

“So this is it. I’m getting fired, aren’t I?” His voice sounded like a young boy, caught stealing candy and thought this was the end of the world.

Hoffman wanted to laugh. “No. You’re not getting fired.”

Rigg looked at him, confusion and disbelief painted on his face. “What do you mean?”

“He attacked first.”

“What?”

“You were defending yourself.”

“Hoffman, but you can’t just-,”

“Don’t worry about it. You did nothing wrong, all right, Rigg?” He stared at the man’s eyes, wide like a puppy dog. The guy was still just a rookie. Barely a year in the force. Hell, he was newer than Will was. He would learn, in due time. He’d learn to control that itch before it got out of control. If Hoffman could do it, anyone could. Though the job sucked, the coffee was crap, and his career was currently on ice, he didn't plan on making it worse for this guy. It was the one thing he could do, was take care of his own. “Just remember. He attacked you first.”

After a few seconds, Rigg finally nodded. Hope glinting in his face was enough to make him feel like this was the right thing to do. “Whatever you say, Hoffman.”

“When you get called to talk to Internal Affairs, just remember. He attacked first. And tell them to call me. I’ll take care of the rest. If the fucker does lawyer up, we'll have to meet with him. Be ready for that. Now drop me off at Barneby and West Sutton Street.” Hoffman rolled the window down and let the wind blow on his face as Rigg drove - sanely, thankfully - towards the liquor store across the street from his apartment.

Hoffman nodded to Rigg a farewell and went inside the corner liquor store. The cashier was new. He almost paused when he saw her. Time had stood still.

She was tall. He picked up long, golden hair shining under the fluorescent lights. He let his head turn to get a straight view of her. She was chewing gum, looking bored. Her blue eyes lit up and waved at him. Smiling. His stomach did a somersault.

“Hey,” he greeted, letting himself smile back at her. She’s a looker, that’s for sure. He went to the far back, for his standard Jameson and stopped to grab two bottles of wine for Angie’s dinner party the next day.

When he went to check out, the cashier looked at his selection. “Pinot Grigio?” She gave him an exaggerated look of disbelief. “You don’t seem the type. Girlfriend?” She scanned the bottle.

“Sister,” he quickly corrected, “it’s for a dinner party she’s hosting.”

“You going alone?” She chewed her gum and scanned the other bottles. “Now this,” she held the whisky up, “so you. Now, I know you must be at least over 21. But you look under 60 so….” she leaned forward, letting him get a nice look at the top of her swelling chest. “I’m going to need to see your ID.” She stuck her lower lip out, her voice going soft in that seductive way that just hit right.

Christmas came early this year.

After he flashed his ID and paid, she handed him the brown paper bags. His heart skipped a beat. “What’s your name?”

“Natalie,” she kept smiling at him like he was her favorite person to see.

“You want to grab a bite sometime?” He felt lame being so direct, expecting her to tell him to piss off. Shit, I should have introduced myself first. Fuck. He waited, his nerves tight, his face feeling warm. She wouldn't accept. There was no way.

“Well, it’s about dinner time. And I get off in just ten minutes if you don’t mind waiting a little.” She checked her watch before beaming back at him. She looked at him eye level, an experience that he rarely enjoyed.

He felt his breath catch slightly. This was an unexpected turn to the day he’d been having. “How about I drop these off and come back to pick you up?”

“Yay,” she cooed, “I’ll be waiting.” She let out a laugh that was flirty. Throaty. “What’s your name, handsome?”

“Mark.”

“Well, Mark, see you in ten.”

He never moved faster from the liquor store to his apartment in his life.

He had gone off with a noticeable pep in his step as he practically jogged towards his building, impatiently stomping on the elevator button to come take him to his floor. The woman of his dreams had just arrived. She was exactly what he’d fantasized, from her blonde head down to her soft playful voice. He had to change. He should shower. Fuck, there wasn’t enough time.

Where was he going to take her? The elevator doors opened up and he stabbed his floor number. The doors closed. His mind kept going through each option like an old projector reel.

Larry’s. No, Will said it smells like ass. And she always complains about it. He was only a third of the way there.

The Copper Sink? Nah, Will had pointed out the waitress didn’t wash her hands when she saw her in the bathroom. Halfway there.

Where, then? The doors opened and he ran to his door, bottles clinking their liquid sloshing in his arms.

He let out a small curse and finally pulled out his phone. He held the number two, waiting for his speed dial to go through. Fumbling with his keys, he unlocked and pushed open his door.

“Y-ello?” Angie cheerfully answered, the sound of pots and pans and shouting in the background. A male voice yelled out French words he didn't recognize. “What’s the emergency?”

“What’s a good place to eat near my house?” He had practically dropped the bottles on the counter and was running towards his bedroom, shrugging out of his work suit.

“Ha! Since when have you needed my opinion on the local eateries? Can’t wait for tomorrow?”

“I don’t have time for this, Angie. What’s a good place? A place you gals like? Something that’s not going to make you run screaming.”

“Oh. Oh!” Her voice got high-pitched with excitement. “Uh, wait - Tipton Tea on Broadway is decent. Oh, shoot. It’s closed on Thursdays. Give me a second.”

“You’ve got thirty.” He had tossed his open cell phone onto the bed and went through his closet to grab a clean shirt. He was going to be sweaty. Great. He ran to grab his deodorant and sprayed it under his arms, looking himself briefly in the mirror. He needed to comb his hair. He fixed himself as well as he could with so little time.

When he at least put on something fresh he took the phone back and was exiting his home. “Where, Angie?”

“Reggies. It’s literally right across the street from your place. Perfect last-minute stop. They’ve got safe food, American eats. The decor is fun. Get the portobello swiss burger, it’s so good, I know you'll like it! They have vegan options, too.”

“Thanks. Love you.”

“Love you too! What’s her name?!” He was in the elevator trying not to keep up a sweat, breathing heavily as he lowered down to the first floor.

“Natalie.”

“She must be something to get you this flustered,” she laughed. “Tell me about it tomorrow, okay?”

“Yeah. See you tomorrow Ang. Bye.” He hung up and headed back to the store where Natalie was already standing outside and smoking a cigarette. She looked at him again, kissing the air as clouds slowly poured out of her lips.

“Hey, Mark,” she gave him a smile that made his knees feel weak.

"Hey."

When she got home late that night she had been smiling to herself, her chest warm and fuzzy at the progress they had made. They had him. Or at least, they had something that would burn a hole in his wallet, if all went well. Tapp expected a warrant by Monday. He had even invited her to come with to execute the warrant, the thought giving her butterflies. It would be so perfect to just ruin that piece of shit Rosello’s morning, she surmised as she unlocked her apartment door and got in.

“Frank?” She called out, eager to share the news.

The lights were all on but he hadn’t greeted her at the door. Her smile quickly flipped to a frown and she tensed her shoulders. She could feel something was off. It was too quiet. No TV played. Nothing. She needed to prepare. She braced herself as she slowly walked down the hallway and turned into the kitchen.

The bottles on the counter were the first thing she saw. Her heart sank. Frank, shirtless, stared at her with bloodshot eyes. He sat at their dingy kitchen table while pouring himself another healthy glass of what looked like vodka.

She didn’t speak. She stood and waited, her hands balling into fists. She was beyond tears. “You promised.”

He blinked at her, hiccuping. “What’re you looking at me for?” He slurred, his head lolling as he took another big drink. He burped and slammed the glass on the table, his movements unbalanced. His tolerance must have been so low. He had been so good until then. So good. Why did he start this back up again?

“Frank.” She took a step forward, her voice going soft. It seemed he was just going to be a peaceful, doped drunk that night. She counted her blessings. “We have a dinner party to go to tomorrow, remember? You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah!” He let out a half-burp, half-yell. “I ‘member. Gonna meet your bigshot partner. Finally.” He hiccuped again and pushed himself to his feet, his body rocking as though he was a sailor on a ship in a storm. He walked towards her. “You didn’t come home on time. I got tired… waiting.”

“I’m sorry,” she put an arm on his shoulder. “I had gotten so caught up with work, I forgot to call.”

“You always forget… about me.” His eyes were haggard and he sobbed. “You just hang out with your partner-all day. And never care… ‘bout me.”

“That’s not true, Frank. I love you.” She put her arms around him and held him tightly. “Let’s go to bed.”

She waited for him to move but instead felt her hair being pulled as she was shoved backwards. She fell, off-guard, hitting the corner of the archway into the hall. It stung, knocking her to her knees as she tried to recover. Even piss drunk he was strong.

“Fuckin’ liar!” he coughed and ran to the sink to throw up. She heard him retch, her eyes stinging with the tears she had tried so hard to push back.

She covered her face with her hands. She needed to cancel tomorrow. “Frank, don’t worry, we don’t have to go. You're not ready.”

“We’re fucking going!” He declared. “You’re just trying to cover your ass. ‘Cause when I meet him I’ll know. When I shake his fuckin’ hand. I'll see it in his eyes.” He pointed wildly, talking to the sink as though the faucet was her face. He pushed himself away from the counters and managed to find her, turning back to her with a hand held upwards. “You-fucking-bitch.”

She got to her feet. Her heart was picking up the pace and she took a step back towards the front door. “If you get violent and I get bruised up, you know we can’t go. What would they think if they see me all banged up?” She held her chin up, almost hoping he’d go for it. She didn’t want to subject Mark and his family to her drama. She should never have accepted the invite. “So, go ahead, if it’ll make you feel better. But I’ll definitely cancel.”

He let out a laugh. “Oh, you always call the shots. You’re lucky,” he paused and swallowed, “you’re lucky I’m in such a good mood.” He stumbled to the living room and plopped on the couch, breathing heavily as he stared at the blank TV. "Lucky...."

She didn’t bother to turn it on for him. Let him figure it out himself. Her throat felt tight and stung as she forced herself to swallow. She wanted to cry. She wanted to scream.

She instead went to the bedroom and took a long shower, crying to the white noise of water splattering on tile, and then crawled into bed, hoping she’d wake up and everything would only be a nightmare. The back of her head still prickled until she finally blacked out.

Chapter Text

Will had a headache. She winced as she walked into the station, hoping Hoffman still had some aspirin for her to mooch off of. She was surprised to see him going through his mountain of folders, squinting down with pen in hand. How cute, he’s trying new things.

“Who are you and what have you done with my partner?” She announced herself as she took her seat across from him. “What’s up? You never do paperwork unless Grissom is right over your shoulder. I expected you were just going to one day get crushed by the inbox avalanche.”

“Got to make sure Grissom doesn’t keep me here late,” he didn’t look up, his nose to the grind while he frowned in concentration. “He’s been pulling that shit the past two Fridays. Remember, dinner tonight.”

“I know,” she raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. “You’re so serious. Is Angie that intense? Oh! What does she like? Drink-wise?”

“White wines, but I already got some. Just make sure you’re there. With Frank.” He finally looked up, his blue eyes piercing through her. “How’s it going?”

Her words caught in her throat and she looked away. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

“What happened?” He closed his folder and leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach. He was being surprisingly attentive. Something was off.

She felt her eyelids flutter as she recounted the past few hours of thrown glass bottles and the neighbors knocking to complain about the noise. “He’s relapsed.”

“Sorry, Will,” his voice sounded genuinely grave. He pursed his lips in pity. It made her feel a swell of frustrated grief and she let out a huff.

“Forget it. He better behave tonight or he’s only going to make a damn fool out of himself. I made that ultimatum. I’m seriously thinking it’s time to go through with it. But not tonight. Don’t worry, I’ll try to make this as painless as possible.” She rubbed her temples. “You got any more aspirin?”

He opened his drawer, took out the pills, and placed them near her. “I’ll get you some water. Keep it together, Maddox.”

She nodded, fingers pressing into the meat of her face while she clenched her teeth to try to shove away the migraine crashing through her like a wave. She took slow breaths, wishing she could go somewhere quiet and dark to lie down.

“Okay, Maddox?” A feminine voice, clipped and sharp, called out. She looked up to see fellow Detective, Allison Kerry, smiling down at her. The woman was cradling a steaming mug, a bulletproof vest on her small frame.

“Yeah, just didn’t sleep well.” She blinked through the pain and forced a smile. “Thanks. What’s with the vest?”

“About to head south. I like the extra protection. Don’t let Grissom work you too hard. I know you’ve been spending extra hours with Tapp and Sing. Glad you’re on board. Let’s grab coffee sometime. I’ve been meaning to get to know you. Nice to have another pretty face around.” She smiled down at her before her eyes darted towards something behind Will.

“Kerry.” Hoffman sounded passive and cool.

“Hoffman,” Allison’s face had gone from friendly to stone cold. She quickly walked by with a curt, “‘Morning.”

“Didn’t know you two talked.” Hoffman handed the styrofoam cup to her on the way back to his seat, and returned to his work. He didn’t seem perturbed, his focus completely at the tasks on his desk.

“First time,” She took double the recommended dosage and chewed the bitter pills, grimaced, and washed them down with the cool water. She hoped they’d kick in fast. Thankfully, she wasn’t swamped with work like Hoffman was.

The morning was surprisingly slow for a Friday. The cooler seasons were like this. Most people wanted to bundle up and stay indoors rather than cause too much mayhem. It was a nice break.

The two of them sat in silence, the station’s main floor full of the typical ambient telephone rings and footsteps. It was their background music. As Will continued to cradle her face in her desk and wait for the drugs to take effect, there was a sound that seemed… extraneous to the standard symphony of police business. Something soft and out of place. A song.

It was low, barely heard over the typical buzzing of their workspace. But she picked it up, a frequency that she could just detect. Her eyes darted up, watching her partner, who was responsibly reading through a police report. The sound seemed to resonate right in front of her, but that couldn’t be right.

And yet. She noticed his nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled to continue the melody.

“Are you… humming?”

“What?” The music stopped and he looked up at her in confusion.

“You were humming,” she finally declared, eyes wide with disbelief. She felt a triumphant smile spread on her face. “Oh my God, Hoffman, you’re…” she looked him up and down, realizing she had missed the details earlier. His hair was combed back and held with product. He was wearing a freshly ironed, clean shirt. He was secured with a deep crimson set of suspenders, flashy, for him. His face was freshly shaven, something she rarely saw. He tended to just perpetually have a five o’clock shadow. “...you’re like a different person.”

His clear face quickly shut down into a scowl as he closed off. “Don’t know what you mean.”

Will went through the options in her head. What could it be? Her eyes darted around his cheeks and neck, noticing his collar was pressed and carefully buttoned all the way up. He normally didn’t care too much about keeping his suits in place when he was at the station, often leaving the top button undone or his tie uneven and pulled loose.

It can’t be. “What’s her name?” Will smiled widely, confident she was right.

Hoffman cleared his throat and looked around, almost nervous. “Natalie,” he softly admitted.

“Oh my God, Hoffman,” She was gushing. “She must be stunning to have gotten you to sing at work on a Friday.”

“Shut up.” He pointedly ignored her and stared down at his desk.

“Uh-uh,” her troubles melted away as she sat forward and leaned on the desk. This was just the type of distraction she needed. “You always get to hear all the juicy details about my problems. I’ve got to hear something sweet for a change. How did you two meet? Let me guess - coffee barista? Did she make the first move?”

“Uh, actually, she works at the liquor store by my building. And I asked her out.”

“Huh.” She blinked but pressed on. “Didn’t know you had it in you. And I know how high your standards are,” she felt her smile grow like the Cheshire Cat's. “She checks all the boxes? Does she tower over you in heels?”

Hoffman squinted at her but the faintest smile broke on his full lips. “You’ll see tonight.”

“I get to meet her?” She sat up and clapped her hands together. “Yes! You know how to brighten my day.”

“You’re a goof,” he snapped, not enjoying the moment like she was.

“Yeah and you’re totally in looove,” she pulled the last word out, savoring Hoffman’s discomfort. He continued to pretend to not hear her as she giggled, her migraine just barely throbbing as she giddily imagined what Natalie was like. She was absolutely going to get close to her, just to fuck with Hoffman.

She was pleased with how red his neck got under his shirt. “You’re picking her up after work, I’d bet, judging from how cleaned up you look. You’d wear sweatpants on Fridays if Grissom would let you.”

“If I don’t get this shit done with, Grissom’s going to keep me late,” he gruffly stated. “So save the roast for tonight.”

“Say no more.” She leaned forward and lifted a healthy stack of files from his mountain peak. He looked at her in aggravation until she dropped them on her desk, held a hand up in the “stop” signal, and went serious. “Chill. Normally, I’d just watch you struggle, but you’re not going to get this all done in time. I don’t want to miss tonight now, not for the world. Oh, and you totally owe me.” Frank won’t get out of hand, she assured herself, now humming the very same tune Hoffman had been earlier. It had been Mi Vida Loca.

If Hoffman brings a lady friend tonight, this could just be the type of thing that’ll make Frank see that there’s nothing to worry about.

With high hopes, she and Hoffman dug deep into the neverending sea of court proceedings, testimonial confirmations, and subpoena documents.

“Mark, can you stir the sauce?” Angelina was dutifully turning the red sauce with a wooden spoon, the steam billowing into her face.

“Sure thing,” Her older brother wasn’t much on his own in the kitchen, but she had been patient with him and had got him to at least be capable of making his own meals that he didn’t hate. He was always a responsive and obedient sous chef.

Her big brother went to her side and took the large saucepan’s handle and began pushing around the bubbling tomato paste. He cast a look back to Natalie, who locked eyes with him and smiled behind her wine glass as she took a long and thoughtful sip. Angie was ecstatic, seeing the two of them share such cute looks at each other. It reminded her of when she and Peter had first dated.

“Natalie, can you peel the garlic?” Angie was back and forth in her own kitchen, checking the various pots and pans, adding seasonings while referencing her timer. She was head cook, giving orders and tasting the various dishes that steamed the most aromatic and delicious fragrances.

The space was relatively small compared to what she was used to at work, but it came with an industrial gas stove, granite countertops, and an overhead lighting fixture that also held the various quality kitchenwares she had collected since she began her career. Peter had renovated their apartment kitchen himself, even shifting the island counter back to give the stove area more wiggle room for her.

Angie retrieved a bulb of garlic and brought out a bowl. She handed it to Natalie with a gracious smile.

“Will do,” Natalie dutifully put her glass down in a free spot on the island and began peeling. “Mark says you’re an amazing chef.”

“He’s right, though I’ll let you be the judge of that. I hope you like Italian.”

“Love it.”

“I’m so glad you could come. I know it’s probably a little fast meeting family but know you’re always welcome,” She put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, squeezing it warmly. She admitted Natalie was gorgeous. She could have been a model, with her full cupid’s bow lips and slanted, almond eyes. Mark was clearly smitten with her, casting love-struck-puppy-dog stares towards her every couple of minutes. She already had an inkling that she was going to need to drive the conversation when Mark’s partner got there.

“Nice to finally meet you two!” She heard Peter in the other room. She wiped her hands on a nearby kitchen towel and quickly exited the kitchen.

The man was surprisingly thin. Wiry, but cute in a boyish way. He had a long nose and an awkward grin on his face. “Will!” She came up and pulled the man into a warm hug. She was hit with a mix of cologne and alcohol but she pushed through. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. Thanks for coming!” She broke the hug, noticing how stiff he had gone as she looked at him. He looked confused and laughed nervously.

“Uh, actually, I’m Will,” his wife waved awkwardly and Angie slowly turned her head. She had completely missed her at first, her short stature eclipsed by the man.

“Oh!” She felt her cheeks burst in heat and she covered her mouth. “I’m sorry-I had thought-,” She looked towards the kitchen, her brain short-circuiting as she tried to process what had just happened. She felt quick anger rise up her chest. She was going to kill Mark. She spun back around and gave an apologetic grin. “Okay, Mark did not tell me you-sorry, I really messed up.” She felt mortified, embarrassment making her limbs go stiff. Way to be passively sexist, Ang.

“No, you didn’t,” Will shook her head and quickly held her hands out for a make-up hug. “Don’t worry, I get it all the time. It’s totally understandable.” Angie sighed in relief and hugged the woman, noticing she felt surprisingly firm and tight on her back. She was ripped. She was shorter than Angie and with a wild mane of red hair that reminded her of a halo of fire.

“Will! You’re…” Angie trailed off, “totally going to have to go shopping with me sometime. I’m so happy to have a new girlfriend.”

Will laughed and introduced her husband. “This is my husband, Frank Griffin.”

“Hi,” the man’s grimace grew tighter as he looked around nervously. He looked to Peter who held up his beer.

“What’ll you have? We’ve got Corona, Heineken, wine,” Peter trailed off, looking back and forth to the guests. Angie noticed Will’s shoulders had squared and had a nervous energy around her. Frank looked relieved. “How about I just show you two? Everyone’s in the kitchen?”

“Wait-Peter, the kitchen may get a little cramped,” Angie’s protests were ignored as everyone made their way into her domain. She strode in, not about to back down. “Maybe you can turn on the game until dinner’s ready-,”

“-we’ve got some various beers, pick your flavor.” Peter had the refrigerator wide open, showcasing their stash to the guests.

“You got anything stronger?” Frank was squatting in front of the chiller, surveying his options.

“Frank!” Will had her arms crossed, shaking her head.

“Is this the man himself?” Mark’s voice was loud over the sound of the stove’s overhead fan. “Hey, Nat, take this, won’t you?” He held the wooden spoon out towards Natalie, giving the newcomers a warm smile.

“Sure thing.”

Mark wiped his hand on his pant leg and held it out to Will’s husband. “Mark Hoffman. Will’s told me a lot about you.”

Frank looked at her brother as though dazed, taking in every inch from Hoffman’s forehead to his knees. “Frank Griffin,” the two men shook hands, a chill suddenly blew through the warm kitchen. Will was watching the two while biting her lower lip, her fingers tapping on her folded arm. She seemed nervous. How odd.

“So you’re the reason Will’s always missing dinner,” Frank joked, flashing teeth. “I hope you’re keeping her safe while she’s out there.”

Mark blinked then chuckled. “She’s decent at taking care of herself. But I’ll look after her.”

“I bet you will.” The way he said it seemed off. Aggressive. Angie’s attention sharpened at this, noticing Will looked pained while Mark’s eyes had narrowed. Natalie had turned at this, eyebrow raised in interest.

“Okay,” Natalie fanned herself. “It’s getting a little steamy in here. Do you all mind letting Angie have her kitchen back?” She smiled at her, tipping her wine glass in her direction. “Everyone who’s not actively helping, grab your drinks and get out.” Angie already knew this woman was a keeper.

“Right,” Peter had picked up on the hostility as well. He cleared his throat. “Let’s all give the chefs some space. While everyone grabbed their beverage of choice, he held the kitchen door open. The cooler apartment helped ease the sweltering heat.

Will, beer bottle in hand, took Frank’s fingers and pulled him out. Mark gave Angie a, ‘Can you believe this?’ look.

Peter, always the good host, went out, saying loudly, “Did Mark tell you that I’m a magician?”

Angie sighed as soon as the doors were closed. “What did you do?” She gave Mark a suspicious, accusatory look. “And don’t even get me started on how you just kept me in the dark on the fact that you’ve been working with a.... Will, your-,” she abruptly paused, “-partner, and you didn’t correct me once when I kept referring to her as a ‘he’.”

Now Mark looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his head. “Well, it just didn’t seem like it was ever going to matter. I didn’t think she’d come.”

“It matters. This whole time,” she waved her hands and wanted to raise her voice but kept it level, “I could have gone out to watch romcoms with a buddy, since you know that Peter never takes me to see them, and you deprived me of that?"

"You don't even know if Will likes romcoms," Mark countered and she rolled her eyes. He was being the petulant brother who would do something wrong and pretend he was justified in doing so.

"Not the point. You’re so lucky we’re entertaining guests. I swear,” she crossed her arms tightly and gave Natalie a sympathetic smile. “Be ready to pull teeth with this guy. I have to beg him to tell me when his work holds their potlucks. He's so private.”

Natalie laughed softly while stirring the pot. Her voice was relaxed, but her tone had a knife’s edge to it. “I’ve noticed.”

Mark looked at both women, outnumbered. “Well, what do you need me to do?”

“You’re done in here. Go entertain. Don’t leave Peter alone. And make up with Frank, I don’t know what you did to piss him off, but fix it. I want tonight to go smoothly.”

She pointed at dessert, the tall chocolate cream puff cone against the kitchen table, golden caramel sparkling in the light. “Or no croquembouche.”

“No!” Mark half-sarcastically, half-seriously whined as he took his beer, gave Natalie a kiss on her cheek, and gave Angie a salute. “I’ll do my best. But no promises. If there’s any drama, it won’t be my doing.”

Angie raised an eyebrow as her brother disappeared behind the door. What the hell is going on?

"Sounds like tonight's going to be fun," Natalie commented, smiling at her with an awareness in her eyes that made Angie nervous.

"I guess so."

Hoffman took in a breath as he approached the living room. Frank had his arm wrapped around Will, his grip looking tight and possessive. He watched him through half-lidded eyes as he took long healthy gulps of his beer. Will's focus shot from watching Peter’s magic trick to the TV to Hoffman and back to Peter. That instant, he had seen her brown eyes wide with panic and then back to its passive mask. He nodded at Peter who was currently showcasing one of his cliched stunts.

Peter held the quarter in his hand and then with a few flashy moves of his fingers, the coin disappeared. When he reached behind Frank’s ear, he pulled out the very same quarter.

“Cool,” Frank commented while Will clapped her hands enthusiastically. Peter gave a deep bow.

“And now, prepare to be astounded. Mrs. Maddox, if you would check your pocket,” Peter’s voice was deep with booming showmanship.

Hoffman couldn’t help but smirk at the goof as he sighed into the recliner closest to the TV. He propped his legs up by leaning back and enjoyed watching the game. He took slow sips from his Heineken while watching their city’s baseball team score a homerun. He tried to appear as unimposing as possible. He didn’t give Will a single glance. He had a hunch that Frank was already wound up a little tight. The fucker had some insecurities he needed to work on.

Judging from how he reeked like the drunk tank did on a Saturday morning, he kept his ears sharpened to any trouble while making sure he wouldn’t help start any.

Peter continued his parlor tricks and their team was winning by a wide margin. The evening was off to a good start. He felt Frank stare burning holes into his face but he wouldn’t engage or look back. He wanted to, oh hell yes, but he wanted to do more than just mean mug the fucking prick. But he kept his composure. He wasn’t going to go off and make things harder for Will. The gal didn’t need any more shit on her plate.

“Yeah, you’ve already made stuff disappear,” Frank sounded unimpressed, “but do you do anything else? Like saw assistants in half?”

“Well-,”

“Frank, how would he be able to do that here? Right now? Peter, I enjoyed your show. Thanks for sharing.”

“Yeah.”

Hoffman finally stole a gaze towards his fellow guests. Frank had already finished his beer and was waving it up to Peter. “Refill?”

“Sure thing,” Peter took the empty green bottle and kept smiling. “I’ll be right back.” He retreated to the kitchen, walking by Hoffman with a quick glance that looked unhappy. Great, so it’s just us. He already knew Peter would be taking his time getting that fresh bottle.

The three remaining sat in that awkward silence. He could have cut the tension with a knife. He kept his eyes on the TV screen.

“So, Mark,” Frank was the first to break the silence. “You look like you’re in decent shape. You work out?”

“Yeah. Part of the job.”

“How much can you chest press?”

“Enough to get by.” He finally turned from the game to face the prick. He looked at the man’s narrow frame and didn’t bother to ask how much he’d chest press. “I don’t keep track,” he lied.

“That’s a shame. You and Will ever work out together?” Frank looked over to his wife. “After all, you two work late all the time. I bet it’s hard to keep yourselves in shape without making the time.”

He remembered to breathe long and deep through his nose but it did little to hold his anger at bay. The mandated anger management training was crap. He already knew what the fucker’s angle was. “There’s a gym at the station. I’m sure Will’s told you.”

“Yeah, but partners do everything together, right? Even working out?”

The piece of shit just wouldn’t let it go. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Yeah. We even shower together. Wouldn’t you love to hear that? “We work out at the same time occasionally. Not necessarily together.”

“Interesting. Because if you two go to the gym together, wouldn’t you effectively be working out together?” Frank’s smile looked triumphant and he took his arm off of Will. “So just the two of you, working hard. Keeping yourself lookin’ good. Must be sweaty work.”

“What the fuck, Frank,” Will’s hand went to her temple and she rubbed it with eyes cast down to the wooden floors with intense interest. “Please. Stop.”

“Heyyy,” Peter came in with an arm wrapped around frosty glasses and an equally fogged bottle of green spirits. “Who wants some Jäger?”

He would have smacked Peter on the back of his head if he didn’t love Angie so much. He couldn’t be too mad at the guy, though. He just didn’t have a lot of good sense in his thick skull. Pete is probably thinking he’s going to save the night with this stunt. He shook his head solemnly. This was all on him. He should have warned Angie and Peter that Frank was an alcoholic. Will had dropped hints and he had figured as much. But he didn’t realize Frank Griffin was not just an alcoholic, but a worthless piece of shit who couldn’t keep his mouth shut sober. This was going to be a long night.

“You’re a godsend,” Frank let out a relieved sigh of pleasure as he took his glass. He downed it and held the empty cup back to their host before Peter had made the rounds.

“Whoops!” Peter poured him another. Peter handed Hoffman one with a hopeful smile and Hoffman wished he could communicate with his eyes that this was literally the worst thing he could be doing. Will looked defeated. “A toast!” Peter held out the glass. “To new friends and good food!”

“Here here,” Will was always courteous, smiling sweetly up at Peter, despite the sadness lining her face. “Thank you so much for having us.”

They downed the frigid licorice water with hearty gasps.

“So, Peter, how long have you and Angie been married?” Will asked, putting her empty glass on a coaster on the wooden coffee table at their knees.

“Oh, we’re not married. Yet.” Peter let out a small laugh.

“Oh. How long have you two been dating?”

“About six years.”

“What are you two waiting for?!”

“That’s what I ask,” Hoffman interjected, smirking at the sweating man that could have been his brother years ago, if he just got off his ass and took the knee. Though Peter was an idiot, he was good to Angie. He made her happy, and he was an honest man. “My sister can’t be expected to wait forever.”

“Wow, gang up on me, why don’t you?” Peter had taken a seat on the couch next to Frank, tapping his hand on his knee. “Well, I can’t just propose without a steady job. The magic industry isn’t quite as stable as it used to be.”

“No shit,” Hoffman muttered as he took another swig of his beer.

“But I was talking to a recruiter for the Marines. If I can get through the physical fitness assessment, it’ll be a stable job with decent benefits.”

Hoffman spun to stare at the man. “You serious?”

“Yep. Angie and I talked it over. She doesn’t like the idea of me getting deployed but we’d make it work. We’d get married before then, of course. They're offering bonuses right now for infantry. They're desperate for people. If I enlist, Angie could open up her own restaurant. But before all that, I just want to make it through Bootcamp first. Got to prove I can do it.”

“Wow. That’s wonderful you’re looking into that. Very honorable.” Will gushed, “I’m sure you’ll make it. Good luck to you.”

“Thanks.” Peter laughed while Hoffman felt his gaze go back to the kitchen door. Was Angie really fine with Peter just up and leaving? He felt a tinge of concern. She hadn’t told him that. He wasn’t the only one keeping things from the family.

“Dinner’s ready!” Angie’s voice called from the kitchen. “Mark, come help me bring things out.”

“That’s my cue,” He got to his feet with a grunt, the beer and Jager starting to make his head go soft.

He went to the kitchen where serving platters of ravioli, salads, fresh-baked bread, roast, and vegetables greeted him warmly. His mouth watered as he took the heavier foods to the dining room table in the adjacent room, Natalie and Angie following his lead. Peter was at the head of the table, seated already.

Once the table was loaded everyone took their seats. Hoffman and Natalie sat across from Will and Frank, respectively. Hoffman and Will locked eyes and she smiled at him, flashing her eyes to Natalie and back to him, her eyebrows dancing up and down playfully. He couldn’t help but smirk back at her, pleased she approved.

“Now, before we begin,” Angie took her seat opposite Peter and stood like a queen in her court. “I want to thank you all for coming. It’s always so wonderful to meet the people in Mark’s life. He means everything to me and anyone who’s a friend of Mark’s is dear to me as well. I hope you enjoy the meal. It is a porcini mushroom, beef, and spinach ravioli with goat cheese and port wine marinara. The focaccia was taken out of the oven two hours ago. And just you all wait ‘til dessert.”

Peter raised his fist and lowered it close down his side in a triumphant motion and a pleased expression towards the ceiling. Hoffman’s stomach growled.

“I hope you all enjoy your meal,” Angie took her seat and everyone began to break bread. Hoffman helped pass the side dishes around the table, putting a generous portion on his plate before handing it off to Natalie.

While everyone took their first bites, there were soft moans of pleasure and delight that made Hoffman feel a swell of pride for his sister. She always impressed with her food.

“Wow, Angie, this is amazing.” Will had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with awe. “I don’t think I’ve eaten anything so good in my life.” She fidgeted slightly when Frank turned to her gaping, a hurt expression her way. They locked eyes but Will shook her head. “Don’t get me wrong, Frank, I love your food too.”

“It’s fine,” Frank let out a forced laugh and was cutting into his food quickly. “This is. Very good. Amazing.” His smile was more of a grimace as he bowed his head to Angie. “If you are selling any cookbooks, I’ll buy one.”

“Thank you, Frank,” Angie beamed at him. “I don’t have one yet, but I’ll get onto that. As soon as I open up my own restaurant.”

This caught Hoffman’s attention. He never realized she was so ambitious; he wanted her to talk more about it. “You can do it,” he commented in between savoring mouthfuls. “You’d be the best.”

“I don’t know about that,” Angie was swirling her wine and smelling it. “But I’ve always wanted to start a business. Maybe a bistro. It would be nice to be the one calling the shots. But it’s hard to get started.”

“I’d absolutely pay to eat this,” Will commented, grinning through the meal. "When you get started, we'll be eager customers."

“So Will,” Natalie had been quiet at the start, her expression dreamy, “What’s it like, being a detective? It must be hard, being one of the only women at your job?”

Will pondered this question as she chewed, took a sip of beer before answering. “I think it's a lot better than it was just a generation ago. It's not so bad, in that aspect. Though I do have to prove myself a little bit more than the next guy. But the job is a thrill. Every day’s an adventure,” she gave a small smile, “I always go home with a story to tell.”

Frank let out a small crow before blinking and looking up at everyone staring at the sudden outburst. “She doesn’t tell me any stories.”

“You never want to hear them,” Will quipped, squinting at the man. “I’ve totally tried telling you about my day.”

Hoffman’s eyes flickered to the couple, noticing that Will seemed fatigued from Frank’s bullshit. Her voice was irritable.

“Oh, I get it, honey,” Natalie didn’t seem perturbed by the bickering, her voice smooth and sweet. “I dated a guy who never wanted to hear about my day. And he’d always get so confused as to why I stopped talking about my job. It’s a guy thing.” She was full of sympathy, nodding to his partner.

“Oh, so you’re just going to chock all our problems off to me being a guy?” Frank snapped, redirecting his meanspirited tone towards her.

This caused another pause in the room.

“Hey.” Hoffman interjected. “Cool it. We’re just having a conversation. No need to get so worked up.” He kept his voice level but pushed the steel coldness into his glare, daring the pipsqueak to do something about it. Give me a reason.

“You’re just going to sit there and let us be insulted by these-,” he waved his hands at the women at the table but cut himself off. It didn’t matter, though. The damage was being done.

“Frank,” Will softly soothed but flinched when he slammed his fist on the table, shaking everyone’s world. The sharp clink of silverware against porcelain was jarring.

Hoffman took action. “All right, guy,” he got to his feet. “Let’s take a walk. Cool down.”

Frank glared menacingly up at Hoffman, uncowed. “Make me.”

He felt his lips curl into a malicious smile and he leaned over the table, hunched over to not hit the lighting fixture, bracing himself for a fight. He squared his shoulders and leaned close to the shrimp’s face. “You’ve got three seconds and I will.”

Angie and Peter looked like deer caught in headlights. Natalie had her eyebrow raised, an amused smile on her face as she propped her chin with her elbows and took it all in like it was reality TV. Will’s face and neck were as red as her hair, her grimace full of humiliating pain. And Frank seemed immune to the discomfort he spread to the room.

“Maybe it’s best if we go,” Will softly whispered and took her napkin from her lap. She placed it on the table and rose to her feet. “I am so sorry,” she bowed her head in sorrow. “Thank you so much for having us-,” she had her hand on Frank’s shoulder but he shrugged out of her grasp and stomped to his feet. He stalked off out of the room with Will quickly going after him.

“Frank!” The door slammed sharply, followed by a softer reopening and closing.

Hoffman straightened his back, readjusted his shirt, and took a seat with a calm sigh. He returned to his food, pretending nothing was amiss. “Can someone pass the ravioli?” He asked the room of stunned patrons, taking another bite.

The rest of the meal had been quiet, everyone somber. Hoffman didn’t let it bother his night too much. He didn’t like seeing Angie look so troubled, her eyes brimming with tears from the stressful event. But she wouldn’t need to worry. Frank was not welcome back. That was for sure.

Natalie tried to help keep the night going well. She was a real champ, talking about how she was a painter. An artist. Angie and Peter took in all her words religiously, clearly trying to distract from the intensity that had stormed through their evening.

Once the meal was done, dessert came and went. Hoffman didn’t find himself enjoying it as much as he’d like, a flicker of thought on Will making his appetite flatten. He hoped she was fine. He should probably call her later that night, to check up on her. Unless that prick takes her phone. That could make things worse.

Finally, it was time to go home.

When Peter and Angie said their goodbyes, he took Peter aside and whispered in his ear. "You have your revolver?"

Peter's face was shocked. "Yeah-why?" He whispered back, casting a nervous glance at Angie.

"If that fucker comes back, don't open the door. Call the police. Call me. And keep your gun handy. Don't let him anywhere near Angie."

"Is he dangerous?" Peter was slow on the uptake but his eyes were all serious and prepared.

"Yeah. Just keep an eye out."

He and Natalie said their goodbyes, descending down the stairs of the apartment building.

“So…” Natalie had trailed off for a moment but stopped their descent midway down. “What was up with that guy?”

“Frank?”

“Yeah.”

Hoffman shrugged. “He’s a fuck.”

“Yeah. I got that. But-I got some creepy vibes from him. He doesn’t… hurt Will or anything, does he?”

Hoffman looked up at her, blinking. “It’s not really your business.”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Oh. I see.” She folded her arms and leaned against the railing, looking cool and distant. “Well, it’s your business. Isn’t it?”

He didn’t respond to this. He didn’t like this conversation. She was still a stranger. A bystander. She wasn’t involved. Why was she being so upset?

“The fact that you’re not saying anything is telling me everything I need to know.” She sighed and continued down the stairs. He had driven her there, but she didn’t make a point to return to the car when they stepped outside. He stood waiting at the passenger side, holding the door for her. She shook her head, a sad frown on her lips. “Mark, I think I’ll take a cab.”

He blinked, confused. “Are you sure? You want me to hail you one?”

“I’m sure. And no.” She started walking away, bewildering him.

“What’s wrong?” He called out to her, not understanding the sudden shift in her demeanor. She had dismissed him, all her beauty and grace shelled off and shutting him out.

She stopped and turned around. “Look. I’m sure you mean well. You clearly care about your sister. But I’ve been getting some mixed signals from you. And red flags. I don’t think this is going to work out,” she shook her head, hands in her pockets.

“I don’t get it,” he bit his lip. “Can you explain?”

“Well, you’re very private. You don’t tell your sister your partner’s a woman. I get not telling me. It’s like the second date, why would you? But clearly, she seemed bothered by you lying to her about it. And just that whole,” she waved her hand in a circle, “thing with you and your partner. I get some vibes that there’s something there, something more than just a working relationship. That you two are close, which is fine, I’m not the jealous type. But if you really cared about her like a friend, then what’s with her husband?” She slumped her shoulders. “Oh my God, that guy. I can’t believe you just sit back and let him be that way. You must have known about him before today.”

“Why do you care? You don’t know the whole story.”

“Maybe not, but I want no part in it after what I’ve seen.” She took a step back to him, a solemn look on her face. “Sorry, but I’m just not feeling us anymore.” She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. “Good luck to you. Take care.”

She turned and walked off, the woman of his dreams disappearing before he even had a chance.

He had punched her in the stomach. It not only pushed the wind out of her lungs, but she dry heaved to the side as she bowed over, clutching her gut and coughed. She was in the foyer, so close to the door. Her purse was drawn across her chest. She had been so close.

It was over. She had told him as much as soon as they had gotten home. She was leaving. She would leave if it killed her.

“You think you can just go?!” He screamed, throwing the nearest object at her back, a picture frame. The glass exploded and her spine shot electric needles on her back ribs. She turned to see it had been the wedding photo she had hung when they first moved there.

“Yes,” she choked out. “I can’t do this anymore, Frank.” She went to reach for the doorknob but felt herself get pulled back by her ponytail. Every inch of her begged for the pain to stop. She just wanted it all to stop.

She spun and punched him as hard as she could in the neck, finally letting her training take over. It horrified and excited her how good it felt. He had released her hair promptly and clutched his neck, gasping with the whites of his eyes growing into giant saucers that stared at her in disbelief. She had drawn her gun from her purse, pointing it at him. She knew she wouldn’t shoot him but if the gun went off, she didn’t think she’d be complaining too much.

He looked at the weapon with a newfound fear in his eye. “Will,” he rasped.

“Back the fuck up.” The safety was on. Her finger wasn’t even in the trigger guard. But she wanted him to just leave her alone. Once and for all. She was so tired of the pain. She was so tired of being hurt by him. Her hand tremored, not from the weight of the gun, but from the adrenaline that coursed through her and from the muscle cramps that came from getting slammed against the wall.

She wouldn’t cry. She was beyond that. She just wanted to make her escape. She backed out the door and slammed it shut behind her, briskly walking towards the stairs. If he chased her, he’d have to do so where plenty of neighbors could intervene. Or at least witness. She didn’t care anymore about what people thought. She just wanted to get away. She heard footsteps behind her and her name, making her begin to sprint down the stairs while her heart thudded in her chest.

The humiliation was too much. This had happened too many times. She had come to this city for change; for a fresh start. And he went and poisoned all of it. All she heard was her scared breathing and her heart in her ears as she quickly descended the many levels of stairs. There was a ringing in her head and she felt as though she was not in her body, but watching it from above. It was like she was a character going about the motions of putting one foot on a step and repeating, until she rushed out to the front doors of the building and gasped in the sweetest, coldest air she had tasted since she had first arrived here.

She looked up at the starless sky and around at the city. She squeezed her grip on her gun. Amber lights illuminated the streetwalkers, who didn't look at her as they went about their business. She looked at her back, at the depressing bricks of the building that she always dreaded approaching when she got home from work.

This was it. She was leaving for the last time.

“Will?” A male voice called to her and she jumped, spinning her head, raising her gun. She immediately pointed the weapon to the air when the figure flinched.

“Hoffman?” She whispered, blinking fast. Her skull was prickling. She felt something wet trickle down her forehead. Was it raining? Was she sweating? Or was it... “Shit. I almost shot you. I thought-,”

“What happened?” He had held his hands up in rapid response to her weapon but lowered them and approached her once she no longer had the barrel pointed in his direction. “Where’s Frank?”

She threw her chin to the building. “In there. I just ended things. I’m done.”

“Sure,” Hoffman’s hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped and spun her face to look up at his, realizing she was hyperventilating. Panic attack. This is a panic attack. She felt the warm metal of her gun get gently tugged out of her grip. He had taken it from her, she realized. She looked up at his face, her vision cloudy. “You’re shivering, Will.” He looked around, checking the surroundings as though scanning for trouble, before taking his jacket off and putting it around her shoulders. “Come on. Let’s get you out of the cold. It’s going to rain. My car’s right over there.”

She nodded, following him numbly. She didn’t recall getting in the car. She didn’t recall the heat being turned on and blasting inher face. She didn’t recall him saying anything until she noticed the car was parked somewhere that was not her stomping grounds. She hadn't even realized he had driven her somewhere.

“Where are we?” She scanned the unfamiliar streets, expecting the station to appear. She figured he was taking her to file a police report. Or maybe he was taking her to Angie’s? Though that would simply be too embarrassing to deal with. She’d get a hotel. Yeah. A hotel would be nice.

“My place.” Hoffman turned to her, eyes serious. “You left Frank. This is the most dangerous time for you. You know that. If Frank tries to find you, he knows where you work. He knows where Angie is. He knows where you like to go. But he doesn’t know where I live. And if he happens to find out, he won’t touch you. I promise. I won’t let that happen.”

She didn’t fully register what he was saying but his words helped soothe her. His voice was deep and rich, confident and strong. He had a hand graze her shoulder, gentle. She just nodded. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.” He got out of the car and she followed, keeping her eyes downcast. Bits and pieces of the next few minutes unfolded in snapshots. She was entering an unfamiliar building. Blue. She saw pale blue. Maybe the walls. Maybe his eyes.

The ding of an elevator. The feeling of ventilation on her face as she walked by some air vents. The smell of cheap cleaning solution and the mustiness of an old building filled her nose. The sound of metal on metal and the sliding of a deadbolt. The creak of a rusty door hinge.

The click of a door closing. The sound of locks being engaged. Darkness. She was in darkness.

And then soft, yellow light shined, throwing her off guard for a moment. When her vision adjusted, she realized where she was.

His place.

Hoffman had gone into the kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter. His apartment was small, much smaller than his sister’s, but had a coziness about it. The kitchen was compact and clean, the only appliance in view a coffee pot. On top of the fridge were various bottles of hard liquor, all brown spirits, and mostly bourbons and whiskeys. There was a small couch and recliner and a tube television that was perched on shelves full of VHS tapes.

The place had a neutral smell. There was a hint of coffee, bleach, aftershave, and a smell that she could only identify as his scent. A mix of musk and oak.

“It’s clean,” she muttered as she stepped deeper into his domain. There was a photo hanging on the wall, a picture of younger Hoffman and Angie, with two older adults that must have been their parents, smiling back at her.

“What, you assume I live like a slob?”

“Judging from your bar choices, yeah.”

He was pouring himself a drink. “Want one? Or am I being insensitive,” though he normally would say this with sarcasm, there was a hint of tactful awareness.

“You’re fine,” she whispered and eyeballed the glass. “I think I could use one. Or several.”

“All right,” Hoffman pulled out another glass, pouring her a healthy amount. “I don’t think I’ve seen you drink much.”

“Yeah. I just don’t like hangovers.” She threw the glass back, not caring if it was brash or uncultured. She just wanted to feel numb, not this hypersensitivity that made her fidget. She let out a gag at how hot her throat felt and tried to resist coughing. She was more of a wine and beer kind of drinker.The firewater burned a hole in her chest. “But right now, I don’t give a fuck.” She placed the glass back on the counter and leaned over it. “Fuck, Hoffman. Fuck my life.”

“Yeah,” was all he said as the sound of liquid pouring trickled through the two of them. He slid the glass back at her and she heard him take a big gulp of his glass. “I feel that.”

She looked up at him, realizing something else was amiss. “What happened with Natalie?”

“She dumped me.” He poured himself another and downed it again with ease, unperturbed by the alcohol content. “Said I should be more involved with-,” he looked at her, then, as though considering his next words carefully, “-the welfare of my friends. She's right.”

Her face felt flush as the heat of the bourbon warmed her toes. "Damn. I'm sorry, Mark. That doesn't seem fair though. She ended it just like that?"

"Yeah." He stared into his glass, stoic but troubled.

"Did you tell her that your friend didn't need your help?”

“No. Because that’s bullshit. I should have stepped in sooner. Instead of just watching you struggle through all of this on your own.” He wouldn't look at her. “I just didn’t believe it was that bad. I didn't want to believe it. I'm a prick who wanted to not be involved. And I’m an idiot. Seeing the way he treats you in public-,”

“Oh, you thought dinner was bad?” Will let out a crude laugh, taking her newly full glass to the couch, and collapsed into it. “Don’t even get me started.” She let out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Don’t start going all guilty on me, Hoffman. I didn’t want you to get involved. I want to handle my own problems. I thought Frank would change. I’m the idiot. You did the best thing, letting me see it for myself. You respected me when I told you to keep out.” She felt herself relax, the toxins she was chugging softening her mind and helped melt away her anxieties. “You’ve been good to me. You-you came to check on me tonight, didn’t you?”

Hoffman took his seat at the recliner, bringing the bottle with him. He placed it on the side table that separated the two of them and he kept both their glasses wetted. “Had to. I know he’s roughed you up before. I’ve seen the bruises. And I got him worked up. I couldn’t let him just hurt you. Not because he was too much of a coward to fight someone his own size. Fuck, Maddox, I let it go for too long.” He clenched his jaw and stared off in the distance. “You need to press charges. File a restraining order. Make him stay far away from you.”

She took slower sips, already her head spinning as she tried to listen to his words. “Yeah. I know.” She hated thinking about it. “Hey. Change of subject. Mind if I take a shower?” She looked down at her dinner party attire, wishing she had a change of clothes. “And… got a spare shirt lying around?”

“Yeah-,” he got to his feet quickly and hurried down the hall, his feet stomping firmly. While she waited, she took in the entertainment center. She noticed some of the titles shelved were old movies. John Wayne. Clint Eastwood. The corners of her mouth curled. He would be into westerns.

“I never wear these,” he came back with sweats and a shirt from one of the Metropolitan Police Department fundraisers, holding it out to her. “I keep some spare toothbrushes. They’re in the bathroom. You can take my bed.”

“Oh, no,” she got to her feet and took the clothes, “You don’t have to do that. I can take the couch. I’d fit on it better.”

“It’s a pullout. And no, take the bed. I changed the sheets this morning. They're fresh.” He gave her an embarrassed smile. “Consider it an extra boundary. For your safety. You can lock the door. Can’t let you just be left out in the open here.”

She blinked and laughed, figuring the alcohol was hitting the both of them quickly. He was going full tactical on her. It helped reassure her, his mind working defensively even so late in the night. “I trust you, Mark.” She crinkled her face at him. “But please tell me you’re not going old-fashioned on me.”

“Maybe a little bit.” Hoffman unbuttoned the top of his shirt. “Hurry up with that shower. I want to take one, too.”

“‘Kay. Just a heads up, though, I’m not that tired. So you can always take the bed. I think I’ll be up for a while.”

“Yeah. Me too. I don’t mind staying up.” He seemed flustered, his face pink. She noticed they were standing close to each other, close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. She needed to take a step back, wondering how they gravitated towards each other.

“Maybe we can watch a movie? I love John Wayne.”

“Really?” He seemed taken aback. “I’d never guess.”

“‘Talk low, talk slow, and don’t talk too much,’” she quoted, realizing it was a fitting reference. “I’m a sucker for anything on the silver screen.”

Hoffman smirked at her. “All right. I’m impressed.”

“Ah, don’t be. My Dad was just really into Wayne. He got me into old movies.”

“Huh.” Hoffman blinked. “My old man did the same.”

“Small world.” She smiled and slowly went to the bedroom. “I’ll be quick.”

She closed the door and locked it. When she entered and her gaze landed on the pristinely made bed, she felt her cheeks flush as the weight of where she was dawned on her.

Her curiosity drove her to scan the area, eager to get some clues as to understanding Mark Hoffman better. The bed was a queen size, gray comforter and muted blue sheets the color pallete. A dresser was against the wall, just underneath a wall mirror. She put her garments on the bed and ventured deeper into his territory. She noticed the dresser had a bottle of cologne, a comb, and a can of pomade. A picture of Angie and Peter, smiling, was pushed to the far back corner, along with what looked like some loose receipts and work notes that had been tossed half-hazardly there.

A knock on the door made her spin around. “Will-I need something in there real quick.”

She went to unlock the door and let him in. He seemed hurried as he went to the nightstand and pulled out a box. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, expecting him to explain.

“Shaving kit. I don’t want to bother you tomorrow morning when I need it,” he quickly explained and went to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

She smiled as he retreated and went to close the door again. Once she was locked inside she decided to save snooping for later. Hoffman was a private man and was already going above and beyond to help her out. She didn't want to overwhelm his generosity.

Remembering the reason for her present circumstance quickly pulled her back to Earth. She took a shaky inhale as she made her way to the bathroom and began running the hot water. When she looked in the mirror she had to do a double-take. She looked far worse than she had initially thought. There was blood caked on the corner of her nose and hairline. Fresh red welts were up her neck and the sides of her cheeks. She touched her face gingerly, hissing at how much pain was there.

Frank hadn’t let up on the car ride home. He had taken to throwing slaps and hailing punches at her face with one hand on the steering wheel, screaming and swerving throughout the entire trip. The memory was coming back and she let herself sob while the loud gush of shower water helped mask her weeping.

She went to unbutton her blouse, wincing at the strain it took to lift her arms. Her ribs felt as though she had gotten clobbered with a baseball bat. She pushed through and once she was completely nude, she studied the state of damage done to her. He had gone too far this time. She made herself look at the state of her body, willing herself to never go back to him. To never let him touch her again. Let this be a lesson.

The hot water scalded, the pressure strong and character building. It made the pain worse, but she pressed her hands against the tile and willed herself to have the shower pressure clean off the blood and drill into her that she could never take back Frank. She had done so far too many times. He could kill me, she felt her limbs tremble at the realization. She never considered this, not truly. She always held out hope that he deeply cared about her and would never do that. But he doesn’t. He never did. She was admonishing herself, letting herself softly wail as she grieved for the many years wasted. For believing that he deserved so many second chances. She cried for the life she let get out of control because she just couldn’t cut the cord. She cried until she had no more tears left to shed.

His heart raced as he looked over his shoulder and opened the polished mahogany box. It had just two things in it.

Her lock of hair, from earlier that week, was wrapped carefully with twine. An old note she had scribbled and left on his desk months ago was underneath. The hair; he didn’t know why he had kept it. He knew it would likely get him committed if anyone found out he was keeping it. At least, Will would probably never speak to him the same after its discovery. If at all. But he couldn’t just get rid of it. It was a rich golden red, the curly rivulets like the color of maple trees in Autumn. It would just be a waste to let it go to the trash, like it was garbage. No part of her was garbage.

The note he took out to admire her handwriting. She had left it on his desk one Friday night earlier in their partnership. Grissom had chewed him out for neglecting his administrative duties, having pointed out that Will had gotten all of her work out of the way earlier that week. Apparently, Grissom decided he could have done so as well. He had hated her, then, having blamed her for his predicament of not being able to go home and enjoy his personal time off.

When he had gone back to his desk, ready to slam his fists and throw tables, a small pastry box and a tall cup of coffee waited for him there. The note had been displayed with his name in her penmanship. It had been cursive and elegant, something that was out of place from the chicken scratch he had been used to seeing. He had still been angry, about to toss the contents in the metal bin by his feet, until he decided to just read it.

Donut worry about a thing! I’ve already taken care of some of the workload. Hope it helps.

Also, donut give up.

-Will

The puns had made him groan at first but they had quickly diffused his rage. The donuts and coffee had eased the suffering of that night. The blistering anger in his chest had dampened as though cold water had been tossed onto the flames and a wave of shame had washed over him. He had felt like a real ass for blaming her for his blatant refusal to do any of the boring aspects of his job.

She had been patient with him those first few weeks together, patient on a level he knew was practically saintlike. He had never met a person, besides Angie, who had been so considerate to him. He thought it was just one of those things people didn't do for others unless they were bonded by blood.

She was just so fucking kind that he was at a loss of whether to thank her or to simply go about his business like it never happened. There was no protocol to deal with an overly cheerful redhead that kept doing small acts of kindness for him.

He chose his usual approach, of never acknowledging her actions, but couldn’t find himself strong enough to just throw the note away to be forgotten. He didn’t want to forget. That was the night he decided she wasn’t so bad of company. That note made him decide to go all in with their partnership and give her a real chance. He felt like he owed her that, after all the peace offerings she shoved down his throat.

He carefully locked and hid his secret behind the air vents in the corner by the entertainment center. That was close. Too close. From all the chaos of the day he had completely forgotten to not have it so easy to reach. He hadn’t planned on her coming over and he normally kept the box by his nightstand, to reference whenever he felt particularly hollow and alone.

Everything unfolded quicker than he had been prepared for and he was not equipped to handle Will getting this close to him. He hated not being prepared. He also had thrown back a few drinks, he rationalized, to make Will feel comfortable with helping herself to the booze. But really, he needed as much liquid courage as he could consume, anxiety itching up inside of his lungs as he kept reminding himself that she would be sleeping in his bed that night. It was overwhelming him.

He didn’t like the idea of Will being able to poke and pry through his things like he expected her to do, but he was glad she was there with him. It’s about time she left that fuck. He'd protect her, he was confident on that.

He turned on the TV and continued to nurse his drink, the rhythm of his pulse thundering in his ears. What would she do now? Probably try to live at work, if Grissom would let her. He smirked at the idea of her putting a bed next to her desk. He wouldn't put it past her. He had a feeling she didn’t take the job at MPD just to get away from Frank but he didn't know much about her outside of their professional relationship. Did she have hobbies? Hell, he couldn’t tell, unless it related to her career. She does like old movies, he reminded himself, pleased at the commonality they shared.

The door opened and she came out, hair wrapped in a towel and draped in saggy attire that he couldn’t help but snicker at. She looked like a kid wearing her parents’ clothes, his XL bulk not flattering to her petite frame. She let out a sigh of relief and curled up on the couch, toweling her hair and giving a gracious grin. “I needed that. Thanks.” The sweat pants were not clinging to her hips, clearly sagging down to her thighs. She easily kicked them off her legs, folding them, and tossing them over the armrest. Thankfully the shirt was long enough that it went down to her knees. He made a point to look away, not wanting to come off as scummy. A part of him whined, wanting to admire her shapely calves, but he held strong.

“All right, my turn.” He got to his feet and went to his room, shutting the door and going to rinse off. He made it quick, soaping, scrubbing, and rinsing. He wanted to get back out there fast, not liking the idea of her alone by herself. He noticed there had been some pink water droplets on the white tiles of the far back of the shower. He looked closer, knowing where it must have come from, a tight fury pecking at his sternum. Her blood. He rubbed the spots off with his fingers, letting the water pressure clean his hands as the shade faded to clear. He’d make sure Frank was locked up for this. For everything.

He got out, dried himself, and went to pull on some sweats and a t-shirt, checking himself in the mirror real quick. He pulled his damp hair back, a wave of insecurity making him feel the need to groom himself. He felt out of sorts, unsure of where things would go or what it meant,now that her marriage was ending. He didn’t linger on the thought too long, figuring she’d probably find someone new to spend her nights with, once she healed up and moved on. Plenty of boys in Homicide would come up with reasons to talk to her.

He dreaded how likely it was that those situations would increase in rate, once word got out that she finally left her husband.

He returned to the living room, noticing Will was on her bare knees, at eye level with the lower shelves of his movie collection. She turned to look up at him, not realizing he was taking in the curve of her lower backside. He quickly looked up to her face, hoping she hadn't noticed. The cotton shirt had been pulled taught by the heels of her feet, framing her feminine shape and he was too buzzed and tired to resist admiring it. “Okay… I’m torn between The Searchers and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. What do you think?”

“-Whatever you want.” He went to find something to do, to distance himself mentally from the seductive domesticity of his living room. He felt himself begin to sweat - he blamed the hot shower. He went to get ice, freshening up his drink. He’d just get blasted and pass out. That was a good plan. He’d be too drunk to move, let alone try to touch her. He hoped he’d fall asleep in his seat halfway through the flick.

She pushed into the VCR the tape and then commented, “Shoot. You don’t rewind your tapes?” She stopped and pushed the rewind button, the tape reeling and winding as it revolved its spokes.

“I forget.” He smirked as she shook her head in disappointment. "I've been meaning to get a DVD player."

“Wow. I always figured you were the OCD type, judging from how organized you are. You hate it when I leave post-it notes on your side of the desks.”

“Because they’re always telling me to do shit. It’s annoying.”

“They’re just visual aids,” she whined. “I’m just helping you remember where to be and what to do.”

“You’re not my mom.”

“Well, I got sick and tired of coming up with excuses for Grissom as to why you didn't go to some meeting or turn in some case file; so, you can just deal with my post-its until you start showing up on time.”

“That’s fair.” He watched her straighten her back and push play once the tape finished, getting up to her feet with a low groan. The large shirt shifted, raising above her knees. He couldn't enjoy the peep show, though. Her right arm had a big welt. The back of her thigh had a dark purple bruise that looked older than a day. It disturbed him that he recognized it was from a footprint stomping onto the flesh. He stepped on her, like she was dirt. The anger kept building, brick by brick, pushing down on his body as he seethed.

She got to her spot and stretched out, her legs draping off the armrest. She reached across the back and pulled off the throw that had been folded over it, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her legs. He smiled at her getting cozy, her head supported by the pillow against the side of the couch closest to his left hand.

He could have reached out and touched her still wet hair if he wanted to, his fingers stretching out just to gauge the distance. His fingertips hovered just above her head. Her mane was water falling off the armrest edge, her head turned to the rolling credits and old orchestral music played as The Searchers began.

They watched the movie but he quickly learned she was a movie talker. He didn’t mind, having seen the particular film enough times that he could replay it with his eyes shut. She made the experience something new.

“Damn it, Lucy. Every time.” She shivered when the girl on screen let out her blood-curdling scream, the realization of her fate bringing chills up his neck. “I’m so happy I wasn’t alive back then.”

He looked at her with a smirk. “Yeah. Probably would suck being you.”

She giggled, rotating her head, and gave him a look. “You, on the other hand, would probably have had a blast. Riding horses under the stars. Saving damsels from invading tribes. I can see you being a Texas Ranger.”

He let out a low laugh. She reached for her drink on the side table and took ice-clinking sips.

The next scene when she spoke was when John Wayne, as Ethan, shot the buried Native American’s remains right in the eyes, to prevent him from moving on to the spirit world.

”Why don’t you finish the job?” John Wayne pulled out his pistol, spinning it and firing two shots into the ground.

“What good did that do you?”

“What that Comanche believes is he’s got no eyes then he can’t enter the spirit land. Has to wander forever between the winds.”

“You can really feel the hate there,” she commented. “It’s amazing how we’ve come a long way since then, but even during that time they still portray his journey as futile.”

“Yeah, well, they killed his family. He wants them to hurt.”

“I get that, but we both know how things turn out for Ethan in the end. I like the lesson in the final scene, it’s perfectly ironic.”

“What are you talking about?” He gave her a bewildered look. “It’s a happy ending. He saves Debbie.”

She looked at him. “But is it happy for Ethan?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, prepare to have your mind blown.”

He was suddenly hyper-focused on the movie, eyes searching for every detail. He didn’t want to miss anything. She’s nuts, he fumed, she’s probably making things up.

There were more scenes she loved to point out, making observations he never picked up on before.

She laughed when John Wayne pushed the older woman into the house, preventing her from egging on a brawl occurring, shaking her head at the spectacle. “He’s such a buzzkill.” She was one of those intellectual movie buffs, always with something smart to say over some scene as though it was some artistic masterpiece. He kept himself full of booze until he was too blitzed to really care or try to understand. In fact, he found himself enjoying her voice and her quips. It was different from just watching TV alone. The room felt less empty. She watched movies as though she was always finding ways to critique or absorb some underlying intention. He just thought they made those movies because it was cool to see Cowboys and Indians fight. But he figured the Wills of the world probably wanted to add their fancy underlying messages with the violence and action.

Once the movie reached its end, John Wayne put his hand on his arm, bowed his head and his eyes were shadowed from the viewer. He turned and walked through the dusty winds, alone. He thought he figured it out. “So he’s wandering the winds?”

“Yep.” She sat up and stretched. “Despite his saving Debbie, he did try to kill her at first. He’d rather she die than continue to live with the Comanches. They kind of gloss over that, but he was motivated primarily for revenge. Not to save Debbie, but to just hurt the natives.”

He pondered this but his head was swimming and he felt exhausted. It was too late in the night to figure out any messages from some old movie.

He looked at Will, who was yawning with her eyes shut tight. “Thanks for staying up with me. I think I’ll crash now.”

“Good to hear.” He smiled at his partner.

“By the way. Where’s my gun?”

“On your nightstand. I took out the rounds. They’re in the drawer.”

“Thanks. I hope I won’t need them tonight.”

“You shouldn’t. But I’ll be right here. If he comes by, we’ll be ready for him.”

She nodded and reached over the armrest and took his hand. He looked down sluggishly, surprised but not able to jerk his hand away. “Thank you, Mark.” She squeezed his hand before letting it go. “Good night.”

“Good night.” He got to his feet and went to pull out the couch’s mattress. He checked the clock. 4 AM. Damn, they had been up late. He looked forward to passing out.

He heard the bedroom door gently click shut. He checked the front door to make sure all the locks were engaged. When he was satisfied, he got ready for bed.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

Will looked up from her desk, her skull a bass drum thumping to the rhythm of her heart. “Hey.”

It was Detective Allison Kerry, brown waves falling over her cheeks as she smiled warmly down at her. “You look like shit.”

She let out a small chuckle. “I started this wonderful hobby called drinking before bed.”

“I can tell. Word on the street is you've been crashing at Hoffman’s for the past few weeks. The man drinks like it’s rush week in college. Trust me, you should cut and run ASAP if you value your waistline. And your liver.”

Will winced as her head throbbed worse, hissing while massaging her temples. “Yeah. I say that I’ll never drink again every morning. But somehow, we both just end up finishing a handle before midnight.”

“Sounds like Hoffman.” Kerry gave a knowing smirk to Will with foggy eyes as though reminiscing a nostalgic memory. Will had never really seen Allison up close and personal and couldn’t help but admire her high cheekbones and long lashes. “So how is it? Living with your partner? And not your legal partner?” Kerry took a seat on Will’s desk, legs dangling off the edge.

Will narrowed her eyes. “Why? You trying to say something?”

“No, honey, not like that. Trust me, I’m not one to judge. I just-,” she looked around real quick and leaned close to speak softer, “-heard that you’re going through some marriage trouble. I wanted to say sorry. And offer you a place to stay that probably doesn’t stink of testosterone and gym socks. I have a spare bedroom and would love a buddy to help split the rent. You know how crazy expensive housing is out here. And I bet you’d love a break from the big lug.”

She blinked up in surprise. “Thanks, Kerry. Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.” She admitted it was time to consider getting her own place. Though she was getting comfortable, she was beginning to suspect Hoffman wanted his bed back.

“Yeah?” The women’s eyes lit up like diamonds. “Great. If you want, I can give you a ride there after work.”

“Sounds like a plan. But wait-,” Despite the pain she felt throughout her body her mind nagged at her that something was off. “-who told you about my situation?”

“I did.” Hoffman’s voice broke through, gruff and loud. Will resented how he looked as he always did, which wasn’t necessarily pristine, but much better than she fared at the moment. His hair was combed back, his suit looked fresh. She had opted to wear the same outfit twice in a row now, her hair beginning to look a little dull and greasy. She had barely gotten through brushing her teeth that morning.

“Looks like she’s in. I’m stealing her from you, Hoffman,” Kerry got to her feet and put a hand on Will’s shoulder and squeezed it. “I need a roommate and she needs a break from your drinking.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t seem too offended. “Good. Shit was getting expensive, paying for two mouths to drink. Plus that bra in the sink was the last straw, Maddox.”

“I told you, they were just soaking,” Will softly defended but bowed her head, her lip curling at how he had literally yowled when he had seen the kitchen sink. “But yeah, it would be nice to have a room that’s actually mine.” She figured she was beginning to outstay her welcome.

“Glad to help,” Hoffman was curt and expressionless.

“Damn, honey,” Kerry laughed, “I thought he’d be all shook up about you abandoning him. Anyways, come find me around five. I’ll give you a ride.” The detective left them two and went to walked towards the far doorway, where Detective Eric Matthews was sipping coffee and leaning against the wall. Eric Matthews nodded towards them, having watched Will and Kerry’s conversation. Will awkwardly smiled back and waved in return, not recalling ever formally meeting himthe man.

“Thanks,” Will swiped the aspiring pills Hoffman had begun ritually placing on her desk and swallowed several. “I didn’t know Kerry was looking for a roommate. How did you know?”

Hoffman reached for the morning paper and whipped it open, blocking the view of his face. “Matthews.”

“Oh. You two close?” Will couldn’t help but pester him, partly to see if his lack of hangover was more an act than reality. So far, it seemed he was unaffected. The bastard.

“We go way back.”

“How far back?”

“You’re amazingly obnoxious, for someone who says she’s in pain.” Hoffman slapped his newspaper down to his lap and tossed her an angry leer.

“Maybe I’m especially obnoxious because I’m in pain,” she muttered, cupping her cheeks in her hands while propping her head with her elbows. “Seriously, though, tell me, I never see you two together.”

“He’s busy. Has a newborn at home and works here. We don’t exactly go work out together anymore. We went to the Academy together. Graduated in the same class.”

“Oh.” Will studied her desk, her vision cloudy. She noticed an envelope in her inbox, the paper texturous and her name written in metallic ink. Her curiosity was redirected to the parcel and she went to touch the dry and rough stationary. There was no return label. A gold sticker sealed the letter, a generic crown embossed on the metallic paper.

She regretted opening it. “What the fuck.” The picture fell in front of her and she glared at the hideous image. It was a dick. A literal dick pic. It wasn’t a flattering image. It looked like a mushroom and snake were cross-bred with stray black public hairs growing in areas she wished she’d never known.

“The fuck?” Hoffman reached over and took the polaroid snapshot, disgust in his face as he turned it over. “Who sent it?”

“Doesn’t say.” She read the card, searching for any clues. It certainly wasn’t Frank’s. She couldn’t imagine who on earth would think it was a good idea to be leaving her such a vulgar note. Better not be anyone in the station, I swear to god. She braced herself as she read the handwriting in the blank cardstock.

Hey, Red.

Been thinking about you. Here’s a little something to help your imagination.

Come see me. You know where to find me.

Toni

“Gross,” Will shuttered and tossed the card away from her. It floated down to Hoffman’s side of their desks and he went to study the note.

His lips curled and his teeth showed as he sneered. Their eyes locked and she found him looking more concerned than she felt. “Don’t go anywhere alone. You got that?”

“Jesus, Hoffman, it’s just a stuipd note. Something horny high schoolers would put in my locker.”

“Only Rosello’s one sick son of a bitch. And someone in here put this in your inbox. Seriously, Maddox. Don’t go anywhere alone. Not even to the head. Grab Kerry.”

“I think you’re overreacting,” she sighed and folded her arms, leaning back and crossing her legs.

“I think you’re not taking Toni Rosello seriously. He’s targeting you, Will.”

“How can I take Rosello seriously if I’ve never heard of half the shit he’s done? Can you explain better?” Will petulantly watched her partner, searching for any indication. “What’s he done that’s got you spooked? Come on, tell me.”

Hoffman cleared his throat and pulled out of his desk drawer their latest case file and plopped it in front of her. “We don’t have time.”

She exhaled sharply through her nose, frustration heating up her neck. “Were you seriously just sitting on this all morning?” Flipping the cover of the stiff manila folder, the latest crime scene photos of a battered woman staring back with a pair of blackened eyes added to her intense migraine. The police report summarized that the neighbors had phoned the department, assuming the husband was assaulting the wife. Will chose to ignore the tightening of the tendons in her neck as she flipped through the rest of the pictures. One particular photo of the woman’s fingers made her flinch. The dainty pinky and ring finger were bent in the wrong direction.

“Figured you needed a moment to get your head on straight before dropping this one on you. Domestic dispute, Southside. West of Englewood Park. Grissom wanted you to talk to the vic today.”

“Why me?”

“She wouldn’t talk to the last two detectives, both male. She won’t accuse her spouse. She insists she fell down the stairs. In their single level flat.”

Will sighed. “I see. All right. I’ll talk to her. What else?” Will continued to rifle through the various pages, noting this case seemed longer running than just the past week.

“Her daughter’s been missing for a few months. The school finally reported it to us, after a social worker made a wellness check on the kid. The parents had been making regular calls to the school, saying she was sick with various illnesses but never gave a doctor’s note.”

Her heart already sank. She already felt certain this was not going to be a cut and dry gig. “Fuck.”

“Yeah.” Hoffman stretched his arms up and shot up to his feet, swiping the car keys off his partner’s desk. “You’re in no condition to drive today. Let’s go.”

Hoffman had decided to stop and get some coffee at the department’s favorite donut shop before making their way to the suspects’ residence. There were several uniforms currently enjoying their late morning brews. He locked eyes with one particular uniform who merely looked away in cold disregard while muttering something that made his partner turn to sneak a peak with an unsubtle turn of the head.

He was used to this. He was, after all, the infamous prodigal Detective in MPD. He resisted clenching his jaw as he stared straight ahead as the many fellow line-standers looked up at the overhead menu or spoke amongst each other. They didn’t know shit. Let them swap their ghost stories and stay wearing the blue until their hair went white and they retired with no fucking idea of how the world really worked.

He felt thirsty all of a sudden. He cleared his throat and went to look out the front windows, towards his Crown Vic.

Will was likely huddled in the car, rubbing her temples while whining about how unnecessary it was to take this detour but he had skipped breakfast and she likely needed something in her stomach as well. He didn’t mention this, but he noticed her cheekbones starting to protrude more pronouncedly. Her already lean frame was beginning to shrink in a way that was more dangerous in the field than he’d like.

This was one of the main reasons he had gotten ahold of Kerry. He didn’t need to drag Will down into his bad habits. She had not only begun joining him on his nightly quota of whiskey drinking with enthusiasm but had started getting a little too cozy for him to handle. He had already been toeing the line of ‘friendliness’ to something more with their sleeping in the same apartment. With her passively asking him to open tightly sealed jars of pickles, casually brushing her hand against his chest when reaching over to grab something he was next to, or easily propping her ankles on his thighs when he was watching TV on his own damn couch, she was getting a little too familiar and that was dangerous.

It had been the final straw when she had sauntered out of his bedroom in nothing but her bra and pants that morning, as if they were long-lovers that he decided to cut the cord. He couldn’t focus. She was too distracting. And he preferred not having the urge to take a cold shower or rub one out real quick to keep himself from going insane every ten minutes in his own damn house. Where I pay the rent, damn it, he smirked at that, feeling superior while reminding himself of the fact.

So he gave her the boot. Kerry would be good for her. Hell, they could go to Vermont and get hitched for all he cared. He just wanted some privacy in his life again.

His phone rang, jolting him from his thoughts. “Yeah?” He already recognized the number. It was Ange.

“Mark, what’s Will’s number?”

“Good morning, sis, how are things?” The line was making some progress and he stepped forward. “Can’t talk for too long.”

“Then just give me her phone number and I’ll let you go,” Angie sounded rushed herself.

“Why do you need to contact my partner?”

“Because Rachel’s out of state for work and I need a lady friend to take me dress shopping. Also, it’s totally none of your business since it’s not work related, Moshy,” Angie teased back, using his childhood nickname. “Less talkie, more numbers.”

“I don’t think I like the idea of my work mixing with my personal life.”

“Like you even have a personal life,” Angie never pulled the punches. “Well, if you plan on being this difficult I can always just call Allison Kerry. You know we sometimes get brunch. I’m sure she’d hook me up with Will. Or I can just call any of the police wives I hang out with and they’d be happy to get me this info. And because this will make me use up what little free time I have to get this info - that you could have always given me instantly like a good big brother would do - I’ll just have to make things even between us. Like maybe telling Will about Pooh Bear.”

Hoffman’s heart stopped. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me, Moshy,” Angelina’s voice had gone icy and manipulative. The hairs on his neck prickled at her using her childhood pet name for him. She only pulled it when she was feeling especially manipulative or drunk. He was confident she wasn’t drunk. He felt himself quickly lose the upper hand. “Oh, and how you thought Michael Meyers was real and you used to barricade your-”

“Fine.” Hoffman knew he couldn’t win and didn’t want to relive the cringe moments of his youth. He told her Will’s number. “And you’ll never mention any of this to her.”

“Of course, Moshy,” his sister’s voice was pure and sweet. Just like her namesake. “Will won’t know about any of the hundreds of embarrassing stories of our childhood. At least for now. Anyways, thanks, Mark, love you!” The familiar click of her hanging up her phone and the sound of the phone call ending made him half smirk and half frown at this.

Jesus. Sometimes, Angelina scared the shit out of him.

When he finally got to the front of the line, he ordered a dozen of various donuts, two coffees, and made his way back to the car with his haul. As he made his way to the vehicle, the vision of a sleeping ginger with frizzy red hair greeted him like a familiar breeze on a hot day. He felt his shoulders soften and his face go slack at the sight of her.

He firmly struck his knuckle against the passenger’s glass and Will opened her bloodshot eyes, rolling down the window and humbly accepting the steaming paper cup. He handed the box of pastries to her too before making his way back to the seat of control and taking a slow sip of his coffee. He helped himself to one of the cream filled cakes, taking a healthy bite while she stared at him with a distracted expression.

“Keep eating those and you’ll get a dad bod.”

“So long as I can chase down a suspect, who cares? And you’re one to talk. You should try one. You’re looking like a skeleton these days, shrimp.”

A gentle grin curled her lips and she took one of the plain donuts. “You flatter me.”

“It wasn’t a compliment. Can’t have backup blown away by the wind.” He wanted his words to sting her but she always let it roll off her back with a smile that annoyed and excited him. “Eat up. We’ll visit the kid’s mother as soon as you’re done.”

“Gee, thanks, Dad.” They ate in silence for a few minutes, the sound of the car engine whirring whining softly, the only background noise amongst them.

“Angie’s gonna call you soon. She wants to do girl shit. She mentioned shopping.” He broke the silence first, wanting to get ahead of this trainwreck before it got too messy for him to stomach. “Just keep me out of any conversation.”

Will snorted. “Like we’d want to waste our time talking about you.”

He sneered at this. “Good. Just so you know, you better treat her right. She’s important to me.”

“I promise I won’t have my way with her, Hoffman.”

He choked on his coffee, opening his car door to let the dribble spill out as he spit as much air and scalding liquid outside and not in his car or on his suit, as best he could. What the fuck, Will.

“Chill. I swear, it’s like you refuse to let me talk like a man.”

“Don’t even joke,” he growled, anger brimming up his chest. The picture of the two of them, deep in liplock burned behind his eyes. “Don’t even make that kind of fucking implication. And if you were a man, I’d deck you right here for saying that shit.” He glared at her, the imagery too horrific and disturbing for him to suppress. It was pestilent, like a mold, rotting his brain.

“Sorry.” Her eyebrows crinkled and her lower lip pouted with remorse. “I’ll just shut up now.”

“You do that.” He wanted to run his hands through his hair but restrained himself. He didn’t want to let her know how flustered he felt. His pulse was pounding in his neck as he gripped the steering wheel. He didn’t bother to wait for her to finish after that. He put the car in gear and began driving to their next destination.

"Shit!" Maddox's surprised cry made him turn his head real quick. He must have caught her off guard when he skirted out of the lot. The smell of spilled coffee and her quickly ripping open her steaming blouse made him punch the brake and pull over.

"You okay?"

"Jesus, fuck," She was already wiping the brown stains on her skin. "Don't worry. I didn't get it on the car." She looked pained, wincing as she fanned her reddening collar.

He didn't hesitate when he took a nearby water bottle and poured it over her front; her tight brow relaxed. "I'll get some ice." He looked wildly around and spotted a gas station nearby.

"Don't bother, worst part is over." She let out a small laugh. "Thank God it wasn't that hot." She was dabbing her cleavage with her shirt, the pristine white fabric now ruined. "You got your gym bag?"

"Yeah." He turned to reach for the duffel bag on the floor of the backseat. Thankfully he had put fresh clothes in the night before. "Here. We can head back to my place and you can change."

"Don't bother. We're late. I have some extra clothes at the station." He watched her throw on the oversized shirt, a wave of disappointment coming over him at the sudden modesty. She put her hands under the shirt as she proceeded to unclasp her bra. "Keep staring and I'll start thinking you did this on purpose," she gave him a sharp smile that looked more annoyed than casual.

He turned to look straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He focused on his breathing. "It was an accident. Sorry."

"You're fine. Let's just go."

The Jeffersons lived in one of the shithole apartments that were overdue to be torn down and rebuilt with fresh condominiums for the gentrified-centric elite that tended to buy this sort of real estate. He pulled up behind the patrol car standing watch. He greeted the uniform who looked relieved for his cue to head home.

“About time, Hoffman,” It was Rigg, the man smiling up at him with more warmth than he was used to getting from the rookies.

“Anything strange happen in the last twelve hours?”

“Nope. Neither parent has left since I’ve been here. It’s been dead quiet.” Rigg was tapping his fingers on the open window sill of his door, eying Will where she stood by Hoffman’s Crown Vic in his rearview. She looked like she had just crawled out of bed. “She all right?”

“She’ll be fine. You should get out of here.”

“Yeah. By the way, IA wants to talk to the both of us. Before Friday.”

“I already filled out the affidavit.”

“Yeah, but apparently the guy’s lawyer’s called. I-,” Rigg lickedhis lips and looked up at him with that scared puppy dog look. “-I’m just-,”

“Remember?” He had to remind the guy. He kept his tone firm and his face expressionless. “He attacked first.”

“Right. I’m not saying different,” Daniel Rigg shook his head and spoke rapidly, “I just thought you’d want to know from me.”

“Good. Get some rest. We’ll meet with IA and this lawyer tomorrow. I’ll take care of it.” Hoffman already dreaded the politics he’d have to play. “Go home to Tracy.”

Rigg nodded, shooting his colleague a smile as he cracked his neck and stretched his shoulders. The guy was fit, shoulders bulging against his pressed collar. What a waste, leaving him as a glorified security guard. “Thanks, Hoffman. I owe you.”

“Damn right,” Hoffman let himself smile back. He remembered patrol duty after getting on the bad side of Internal Affairs. It was hard to crawl out of that pit. “How long are you stuck staking domestics?”

“They didn’t say. Sounds indefinite.” There was no resentment, only a weary acceptance that Hoffman didn’t want to hear. “But let’s be real. I’m just happy to still have a job.”

He remembered the feeling. He hated feeling so powerless when he was on probation. The kid was just starting off and already felt like this was all there was for him. It wasn’t. Not even a long shot. “You’ve got potential, Rigg. Have you ever looked into SWAT?” The guy was impulsive and had a hero-complex. SWAT needed more brash boys eager to run towards the action.

Daniel Rigg considered this with a raised eyebrow and a distant curl of his lip. “Sure, it’s something I always wanted to do when I was a kid. But you know it’s competitive to get placed, Hoffman. I’ve caused too much trouble to get a recommendation.”

“You’re not blacklisted. Let me talk to the higher ups. I’ve gotten on Grissom’s good side lately. I bet I can convince him to put you put up for the training. Might as well get you out of the car and into some action. If you can keep your head on straight from now on, that is.”

The man’s eyes shined. “You’d do that?”

“Sure.” Hoffman’s attention flashed back to Will, who was now approaching the two of them with pale green cheeks. “Maddox, you know Rigg?”

“Hey, Rigg.” She had her hands in her pockets and gave the rookie a nod. “We’ve met.” She was relatively cool to him, her normally friendly disposition unimpressed.

Rigg’s eyes fluttered downward, as though ashamed, and avoided eye contact with her. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be heading out.” The man started his engine and pulled forward, leaving them in a plume of exhaust.

Hoffman turned to his partner. “What’d he do?”

“Heard he got off a brutality charge he wasn't supposed to. Word is, you were there?” Amber eyes laser focused onto him. “You two seem to get along.”

“He did nothing wrong. And I was there. The guy threw the first punch. Rigg was just defending himself.” He took a step towards her. “What else did you hear?”

She shrugged. “You know how people talk at the station, Hoffman. They said Rigg broke the guy’s jaw and you’re covering up for him.”

“Who told you this?”

She bit her lower lip, hands folding across her chest. “I know it’s not true. Right?” She looked desperate for him to tell her she was right.

“It’s not.” The lie rolled off his tongue so easy as he stared calmly down into her eyes. “You think I’d pull that shit?”

Relief blinked back at him. “No. I know you wouldn’t. It’s just some of the guys seem to have it in for you. I don’t get it.”

He already suspected who she was mentioning. Tapp. The man had been gunning for him for his own reasons. Reasons he didn’t need to relive at that moment. And lately, the fucker was trying to take Maddox from him. He liked to take the fresh blood out into some suicide mission, the hero he was. This was all according to Matthews, at least. He wouldn't let that happen. Maddox was his partner. His. “Let’s bring in the suspects.”

Allison Kerry was staring at the corkboard that had various colored pins tacked on points of interest over the large paper grid of the city. She blew a strand of brown curls out of her face, frustration making her fingers twitch over her coffee mug.

“You literally have been standing there since I went on lunch,” her partner, Eric Matthews, strode in with a brown bag of leftovers he nudged her with. “You’re getting obsessed, Kerry.”

She took the food and put it on the nearest desk. They were currently in Tapp and Sing’s shared private office, a privileged workspace that Tapp had rebranded as their base of operations for taking down Toni Rosello.

Eric Matthews had been hesitant to join their squad, but Kerry always eventually convinced him to join her when she went on her side missions. She had understood his reservations. With the birth of Daniel and Karen’s medical problems, Eric had a lot on his plate already. But she needed him. He was truly one hell of a cop. And there weren’t a lot of those in the department these days. They needed all the help they could get.

Rosello was getting too powerful. The fat bastard kept leaving bodies in his wake and rubbing it in everyone’s faces. Sadly, he paid his taxes, otherwise the Feds would get off their asses and do something about him.

It was just them against the most powerful man in the city. Herself, Sing, Tapp, Matthews, and now Maddox, were the only people willing to take a stand. Rosello owned most of the department already. There weren’t a lot of them who were clean enough, family-free enough, or just plain mad enough to take him on.

“So what did Hoffman say?” Matthews leaned back in an office chair, propping his dress shoes on the desk. He folded his fingers over his head, his groomed hair getting messed from the pose.

“Nothing about wanting to work with us,” Kerry didn’t face her partner, instead opting to take some red string and wrap a connection between one of the brothels they had been monitoring with the latest string of missing underaged girls. “Just wanted his partner to move in with me.”

Matthews snickered. “I can’t believe he let her stay with him for as long as she did. Hoffman likes his solitude.”

“Yeah. You two used to be close.” She never dug with Matthews, waiting for him to get comfortable enough to open up when he wanted to. And he often wanted to.

“Class of ‘82. We graduated top of the class. We were the only ones to get excellents across all our examination categories.”

Kerry smirked. Matthews loved to boast, the pride in his voice and the sound of the truth stretching like a rubber band always tickled her funny bone. “So what went wrong with Hoffman?”

“Well, his parents were killed in that accident right after we graduated. He never talked about it, but I think it was hard for him, you know. He was under a lot of pressure. He had a sister he wanted to help support. Didn’t have anyone he trusted to dump his problems on. He had a lot of pent up anger and no way to let it out. And there was that whole crime wave going through. The budget cuts. We were all just thrown into the fire. Tons of MPD were getting hosed. So we started getting a little heavy handed. I got my rookie ass handed to Tapp who showed me the ropes and kept me straight. And Hoffman got assigned to… his partner. And his partner couldn’t keep him in check very well. And you know the rest.”

“Not really,” Kerry muttered. “It’s just ghost stories at this point. I’ve heard rumors about Hoffman decking Rosello at one point. I’ve also heard stories of Hoffman being Rosello’s long lost cousin and is secretly helping the bastard fuck with us. Oh, and this one’s everyone’s favorite: Hoffman apparently pisses off Rosello to the point that he goes and murders his partner’s entire family out of spite. And then his partner swallows a bullet from his own gun. Or that Hoffman was the one that did the job, since he works for Rosello. Frankly, I don’t know what story to believe. But they all seem to paint this guy like Satan’s buttplug.”

Matthews pulled a pen out of his breast pocket and began spinning it in his hand. “Well, let’s clear the air, then. Hoffman’s partner was Detective Knox.”

Kerry turned to stare at Matthews. “Victor Knox? He was Hoffman’s partner? But he’s not dead.”

Matthews’ eyes darted toward the door and Tapp stood in the doorway. “Yeah,” Tapp whispered ominously. “He’s not dead. But after what happened, most people here say it would have been better if he had died.” Tapp stepped in, Sing at his heel. “Shut the door, Sing.” His understudy obeyed, looking around at the faces with foreboding scrutiny. “Let’s set the record straight. Hoffman didn’t shoot Knox. In fact, those two still meet up once in a while, like old friends. At least, that’s what Knox told me last week.”

“So what happened?” Kerry had never known this story and was dying to know. She leaned against the nearest filing cabinet and eagerly listened.

Tapp shook his head, a jaded frown as he hummed deeply in recollection. “Well, Knox was a good man. One of the finest. He’s a legend here, no matter how scared the younger folks are to mention his name, he’s still a guy who had a hand in every major case when he was on the force. But when it came to Rosello,” Tapp shook his head slowly, “no one could take down Rosello, not even Knox. In fact, Knox had been made an example of early on. It was Knox’s job to… educate the rookies on how things were really run. Remember when Hoffman took you to meet Rosello?”

Kerry shuddered and nodded. “Oh yeah. Still pissed at the bastard for introducing me to him.”

“Well, he didn’t have much of a choice. You see, that used to be Knox’s job. Knox took every new guy over to meet Rosello. And Rosello would do what he does. He likes to fuck with us. Make us feel helpless. And when it was Hoffman’s first time he didn’t like playing the game. He tried to get violent with the fucker. And that was enough for a full out war. Personally, I think the piece of shit was just bored and looking for an excuse to start up some violence to pass the time. Hoffman was just unlucky to be the target. Knox tried to step in but it ended up making things worse.” Tapp rubbed the back of his neck and let out a sigh.

“What happened?” Kerry bowed her head, wanting to hear Tapp’s softening voice more clearly.

“There was a shootout. Knox was hit, several shots in the gut and spine. Knox was bleeding out. Hoffman was scratched, but not badly hurt. Rosello threatened to take them all out, the two cops right there, and their entire families as well, unless Hoffman got on his knees and begged for mercy.”

“So he did?”

“Well, obviously, since they’re all alive and well. Knox’s now paralyzed and lives on his own. He has a kid and - ex - wife, but they left town shortly after he got out of the hospital. Took his boy and moved to a small town in South Dakota. Knox refused to go with them, so she filed for divorce. Rosello leaves Knox alone now, according to the deal Hoffman made with him.”

“Why didn’t he go with them?” Matthews asked this, squinting at the veteran cop.

“Would you?” Tapp gave him a knowing stare, as though the question was just rhetoric.

Matthews nodded, voice forceful and offended at Tapp’s implication. “Damn right, I’d be out. Can’t put a price on family.”

Kerry blinked and turned her head slightly. She hoped no one picked up on the guilt that spread like liquid lead in her veins. Her eyes locked onto Sing who pursed his lips slightly. He knew. She knew they all knew. The shame was her cross to bear.

“But see - Hoffman hadn’t thought things through when he went and pissed off Rosello. See, Rosello likes to keep tabs on the new guys. Who they go home to after work. Where their favorite drinking holes are on Fridays. And Rosello had all the info he needed on Hoffman’s little sister to suddenly make the man his bitch. So part of the deal was Hoffman being Rosello’s errand boy from now on, otherwise not just Knox but Angelina Hoffman would both get taken out. That’s why,” Tapp turned to glare at Matthews, “we cannot - and I repeat - cannot involve Hoffman. I know he’s not a bad kid. But we can’t trust him. He’s got too much to lose to flip on Rosello.” Tapp kept his gaze locked on Matthews who rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut.

“That’s why he’s been stuck on paperwork duty until Maddox,” Kerry concluded, shaking her head. “His career was sunk until she came along. Grissom was giving Hoffman a second chance by putting him back in the field with her.” Her lips felt dry and she went to apply lip balm on them while considering her supervisor’s motivations. He could have been left to rot in the basement until his pension came in at that rate. The thought of that fate made her want to blow her own brains out. She’d rather quit than be stuck on paperwork duty for twenty years.

“Maddox is key,” Sing commented, as though trying to understand her involvement. “She may work with the guy but she’s not dirty. She hates Rosello and wants to work for us. But still... aren’t she and Hoffman close?” He pursed his lips and shook his head. “She must know what he’s doing.”

“Not that close,” Kerry shook her head. “Sure, they get along. But the sexual tension between them makes it obvious they haven’t crossed that line.” She ignored Matthews’ knowing stare as she added, “I’m sure Hoffman keeps her in the dark. And despite her being an investigator, I get some gullible vibes from her. Grissom swears she’s so clean that she squeaks when she walks. And she seems to follow the book. She sounds like an idealist. If Hoffman has been going astray in front of her and she’d have known it, I bet she wouldn’t stand for it long. Even if she didn’t want to be a rat, she’d at least request reassignment.” Kerry was sure of this, her gut never failed her.

“Well, make sure she’s trustworthy before we give her the combo to the locker,” Tapp thumbed their secret evidence locker where they had been stockpiling the entirety of their investigation pertaining to the crime boss securely where only the people in that room knew the code to access. “I’d hate to lose a year’s worth of work.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” Kerry went to grab her jacket and cooled coffee and made her way out of the room. “I’ll keep you posted. I’m sure she and I will get quite close now that we’re living together,” she gave a passive smirk over to Matthews who raised an eyebrow as she left the men be. “Page me if you need me.”

When she walked down the narrow hallways, she stopped when she recognized the couple of the hour, both going into one of the interrogation rooms with a wiry older woman. It looked like Maddox was going to be a little busy for the next two hours. Checking her watch, Allison decided to head back to the boys and continue searching for patterns in the corkboard map.

“Hi, Mrs. Jefferson, my name’s Wilhelmina Maddox. Can I call you Anna?” The woman nodded. “I just want you to know that I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable or scared. I’m trying to understand what happened. So. You’ve been read your rights. Are you aware that you have the right to an attorney?” The woman nodded again. “Can you please say it out loud, for the record?”

“Yes.”

“And you waive your right?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you. Now, if you happen to know anything, please, it would help us out a lot. Or if you know anything about where Kayla is,” Will was playing her usual role as good cop, sliding the blown up school portrait of the young blonde girl smiling back towards the ceiling over to the woman. “I know you miss her. I know you’re a good mother. I know you want her back home, safe. Can you help me make that happen?”

The woman was trembling, eyes watering. She said nothing.

“Yeah, you can sit back and keep silent,” Hoffman had assumed his familiar patterns as the big bad cop. He slammed a fist down firmly on the metal table. “Because I know you’re hiding something. And we have evidence that points to you being involved.”

“No,” the woman began to cry, sniffling and wiping her tears with the meat of her palm. Will nudged the box of tissues towards her, shooting Hoffman a warning glance to back off. He did, leaning back and letting out a deep breath. She bit her lip, feeling how close he was to slipping. His eyes had narrowed and his nostrils flared, making her heart race. She needed him to give them the room.

“Anna, what can you tell me about Kayla? Anything at all will help.” She needed the mother’s guard down but every couple of seconds, Anna Jefferson kept fluttering her wide eyes up to Hoffman’s hulking mass and shrinking even deeper into her chair.

Will tried to keep the room calm but she could practically taste his hostility. He’s always so gungho. Keeping her face on Anna, Will reached and tapped Hoffman’s shoe with three firm taps.

The sound of his chair scraping against the concrete and the slamming of the door left the two women alone together. Will leaned forward and gently tapped the photograph. “Anna, look at me.”

The woman was shaking like a leaf. Looking past greasy hair, Anna softly cried, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because I didn’t stop him.”

“What did he do?” A shiver. A whimper. The mother began to let out a low wail. “Anna. I’ll make sure he doesn’t hurt you anymore. We have resources here to keep him far away from you. Help me find Kayla. We can bring her back and get you two far away from him.”

The woman shook her head. “You can’t.”

“Believe me. I will do everything in my power to help you.” Will knew it was unconventional to contact a suspect but she took the woman’s shoulder and squeezed it gently. She was bony and cold. “Would you like a blanket?”

Anna blinked, then nodded. Will got up and went to the door. Hoffman was already there, blanket in hand. He had been just next door, behind the two-way mirror, ready to get her whatever she needed. They locked eyes, Will feeling the frustration burn into her. Shaking her head slightly, silently urging him for patience, she took the itchy fabric and closed the door before he let himself back in. He wanted control of the interrogation but it wouldn’t be effective if she let him take the reins.

“Here,” Will unfolded and handed the shield to her, “Anna, I know what it’s like.” She pulled her chair closer to her, leaning until their foreheads were practically touching, like schoolgirls sharing secrets. “You give everything to him. You want to believe that things will be different tomorrow. And he promises things will be different this time. And that if you try to leave,” Will couldn’t help but let her eyes wander to the mirror, looking at their reflection, “that you’ll regret it more than if you just stayed.” Most of her bruises had all but faded away but the person beside her still had her cast on her hand and purple splotches that brought her back to just a few weeks ago. Her throat stung. “But if you keep protecting him, he will still be the death of you. You understand?”

Tears gushed down her cheeks and she choked out, “He took her one night. He said she was going away. To not ask, that it was best for all of us.”

“Did he say where? Why?”

“He owed some money. Kayla was going to work for a family. Pay off the debt.” The woman covered her face with her good hand, shuddering. “But that’s bullshit. I know it’s bullshit. I let him take her away.” She let out a low moan. “But he never told me where. He doesn’t tell me anything. Oh my God, she’s dead. I know she is.”

Will went to her knees and put her arms around her. “You don’t know that yet. We’ll find her.” Over the woman’s shoulder, her reflection mocked her. A clown, fighting tears, stared back.

Chapter Text

It was his turn. He was ramped up; ready for a fight. Watching the soap opera unfold had been a form of torture he wouldn’t inflict on his worst enemy. He was relieved that they were finally getting onto the more interesting suspect. Because he recognized him.

Hoffman and Will were in observations, looking out at the one-way mirror where Clyde Jefferson, father to Kayla and husband to Anna sat. He was still handcuffed, an intentional accident on the investigators’ part, to instil that feeling of helplessness they wanted the perp to experience. Hoffman was sure he’d seen the guy at one of the gambling dens over in Chinatown, where the upstate horse races were live on dusty screens and tons of greasy goons desperately believed they’d make enough placing their paychecks to be worth something.

What Hoffman wasn’t sure of was how close the guy was to Rosello. If this got a little too intimate, he may be in trouble. Will being there complicated things. Especially if the details they uncovered needed to get misplaced. She’d notice, no doubt about it. He couldn’t come up with a decent lie she’d be satisfied with. He’d cross that bridge if he got to it.

He chose to just focus on the problem at hand.

“Take my lead,” Hoffman commanded, studying Clyde’s face. He didn’t try to look calm or innocent. The man looked miffed, as though this was just an annoyance that he would quickly have over with. “This time, you’re the bad cop. He’ll hate that. Nothing pisses off domestics like a strong woman that bosses them around. Don’t be shy about exaggerating. Have fun with it.”

Clyde Jefferson’s face was starting to twist, as though he had an itchy nose. At that moment, Hoffman thought the fucker looked like Frank Griffin and he felt his entire body burn up. Maybe she shouldn’t go in there.

“Oh boy,” she had one arm over her stomach and the other holding her shoulder, holding herself together. He forced his face away from the glass, observing every detail. She had let her hair down, rusty curls on her small shoulders like cotton clouds. He inhaled slowly, letting her freckled cheeks distract him from his scattered concerns. Her face was firmly uncertain. “I’ve never liked bad cop.”

This made him want to laugh. He smirked. “Because you’re shit at it.”

Her gaze sparkled with ire. “I think I can be pretty nasty when I need to. Asshole.” He liked the way her full mouth curled, cupid’s bow ready to shoot, as if she was any real threat. Cute, like one of those toy poodles. He felt his gut stir. His heart beat faster. She was his little firecracker.

“Yeah, like that. Just be yourself, that’ll piss him off.”

“Do you want a punch in the face?”

He finally let himself laugh, the feeling both straining his ribs but feeling surprisingly good. “Will, I’d like to see you try.”

The way she smoldered at him kept adding to his chuckles. “I swear, if we weren’t on the clock right now…”

“Raincheck that. Until then,” Hoffman returned to Clyde Jefferson, “get him to throw the first punch. If we can get him to try to attack you, we’ll be able to have some real fun. A couple of hits with a phone book will have him singing.” His lips curled wider, the plan getting his blood going.

“What?! No!” She gripped his arm suddenly, making him start. His humor was sunk. He wasn’t used to her getting directly physical and her sudden scolding confused him. “We’re not roughing up suspects in custody, Hoffman. You know better.”

He stared at her, realizing he was forgetting himself. She wasn’t Eric Matthews or most of MPD. And she probably didn’t see the resemblance this piece of shit had with the man she was married to. “Sorry. Just excited.”

“Yeah, I see that. What’s gotten into you?” She looked him up and down, soft brown eyes worried. “You’ve been - extra - on edge since we’ve started questioning the parents.”

He didn’t know how to respond. He thought it was pretty fucking obvious why he was feeling particularly emotional about this. “You know why.”

She blinked. “What, because of Frank? This case?”

“Get off it, Maddox, I know this is hitting you hard too.” He pulled the arm she was still gripping, nodding to it. “You can let go.” When she didn’t, he swiftly took his hand and wrapped it around her wrist. He squeezed it firmly. “We’ve worked together long enough now to not bullshit each other.” He pulled her close to him, close enough that he could smell her sweet hair. She smelled so girly, like sweet things and flowers. He almost forgot those scents existed. He wanted to lean in closer to her and take it all in. But he restrained himself. “You don’t have to pretend that this is just another case. It’s a little too close to home for you not to think about it. Like comforting the suspect,” he shook his head, disgust twisting his face. “She gave her kid up like a lamb to the slaughter. And you fucking started empathizing.”

“It got her to talk.” She was biting her lower lip, not pulling away but not looking particularly happy. They were so close that her chest was brushing against his upper stomach. Her lashes fluttered and her gaze flashed from his eyes to his mouth, lingering. He faltered, loosening his grip on her arm. “Mark. This isn’t the same thing.”

He had always doubted she saw him like that. She was always so fucking professional. He thought it was just all in his head. That he was just a man forced to be around an attractive woman he couldn’t touch, no matter how much he wanted to.

He thought it was just primal instinct, some no longer necessary facet of evolution that he was cursed to endure. So he kept things professional. And she, the married workaholic, just didn’t seem interested in that sort of thing. He was starting to believe she was a lesbian with how little she had expressed interest to the copious men she was surrounded with. A glimmer of hope rolled in his chest and quickly behind, a cold fear he didn’t like. This is new.

She cleared her throat and turned. “We’ve got work to do.” He felt his stomach sink but he knew this had been pushing it. Maybe he’d gone too far. He lost control. For a split second, he reacted and made her look at him. Notice him.

Remembering himself, he let her wrist go, looking at the wall with a cool stare. “Then let’s get this over with.” He brushed by her, his arm grazing her shoulder, a little rougher than he intended, and she bristled at this. Good.

They walked in and Maddox was the first to speak. She tossed the files on the table; roughly dragged the chair up and personal to the piece of shit. “All right, Mr. Jefferson, you’ve been informed of your rights,” she sat and leaned forward, looking back, “and we’ve already gotten all the details we need to convict you of assault and battery. Kidnapping, attempted murder, and endangering a minor. Now, you can make it all go away if you just fess up, or you can sit there and sulk like the coward you are. Your choice.”

Hoffman’s previous anger dampened as he tried not to express anything. But it took all he could not to smirk. Damn, laying it on thick, Maddox.

The man had his arms crossed, his knee shaking with wild energy. He let out a mean toothy smile and jerked forward fast, spittle dripping in her face. “Fuck you, cunt!”

Hoffman started forward but Will grabbed him by the neck and pushed him back firmly. She was faster. And pissed. “...and assault of an officer,” she wiped her chin and lip, “will be added to your file. Please, keep going. Unlike my partner, I love paperwork.” Her voice had gone chilly and sultry, like a siren. He couldn’t help but look at “Bad Cop Wilhelmina” and he liked what he was seeing. He didn’t know he had it in her. If only she stood up for herself like this around that fuckbag she married.

She cleared her throat. “You know, I’m parched. I’m going to get some air. Want some water, Hoffman?” She used his name through gritted teeth, smiling harshly at him with frustration. He realized he hadn’t gone to make any move to steer the interrogation, too busy enjoying the spectacle to begin connecting with the guy like he was supposed to.

“Coffee,” he smiled back, not particularly wanting her to stop the charade, if it even was that anymore. He’d seen her irritable. Hell, he made a point to annoy her on an hourly basis. But this was hateful. Petty. He liked her this angry, it was a sexy side of her he’d never known. He needed to have her take the role more often.

“Sure thing. I’ll be right back. Don’t get cozy,” she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it tightly to the point it hurt a little, before storming out. She wanted him to get going already, his shoulder smarting from her grip. Their previous conversation must have bothered her.

The fluorescent bulb above them was going out. The white light in the room flickered, strobing into darkness briefly. It was giving him a headache, the sound of the hiss and click of the poor electrical connection. He awkwardly repositioned himself in his chair. His mind whirled for anything to say, to break the silence. Something guys like this would say. “Women,” he shrugged.

“Tell me about it,” the man was touching his throat gingerly. “Even if I complained about this, it's not like they’d do anything about it. Double fucking standards,” the guy was putting on a good show of playing the poor victim, his little neck mangled by the big scary lady.

The man didn’t have a scratch or blemish on his pale throat. Hoffman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The lights flickered again and he suddenly imagined the state of Will’s throat just weeks ago. There was rarely a day where it wouldn’t have some new cluster of purple splotches or stray scratches across her ivory skin. And this guy was whining about a five foot nothing pushing him back in his chair.

He clenched his jaw and snapped back into focus. “It’s two of us and only one of her. Just saying.” He had to play things like a good old boy, turning his head to carefully observe his opponent’s facial responses. It did little to keep his cool. Every time the lights came in and out, the man looked like a different person. Clyde Jefferson. Frank Griffin. Then back to Clyde. “I’m just doing my job and that’s to find out what happened to your kid. I’m not looking to give you trouble. I know the way things go.”

“Yeah?” The man kept rubbing his throat and looking up at the ceiling, at the shitty lamp and at the camera that was monitoring the whole thing.

“Yeah. You do your work and get home, expecting things in order. Some fucking appreciation. And what do you get?”

“Shit.”

“Exactly. I know the feeling,” he lied. He’d be happy if he had a wife and kid waiting for him back at home. Hell, he never expected Angie to make him food when he stopped by. She just did that sort of thing. Because she loved him. Because people tended to be more willing to appreciate people who fucking deserve being loved.

“At least I don’t work with a bitch like that,” the guy smiled in sympathy. “Tight piece of ass, though.”

He felt his cheek spasm at this. Don’t lose it. He pulled his teeth out and let out a small laugh. He was the good cop. This guy’s best friend. He needed the guy to spill the beans on whether this missing kid was being groomed to turn up tricks for one of Rosello’s brothels or if she was currently swimming with the fishes. He needed this guy to like him.

He could do this. He sure as hell didn’t want to drop the ball on this one. Will always came up with a way for the perp to talk when he fucked up. But this time, he didn’t want her to go through that. Not because of him. “Well, you know I can’t say that shit. At least not with the recording equipment on.”

“You and her?” The man made a lewd gesture with his hands, cuffs jingling as he let out a raspy cackle.

“No.” Hoffman crossed his arms and tried to give a smarmy grin. “Against the rules.”

“You kidding, right?” The man leaned forward with a lecherous sneer. “If I saw that bitch all day, every day and had to listen to her nag, I’d be just dying to show her who’s in charge, if you know what I mean.” The smile kept growing. “I can tell, she wants it. I bet she’s a filthy freak in the sack.”

Keep it together. The muscles in his jaw were starting to strain. Finally, the lights stayed steady. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Shame.” The man shook his head. “Gimme a night. I’d set her attitude straight.”

“Well,” Hoffman scratched the back of his neck, trying desperately to crawl through mental thorns to connect with the guy. But he really didn’t want to. “Now that she’s gone, maybe we can get you out of here before the night’s out. You can go to bed in just a few hours. We just need you to answer some questions.”

“Yeah, well, sorry. Can’t tell you what happened to Kayla. You see, she just ran away.”

“A nine year old just left? And hasn’t been seen by anyone in months? Come on, Clyde,” holding his hands out he shook his head. “You can do better than that. What about the wife? She know anything?”

“She barely knows where her head is long enough to put dinner on the table. You think she’d know where the kid is?”

“Yeah, probably not. But she mentioned you took the kid out and came back without her. Care to explain why she said that?”

“She’s lying,” the man muttered angrily.

The door opened. Will came in with a steaming cup and a bottle of water. She handed the drink to Hoffman. “Now, where were we?”

“I ain’t talking to you, bitch.” The man went defensive, crossing his arms and staring at her.

“You better talk,” she snapped, slamming her fist on the table. Hoffman’s cheeks relaxed. “You’re a soulless monster, you know that? I don’t see any remorse. Any regret. This is your daughter, Clyde. Your own flesh and blood. And you don’t want us to help find her?” She was tapping Hoffman’s foot like a piano pedal.

“Fuck you. Maybe I want a lawyer.”

She jumped to her feet, theatrical as the chair flew back. She had kicked Hoffman’s heel firmly, the message loud and clear as his leg throbbed from her assault.

“Okay,” Hoffman sighed and finally complied. The suspect wasn’t responding well with her, so she was removing herself from the room. Fine. Good. But he wasn’t sure he was going to do so well with her just watching behind the glass. Her being in the room would help him from going a little too far. He went to his feet and took Will firmly by each arm. “Detective Maddox, you need to leave. We were having a decent conversation until you came back.”

“Yeah,” Jefferson growled. “Bye bye, bitch.”

Maddox put on a show, trying to pull out of Hoffman’s grasp but he kept it firm. He wasn’t completely sure of her reasons, but he suspected she wanted him to assert dominance for the interrogation. Get him on the fucker’s good side.

When Hoffman shoved her out and closed the door he turned back and gave another half-hearted shrug. “Sorry about that. Probably that time of the month.”

The man let out a laugh. The way he tossed his head back brought him flashes of Griffin, chugging a bottle of Heineken. He blinked, not liking where his imagination was thrusting him. “Yeah.”

He went back and leaned back, let out a sigh and looked bored. He could hear his heart pounding in his skull. “So the kid runs off. Why’d your wife blame you?”

“She wants me locked up. Wants my money.”

“Yeah? You rolling?”

The man smirked, proud and full of himself. “Made it big last week on the tracks. I’m cozy.”

“But your kid went missing months ago. How were you then?”

The man’s smile faltered. “Maybe not so hot.”

“Yeah, that’s what she said,” Hoffman extrapolated, a theory growing in his mind. He already knew what had happened. “Said you owed some dough to some mean motherfuckers.”

“What else she say?” The man was licking his lips, concerned.

“You tell me.” Hoffman leaned forward. He was tired and wanted to get far from the shithead before his fists started moving by themselves. “But let me tell you, if it’s who I think it is, maybe we can work something out.”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe. You know how it is here.”

“I heard about you.” The guy crossed his arms and squirmed. “You know some people.”

“We all know some people. Maybe I know the right people. Maybe I don’t. You tell me a name. Who last had your kid. I may know the right guy to make this all go away. We just want the kid back. Too many people asking questions. I’m sure she’s not hard to find. A lot of girls go missing and end up close by. And I’m not implying you did anything or know anything. But we just want the kid back. Again, I don’t really give a shit like my partner does,” The guy was on the hook. He just needed to not play too thirsty to nail him. “But my boss says find this girl. And you know I can’t disappoint my boss.”

“Your boss?” The man’s voice had gone up an octave. Scared like a canary.

“Yeah. And you don’t want to disappoint my boss either, do you Jefferson?”

The man looked up at the camera. “You guys are pretty shameless. This is being recorded.”

“Yeah, well, you know how shit goes down in this city.” Hoffman leaned in close and whispered, “Records get lost all the time. You know how it is.”

“I do. Fine. Look. I made a bad call. I got a run of the mill of bad luck. You know I owed a fuckton of money to your boss. Ask him, he knows, I’m sure. It was so much that I was a dead man if I didn’t pay up. Not just myself but the wife and kid as well. But I was offered a way to pay it off and save all our skins in the process. It just made sense. So I paid.”

The lights began to flicker again. God damn it.

Hoffman kept thinking on his breath and making sure he asked the right questions. The distant sound of the clock’s ticking kept him focused as he pushed the tide of his emotions back for as long as he could.

“So the kid was payment?”

“Yeah.”

“Which of his brothels is she at?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. I just gave her over to one of his guys.”

“The name?”

“Look, I don’t fucking know,” Clyde shrugged and just shook his head. “Like you said, who fucking cares. Just put her down in the books as dead and close this shit.” Everything went dark.

Hoffman had enough. He grabbed the man by the collar and breathed in his face. “The fucking name.” The lights returned but he knew he had already gone too far.

“L-Lorenzo!” The man was taken aback, the sudden outburst making him gasp. “Fuck! Help!”

The door opened and he smelled her before seeing her. Her footsteps approached him. “Hoffman,” she put her hand on his arm. “That’s enough.”

“Fuck, man, chill. We work for the same guy!” The guy’s handcuffed wrists were trying to pull him off his shirt.

Hoffman threw him back into his chair, hissing, “No, I don’t work for that piece of shit.” He got to his feet and stormed off, feeling Will at his heel.

As soon as they were back in the observation room, Will rounded on him. “I don’t understand why you wanted to be Good Cop so bad.”

“The fucker wouldn’t respond well with you.” He wanted to punch the wall but kept his fists at his side. He wanted to grab her and tell her everything he said in there wasn’t true, but he kept his arms still.

“You don’t know that. I could have handled it. I don’t understand what happened. You were doing fine,” she added haughtily, “Jesus, Mark, you were on fire, playing him like a fiddle. You even got him to spill on Rosello. I didn’t know you could lie like that. But then you just snap and grab him, unprovoked. It’s on camera. They can suspend you for that.”

No one’s going to give a fuck what’s on those tapes. “I know you could have handled it. But you didn’t need to. You shouldn’t have to. I got it.” He didn’t look at her, instead glaring at the perp who was currently getting taken to his cell by the guard. He fucking hated what he needed to do.

“Mark.” Her hands were on her hips, looking up at him with confused uncertainty. “You trying to protect me or something? Hey. You’re pushing yourself too hard. Look at me.”

He didn’t answer. He turned away. “It’s just been a long day. It’s late. Go meet with Kerry. I’ll take care of the paperwork and wrap things up from here. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He went to leave.

“Mark,” he heard her call out to him but kept walking as though he hadn’t heard her. “Mark!”

“No, Maddox. Just go.” He wouldn’t face her. “I need to be alone.”

She didn’t chase after him after that. He should have been thankful. So why wasn’t he?

Victor Knox was always in pain. This was not new.

The firm pounding at his front door at eight in the evening on a Tuesday certainly was. It was the familiar cop-like beating that made him expect it to be an old colleague and not the grim reaper finally coming to collect.

He had fallen asleep on his recliner. As he leaned forward, a coughing fit hit. He desperately needed a cigarette. As he choked on his lungs he pressed the remote control to engage the motor of his seat. The mechanical whir rumbled and raised him up so his ass would be parallel to the wheelchair that waited patiently at his right. Above him were some makeshift metal beams with pulleys to help hoist his old rump up off the cushions and into his chair.

Once he was secure, he grabbed his shotgun that was leaning against the armrest and balanced it over his lap as he steered himself to the front door. “Who is it?” He stopped a foot back and to the side, ready to cock the weapon in case it was his final day on this godforsaken planet.

“I hope you got an extra slug in there,” the deep and familiar boom of Mark Hoffman made him smile and lower his gun. He wheeled forward and unlocked the deadbolt before backing up. Hoffman was familiar with the routine whenever he made his visits.

“Mark, about time you showed up.” Victor looked up at the boy - no, man - always surprised to see more lines and shadows on the once fresh faced young man he first met, years ago. He noted the carton of cigarettes and the big brown paper bag held in the man’s arms. “Wow, honey, you shouldn’t have.”

“Shut up,” Mark closed the door and flipped the switch, letting yellow light rain down on them. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah, almost a year. You’ve been busy, I hear.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, Dave just called me last week.”

The boy didn’t respond. Knox hadn’t expected a positive reception. He still resented David Tapp, the blame misplaced, in his opinion. But the kid would learn. Or not. Who knew?

“Well, I’d offer you something to drink, but judging from the size of the bag, looks like you’re paying tonight. I think I’ll just offer my ears.” Knox was wheeling towards the kitchen table, where stacks of old newspapers kept piling up. He rarely left the building anymore, the elevator constantly breaking and his pension barely paid for his little pot of piss.

“Jesus, Knox, you need all this shit?” Hoffman was looking at the various garbage bags and paper stacks, nose crinkled in disgust.

“Well, if you’re offering to take it on the way out, you’re welcome to. Elevator’s been acting up again.” He went to open a window, grunting at the sticking pane.

“Here, let me get that.”

“Back off, boy,” he snapped, anger quick and hot. “I better be able to open a window in my own damn place,” he was grumbling like a sad old man, he knew this. But fuck it. His back was killing him and he had to wait four more hours before he could take another Vicodin. The window gave way and in came the familiar orchestra of sirens, gunshots, and traffic.

He heard the boy move some things around and the clink of glass made him calm down. He knew he had to be patient. He just forgot sometimes. Forgot what it was like to be around people not glowing on his tube.

Knox turned and waited, Hoffman going into the freezer and pausing to punch some thawed-then-subsequently-refrozen ice into jagged chunks for the tall bottle of scotch. The kid’s back was square and his movement was full of pent up rage. Knox whistled low. “That bad?”

He didn’t respond, instead pouring the rich, golden brown nectar out into each glass. Hoffman took a seat and they faced the small window to overlook the nightscape. They silently struck glasses together and took slow tastes of their evening delight.

With Hoffman, he needed to be especially slow. The kid was troubled and struggled to express himself. Not necessarily the worst flaw. In fact, in their line of work, it was easier to just push shit down and carry on. But if you didn’t let the pressure out, shit starts breaking. And the boy sure liked testing his limits.

Victor Knox was just thankful that Hoffman still remembered to visit him, even if it was just to act as his closet therapist. Maybe it was misplaced guilt. Maybe the kid still needed the father figure that was robbed of him when he first started out. Whatever it was, Knox was glad Hoffman turned to him.

“I lost it.”

“How bad was it?”

“Not bad.”

“You still got your badge and gun?”

Hoffman took a healthier swig at that. “Oh yeah. Not even suspended.”

“Good. Break any bones?”

“No. Barely ripped the guy’s shirt.”

Knox turned slightly at that, raising an eyebrow. “Did you hit the guy?”

“No.”

“I’m not following then. Sounds like you kept your shit together, son.”

“Not that kind of control.” He paused. “It’s complicated.” He was staring out the window, as though seeing stars for the first time.

Knox continued to nurse the scotch, smiling into his glass. The kid was growing up.

“I got a new partner.”

“Oh?” Knox was surprised at this. “You’re back in the field?”

“Been that way. For almost a year now.”

“So we’re celebrating,” the man let out a low laugh and went to refresh his glass. “It’s good to hear that. I knew Grissom and Tapp would give you another go.”

“Grissom, yeah. Tapp was against it.”

“Ah, well, Tapp’s an old dog like me, set in our ways. Can’t teach us new tricks, ya know.”

Hoffman snorted and held his glass out for Knox to top off. “You seemed to handle that pull up trick pretty well.”

“You know - damnest thing, son. I know I was against it at first, but you’re right. Those pulleys make it so damn easy to go take a shit in the morning.”

“That’s gross.”

Knox let out an old salty laugh. “Seriously, where’d you learn that mechanical shit?”

“My dad.”

“Ah, well, he did a fine job. It’s good for a man to know his way around tools. Lots of you young’uns these days don’t know a power drill from a drill press.”

“Says the guy who needed this young one to assemble you a pulley system.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do so good in math class.”

“It’s simple addition, Knox.”

“I work well with people, not numbers.”

“Yeah. I know.” Hoffman turned to him with pity in his eye. “Sorry I don’t visit more often.”

“Don’t give me that look,” Knox hated pity. It was one of the reasons he rarely left the house. Everyone acted like it was their first time seeing a man in a wheelchair. “No wonder you haven’t visited, you’re back doing real work. Good work. Cleaning up the city. That’s more important than lingering in the past. Besides, I’ve been getting into the game shows and crosswords. I keep busy.”

“Yeah.”

“So your partner? What’s he like?” Knox went to reach for a carton of cigarettes, having waited long enough. Hoffman took the nearest ash tray that wasn’t overflowing and put it close to Knox.

“It’s a she.”

Knox chose to delay his response, wanting to roll it around in his brain before making a decision on how to react. He lackadaisically lit his cigarette, took slow puffs, and inhaled deeply. The warm and tasty smoke was like fresh mountain air. He slowly exhaled, sighing at the habit. “Damn, thanks for the refill.” He took another long drag, knowing Hoffman was watching him intently for his reaction. “She good at her job?”

“Yeah. Damn good.”

“Excellent.” Knox knew the times were changing. But he didn’t envy the kid’s position. “How long have you two worked together?”

“Ten months now.”

Interesting. “That long? You trust her?”

“Yeah. She’s an idealist.” Hoffman let out a low laugh. “Keeps me on the straight and narrow.”

“Sounds like you respect her. That’s important to have in a partner.”

“I know.”

“So why, after all these months of not needing to, you decide to come to this old dog when you’ve got a perfectly good partner you trust and respect to cry to?” He watched the boy in the corner of his eye, wanting to be brutally honest but not scare him away. “I ain’t your partner anymore, kid. I can’t cover you like she should.” When Hoffman still stayed silent, Knox asked, “Is she giving you problems?”

“Not exactly.”

“You two sleep together?”

“No.” There was no hesitation. In fact, there was an almost urgency in his conviction, as though he needed more than anything to insist on this.

“But you want to?”

“That’s-,” The flustered curl of his lip and the pink in his face gave it all away.

“Ah, there you go. That’s expected. Normal, even. I knew two detectives - both men - who had a secret affair that took place their entire careers. I only knew about it ‘cause we were assigned to the same hotel room and I walked in on them one night at a Police Conference. I ate some bad shrimp and wanted to turn in early. They were so fucking scared,” he let out a low laugh, “and begged me not to report them. I had to practically make a blood oath to keep my mouth shut. You see, back then, they would have not just lost their jobs but probably worse. Most guys still don’t take kindly to that sort of thing. I never said shit. Not my business. And I wouldn’t have anyways. It don’t matter who or what they like to fuck - so long as it’s not kids - you don’t betray your fellow cop. Right, boy?”

“Yeah. Right.” It was Hoffman’s turn to sound impatient, probably tired of hearing him rambling like he tended to do.

“But anyways, so you’re getting feelings. Feelings you probably don’t feel often and wouldn’t expect with your partner. That’s normal. So what’s the problem? You tell her and she turns your hairy ass down?”

Hoffman let out a harsh laugh. “No. And I think she’s interested. She’s going through a divorce.”

“Oh, geeze,” he rolled his eyes and continued puffing at his cigarette. “When did I become Oprah fucking Winfrey?”

Hoffman was starting to snicker, his shoulders relaxing. The scotch was hitting. It took to near the end of the bottle now. Knox remembered once when the kid would be puking his brains over half a handle. Looking to top the kid another one, he noticed another two bottle tops poking from the brown paper just out of reach. He went to reach for it but let out a grunt at just barely grazing the brown paper. Hoffman turned to reach and pull out a fresh scotch, taking the liberty to play bartender for both.

“Well, she a looker?” He half-hated his curiosity, but now that the boy was starting to take a load off, this was when he could start getting the more interesting facts out there. Since when did he become such a gossip? “You wouldn’t happen to have a picture of her in your wallet?”

Hoffman’s smile was almost kind. “She’s pretty. Redhead. Freckles. Kind of tiny. And no, don’t have a pic.”

Knox whistled low. “She got a temper?”

Hoffman chuckled. “Not really. But when she does get pissed, it’s fun to watch.”

“Oh no,” Knox shook his head. “You know, if you’d just take my advice and ask out that one gal back in ‘92, maybe you’d have grown out of schoolyard tricks by now.”

He shot a dirty stare back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean - do what kids your age are supposed to do. Flowers. Dinner. That sort of thing. Or is that old fashioned?”

“We’re partners. We can’t date.”

Knox let out a mean laugh. “Mark, you and I both know that you’re shit with following the rules.”

“Yeah. But she’s not. She’s so by the book it fucking hurts,” he pressed his fingertips into his eyelids, letting out a low groan of frustration.

“Ah.” Knox bowed his head. “That will do it.” He felt his face go red and his head spun a little. The booze was kicking in nicely. It almost helped with the pain. “How long has she been in? Is she fresh from the Academy?”

“She was in some suburb near San Diego for a while before coming here.”

“You know, I recall a young kid thinking life was so simple for a couple of years. And then he finally accepted that reality ain’t like a fairytale.” He swirled the melting ice in his glass, recalling that very same young boy who was not the weary man. Time brings down the mighty. “Maybe she’ll change her tune one day. But then again, I never got women. They’re so set in their ways. Stubborn. So fucking stubborn.” He downed the glass and let out a low gasp. “My advice? Ask for reassignment if it starts getting to the point you can’t do your job. Unless you care more about her than your career. All I’m saying.”

“I thought you’d have something more than that,” Hoffman mumbled.

“What, you think I have all the answers with my stellar career and perfect family life? You thought I’d give some helpful advice?” Knox let out a bitter smirk. “Sorry, son, but I’m probably the last person to ask about either.”

“Knox. I’m sorry.” Hoffman turned suddenly, eyes dark blue with intensity and regret.

“Mark,” Knox put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, surprised with how large he had gotten. A boy in a man’s body. “This was not your fault. You hear me? I pulled the gun on Rosello that night.”

“To save - me,” Hoffman hissed, pounding his chest so loud it echoed. “Because I couldn’t keep control.”

Knox shook his head, grabbed the kid’s head and pressed his forehead against his. They were both getting a bit drunk. Emotional. “Yes. Because you were my partner. And that’s what partners do. We’ll do anything to keep each other safe. No hesitation. Just as you for me.” He didn’t look up, not wanting to be seen crying. “And I don’t regret it. Never once. I’d do it again. Right now, if need be.”

“Knox.” Hoffman’s voice had gotten lower in a deep croak. “I’m -,”

“No. Don’t say it. Don’t ever fucking apologize. Never. Not to me.” Knox squeezed the back of his neck. “You do what you got to do. Keep yours safe. You doing that?”

He felt Hoffman nod and sniffle. “I still do his bitch work. I fucking hate it, Knox. I’m so fucking helpless. I just took Will’s recent case and shredded it. I had to call it in to his people. And he gave the order. So I did it.”

Knox was breathing hard. His eyes burned and his chest felt so heavy. “I know. I wish I could get you out of this. I really do. But you gotta do what you gotta do. For your family.” Directionless fury coursed up his neck. He knew the feeling of having no power all too well. The only place for the hate to flow was inward.

“And Will - she keeps trying to take him on. Trying to bring him down. He’s going to kill her, Knox. Or have me do it. Or worse. If she doesn’t let up, Rosello may come for Ange. And I don’t know what to do to stop it.”

Neither did he. Knox was at a loss. He felt his heart sink. Complicated, in -fucking - deed.

Allison Kerry tried to help Maddox as she frantically dug through piles of paper. She gently lifted some pages of a document that was unrelated to the Jefferson case. She already had a sinking suspicion on what happened but kept her mouth shut as Will went back to the same drawer the third time, searching for a case file that was likely not there.

“I can’t find the file,” Will turned, bewildered. “It was just here. I literally had it just here. Just ten minutes ago.”

Kerry put a hand on her hip, inching forward with the urge to tell her it was likely gone forever. She kept herself in check. The poor girl already had enough on her plate with her divorce. She didn’t need to know that her partner was a scheming piece of shit that was likely fucking her sideways to Sunday and burning all her hardwork. At least not yet. “Hey. It’s getting late. Even if I had the missing child case, Rosello won’t get taken down any faster. Let’s get out of here.” She put her hand on Will’s back. “Hey, Will?”

“I -,” Will stood up straight. “I just don’t understand.”

“I’m sure it’ll turn up,” Kerry lied, “Come on, Will, I’m thirsty. It’s been a long day. For both of us, I hear. Besides, the boys are waiting for us.”

Will was quiet but complied. Kerry tossed a mean glare over at Hoffman’s desk, wanting to pour some cold coffee over his space and throw his organized papers all over the floor. She chose to keep her pettiness locked down and led her new roommate to the car. “Have you ever been to the Green Lion Grill?”

“No,” Will was buckling up and recovering nicely. “Is it good?”

“Yep. Sing raves about it all the time. Hope you don’t mind, I figured it’d be good for you to meet everyone in a casual setting. Just get some exposure on the best of Homicide. You know, in case you’re looking for other career opportunities. Grissom is assembling a task force and wants us to get to know each other a little better, since we’ll be working more on taking down Rosello these next couple of months.” She got the car started and in gear, taking Will through the scenic route towards the Grill.

“Who else will be there?”

“Tapp. Sing. Matthews. Fisk. Oh, and a new guy we think will be good for us, Gibson. And two FBI agents I’m liasoning for. I’m hoping they’ll be able to help us out with taking down Rosello. You’ll like them.” Kerry couldn’t help but smile, thinking about her old college roommate, Lindsey Perez. “This is a good group of people. I really think together, we can take down that sonofabitch.”

“I look forward to meeting them.” Will straightened up. “How come Hoffman’s not invited?”

Kerry let out a sigh. “Look, Will, I didn’t want to be the one to break this to you, but Mark Hoffman isn’t exactly someone I would trust.” She gave the girl a sad look. “I know you two are partners. I respect that. But if you want to work with us, and you truly want Rosello out of the picture, you’d do best to keep everything we do out of Hoffman’s eye and reach.”

Will was quiet at first, then, “Be honest. You think Hoffman did something with that file?”

“Honey, I think it’s long shredded, burned, and the ashes scattered in the river by now.”

“What the fuck,” she whispered. Her fingertips flew up to her forehead. “I don’t understand.” Will was massaging her temples, sighing. “What the fuck. I knew he was acting strange today.”

“Hey. Will.” She didn’t need the woman to have an existential crisis on her. “I’m not saying the man’s scum of the earth. Hoffman ain’t evil. He’s just in a really shitty situation.”

“How?”

“Well, for starters, he has family.” Allison swallowed at this, the lump in her throat suddenly a thick pill that wouldn’t go down. “Family he cares about. Yeah, I’m talking about his sister. That makes him vulnerable. Second, he got himself in this situation way back, making things personal with Rosello. You know what happened with his last partner?”

“No, I don’t. He won’t talk about it.” Will turned to her. “You know what happened?”

Allison cleared her throat. “Well, he should tell you himself. But let's just say that he’s not sucking Rosello’s dick just because he likes the taste, you feel me? And third? He’s lost hope. He’s lost hope for a while now. He has no fucks left to give, except to keep Angie safe from the guy. He doesn’t think Rosello can be taken down. He’s more of a victim in this situation than the villain. And I get that. Maybe Tapp doesn’t. Maybe Sing doesn’t. But I understand. I’d probably do exactly the same shit if I was in his situation. I’m not going to judge. But because of this, I can’t trust him. And you shouldn’t either, if you’re going to work with us. If it’s Rosello related, Hoffman is not on our side. At least, not completely. You cool with that?” Kerry wanted to place her bet on Wilhemina Maddox. Maybe it was some deep rooted need for more badass women to prove that they could do this shit. Maybe she just had this gut feeling that Will was good company. Maybe she was just desperate.

“Okay. I’m in. If taking down Rosello gets Mark out of this - whatever this is - I’ll do anything. He’s my partner,” she turned to her. “And I don’t want him to deal with that shitstain anymore.”

Allison Kerry couldn’t help but smile at that. “Good.” Her heart fluttered at Will’s passion, reminding her of the good old days when she was first assigned to Eric Matthews. “So you and Hoffman. Things getting pretty close, huh?”

Will blinked. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Kerry was getting close to the Grill. “Long hours at work, seeing the same guy all day and every day, I know what that’s like. It’s hard not to catch some feelings. And Mark Hoffman is one fine piece of man. I’d probably jump his bones if I had been assigned to be his partner. I certainly wouldn’t last ten months.” She parked and turned off the engine.

Will blinked, cheeks reddening. “We’re just partners.”

Allison’s smile grew. She didn’t want to scare the one local lady friend she had away. “Hey, no need to be shy. Just so you know, if you have any questions about things that the guys just won’t get, I’m all ears. It’s just nice to have someone at the station that is easier to talk about this sort of thing than the jocks we work with. Now, let’s get some grub. I skipped lunch and am literally starving to death.”

Will’s cell phone rang. Will checked the caller ID and flipped the phone closed, jaw clenched and looking off in the distance with a lost expression.

“Hoffman?”

“No. Frank.” Will shook her head. The phone rang again immediately and she looked down again, pressing it silent and powering down the device.

Allison eyed Will’s face and her hands. “Frank your husband?”

“Yeah.” Will brushed stray red curls from her face, shrugging and forcing a smile. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay, honey. If you’d rather just go home, say the word.”

“No. I want to meet everyone.” Will’s eyes sparkled with intent. “We’ve got work to do.”

“‘Kay.” Leading the way, they entered the dimly lit pub, walking past the hostess to the only large table that could comfortably seat eight people.

“Ally,” Matthews called out, waving at the approaching pair. Waving back, Allison’s eyes fell onto the familiar big dark eyes and crinkled brown curls of her old friend, Lindsey Perez, and her colleague, Peter Strahm.

“Thanks for waiting,” Allison Kerry paused. “You all know Will Maddox, except the Feds, of course.” Perez and Strahm both laughed at this. “Well, Will, this is Special Agent Lindsey Perez, we met in college. She handles human trafficking cases. And Special Agent Peter Strahm, one of Behavior Sciences’ profilers.”

Will shook hands with both, stopping to stare up at Strahm like she was in awe. Allison picked up on this quickly, whispering in Will’s ear, “And he’s single.” Will shot her an embarrassed glower before turning to Strahm with freshly blushed cheeks. The agent hadn’t heard her over the sound of nearby conversation. He smiled down at her with long lashes framing eyes holding an intense energy that Allison thought seemed extra spicy at Will’s direction.

“Hi, nice to meet you two,” she seemed to quickly grab the seat farthest from Peter Strahm as fast as she could flee. So she keeps her distance to men she’s attracted to, Allison couldn’t help but smile sadly at this. It was probably a safe practice. One that kept the personal life drama to a minimum, that’s for sure. Maybe ten months and not jumping her partner’s bones was the norm for Will Maddox. Honestly, Allison Kerry wouldn’t know what was considered normal anymore.

Allison sat next to her secret lover and partner, Eric Matthews, who shamelessly put his arm around her chair with the casualness amongst colleagues you wouldn’t expect from a married man with a son that was only five months old. Maybe Allison was just a slut that couldn’t tell prudence from pragmatism anymore. Again, she wasn’t one to judge. She knew she was just the Whore of Babylon to the nameless drones back at the station, according to the whispers she’d pick up on when she walked by, but she always assumed her work would speak louder than who she chose to fuck in her private bed.

But she knew that was just wishful thinking. Despite getting the brunt of the gossip, she always loved how the station hailed Matthews as a hero and a pussy slayer that could do no wrong - when he was the one with the family he took for granted. She was just lonely. She had no one but him.

And he had everything. He smiled widely, loud and jaunting, captivating the group with his moving hand and story. Cigarette in hand, he waved it around as he relayed tales of his rookie years.

“So there I was. Dead end, only got one bullet to my name. This fucker’s got me pinned against the wall with a fresh mag. He’s just playing with me at this point. Waving his pistol while his boys laugh. Firing pot shots at my toes. I think, ‘I’m so hosed. It’s over.’ And you wouldn’t, believe, my luck.”

Everyone was leaning forward, listening intensely.

“A black fucking cat just flies out from the dumpster and starts clawing the motherfucker on his head. The creep just freaks, drops the gun, and it gives me time to charge and shoot one of the cocksuckers. They all just spread apart. Disorganized. I had nothing to lose, you get me? I figured, I might as well take as many of those fucks as I can since it’s my last night on earth. And the fucker with the cat on his head had dropped his revolver and the others were too busy ogling at the spectacle to notice me running up and pulling the gun on them. I take ‘em all out. Like fish in a barrel.” Matthews pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. “And I walk out of there, and the rest? History.”

Tapp is chuckling. “That didn’t happen.”

Matthews smirked, slanted eyes upturned with amusement. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a black cat. Maybe it was dark brown. But I swear those fuckers are lucky to me since that day.”

“Uh-huh.” Tapp took a long drink from his pint, black eyes twinkling. “A’ight. I won’t steal your thunder, Eric.”

Matthews smiled widely and turned to Allison, giving her one of those smiles that just made her all fuzzy inside. Grinning back, she turned to the rest of the group. Sing was talking to Will, something about tennis. Strahm and Gibson were making small talk about how nice it is to wake up at five in the morning to go fishing. She rolled her eyes at this. And Lindsey, who sat across from her, was watching her with a scrutinizing frown, elbows resting on the table, full lips pressed tightly as her dark brown eyes flickered from Matthews’ arm around her chair backrest to her face. Particularly on the wedding band on his finger. She knew that look and dreaded the lecture that was likely going to follow later.

“Lindsey, how was the flight up here?”

“A lot of turbulence. Almost lost my lunch.” She let out a small laugh. “I’ve missed you. I don’t think we’ve seen each other in person since graduation.”

“Yeah,” Allison felt a sadness weigh on her. “I’ve missed you too. Thanks for coming up.”

“Yeah. We’re happy to help. I heard it’s been hard up here.” This was a politician’s response. A pragmatic, diplomatic response.

“It’s been fucking hell, Lindsey, don’t be shy to tell me. I know.” Allison leaned closer to her friend with eyelids blinking with exhaustion. “This table has the only non-corrupt detectives we have in Homicide right now. It’s David and Goliath up in this shithole of a city.

“Yeah. That’s what I’ve heard.” Lindsey’s voice was soft, compassionate. She was biting her lip. “Well, you’ve got me and Strahm for the next few months. We’ll help in any way we can. Our supervisor is glad for this chance to work with the department, especially if it means taking down one of the nation’s worst crime bosses.”

“Thank you.” She felt relief come over her, a much needed reassurance she didn’t realize she was so hungry for. She then nodded to Strahm. “He ain’t bad to look at. You two…?”

“Ally,” Lindsey scolded, “You know I don’t like to mix work and personal life.” This felt like a personal attack, but she let it slide. She knew she deserved it if it was. “Besides. He’s not my type.”

Allison hummed at this, taking a swig of beer as she contemplated the two FBI agents. It was clear Strahm seemed more invested with talking with Gibson and throwing glances at Will than looking at his partner’s direction. This intrigued her, making the inside of her chest flutter with hopeful zest. “What is your type, Linds?”

Lindsey Perez gave her a knowing smile. “You don’t remember, Ally? Didn’t take you as forgetful.” There was a heat in her voice and an electricity in her gaze that made Allison’s lower stomach jolt and tense.

“Oh, I remember. I was just wondering if your tastes… changed since then.”

“Not changed. Only matured,” there was a teasing in her words, coaxing for her to dive further. Allison felt her cheeks go hot.

“So Perez,” Eric broke into the conversation, “You and Ally go way back?”

Chapter Text

Daniel sat with his hands in his lap. His pressed collar was strangling him. The uniform was stifling and itchy. He kept his gaze downward as the hotshot lawyer’s fancy shoes clicked on the linoleum. He wanted to look harmless, shrinking into his chair.

Hoffman had taken one of the higher ups’ offices for this meeting. He was calm, sitting behind the desk with his jacket hanging by the door, giving an easy expression that wasn’t exactly a smile but wasn’t hostile either. He held himself calmly, shoulders squared with the confidence of a man in charge.

Rigg kept his head down, hoping he didn't mess things up this time. The lawyer hardly gave him his attention.

“My client has a broken nose and a fractured cheek bone,” his voice was low and bored as he studied the bulletins tacked on the wall. “Administrative leave with pay is not acceptable.”

He watched Hoffman who gave him a stern glance. “The IA investigation is underway, Mr. Blank.”

The lawyer smirked at this. “In this precinct, huh? What’s that gonna get me?”

“The truth.”

“The truth? Well I’ll tell you what the truth is. The truth is I have an eye witness.”

“The man’s wife? She gains as much as he does if there was to be a financial settlement. Which is not going to happen because he’s lying. He attacked Officer Rigg first.”

Art Blank’s eyes bored into the top of his head. Daniel struggled to keep his eyes downcast. “According to who?”

“Me. I saw the whole thing,” Hoffman’s eyes had gone soft, almost nurturing. When Daniel looked up he saw someone who cared. Someone who was looking out for him. There was an understanding there that made him feel safe.

“Would you testify before a grand jury?”

“I’ve already signed IA’s affidavit. The charges are being dismissed.” There was almost a smug smile on Hoffman’s face.

“You’re good,” Art Blank rested his shoulder against the wall, cool dismissal sliding off his tongue. “You’re - you’re obviously thick as thieves in this precinct. But you know it’ll come back to you, right? Maybe not today but someday. It’ll come back to you.”

Daniels hairs stood on the back of his neck and he felt the blood rush out of his face. Hoffman stared up at the man, unphased. There was a low rumble in his words, as though daring him to do his worst. “Well, Mr. Blank, what goes around. Is that all?”

“Unfortunately,” the man in the fancy suit slithered out, slamming the door behind him. As soon as his silhouette vanished from the glass windows, Daniel covered his face with his hands and sank into his seat, a sigh ghosting out of his lungs.

“Jesus. That was intense.”

“I told you I’d take care of it,” Hoffman got to his feet and went to get his jacket. “Go home. Spend the next two weeks kicking back. Relax. Tell Tracy that Angie and myself say hi.”

“Thanks, Hoffman. Seriously.” Daniel jumped to his feet, taking the man’s hand and shaking it with overwhelming gratitude. He was in awe. He didn’t understand why people gave the guy a wide berth. He was a fucking saint. “You just handled that so easily.”

“Comes with experience. Trust me, you’ll get there.” He seemed distracted. In a rush. He was already a foot out of the office but Daniel didn’t want him to leave just yet.

“Hey, Hoff,” Daniel grabbed his arm, flinching when Hoffman stopped and stared at his hand. “Sorry. But just so you know. If there’s anything you need that I can do. Just say the word.”

“Sure thing,” there was a pleased pull of his cheek and a calculating stare. “And don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten about the SWAT recommendation. I’ll forward it to Grissom as soon as I get a chance. And I’ll keep you posted if I need anything.”

“Thanks, man. You’re the best.”

“Don’t you forget it.”

“Will, please,” Frank’s voice was pleading over the receiver. “Please come home.”

Why did she accept the call? “It’s over,” she whispered back, still too sleep-induced to think of the right words to end the call right there. Her throat was tight but she kept herself firm. She wasn’t going back. Even if a small part of her wanted to.

She heard his voice and words but didn’t bother to listen. Her eyes wandered around as she considered pressing the red end call button. Times like these, she wished the phone call was on the landline. It was always more satisfying to slam down on the receiver. She sat cross legged on the floor mattress, her new bed until she finally went and bought some furniture. It was her first weekend officially in her new place.

Her bedroom was cozy, the faded floral wallpaper peeling in some corners, but the place was clean and in a good neighborhood. Her new roommate, Allison Kerry, was likely sleeping across the hallway.

He had woken her up that Saturday, not an unreasonable hour, but she had fumbled for the phone half asleep, expecting it to be Angelina Hoffman to talk about their shopping date.

“Let’s just talk. Please.”

She bit her lip. “I want to come by sometime and pick up some things. But we have nothing to discuss.”

“When?”

“I’ll let you know. Goodbye.” She hung up before he said anything to keep her on the line. She shut her eyes tight, unsure of whether it was a good call or not to communicate with Frank at all. But it was early enough that a cool morning run would clear her head.

She got herself up to her feet, stretching out her popping joints. Still half-asleep, she went to pull on her jogging tights and pulled the sports bra over her chest, her movements swift. She had a lot of pent up energy from the past week.

Normally, she’d like to go to her fitness center to let off some steam with some dancing and aerobics. But she’d avoided it out of fear that Frank would be lurking around there. So cardio, it was.

Cardio was reliable, especially when frustrated. And she was wound up tight and extremely frustrated. Hoffman had been difficult to work with after the Jefferson case disappeared. When she had asked him where it had gone, he simply said Grissom had reassigned it out of Homicides and he had already handed over the case. He stonewalled her after that. There was clearly a rift building, a great wall he wasn’t letting her pass.

It drove her fucking mad. She was beginning to get the bigger picture, at least whenever Rosello was concerned. Hoffman was in it - whatever ‘it’ was - deep. And he wasn’t going to exactly spell it out for her. She could only assume this was his fear, but until certain, it was all ruminations with no answers. She hated that.

She was already out of the door with her trainers on, hurrying down the stairs and feeling her limbs start to warm up when she reached the outside. It was late winter now. Her breath was mist and she was already shivering.

She lurched into a long gaited jog, her agitation and anger giving her extra pep in her step. It wasn’t long before she was outright sprinting down the dead streets, the sun just barely showing itself.

Everything was blue. The pavement. The buildings. The sky. It was a shade of blue she saw every morning across her desk. The cool and unnatural shade she could get lost in if she forgot herself.

Her chest cramped from the bitter cold but it was a good kind of pain. Distracting. Her mind kept returning to him. She wondered how she could save him. She wondered if he was thinking about her now or if he was sleeping off another long night of drinking alone.

Today she was going to spend time with his sister. How funny. She wasn’t sure what to make of the invitation. It wasn’t so awkward, though. Allison was going with them. It wasn’t just a one-on-one session.

She jumped over an overturned trash can, hurdling over like her track days and continued her speed. She was already breathing rapidly, having skipped one too many cardio days, having to cut back on her exercise time with how life just kept throwing shit her way. She mostly stuck with heavy weights these days, not just the kind she used at the gym. She needed to work on her strength training. Always.

Hoffman tended to do the foot-racing and tackling when they were in the field. He was just so fucking strong and big enough to bring any bad guy down. It was always a beautiful sight when he’d charge through like a juggernaut and take down anyone that tried to escape in a blur of muscle and rage. It made her heart race; her mouth water.

She swallowed and blinked back to reality. Her legs were tight and burning. She let her frustration out as she kept raising her legs and pounding her soles hard, running as fast as her body could go. She missed this. Her need for speed could only be satisfied with a steering wheel now.

Checking her watch, she realized she had been running for an hour. She had to slow down, her knees begging for some forgiveness. Sweat dripped down her neck and she finally let herself stop and walk. She was wheezing and coughing, her nose running. Fuck, she was out of shape.

She had done zigzags throughout the blocks and was almost back to Kerry’s. But she’d walk the rest of the way. Maybe there was a coffee shop. People were starting to wake up and go about their early Saturday chores. She noticed a familiar back with chocolate brown hair.

“Hoffman!” She jogged up to him. The man turned and she stopped, realizing she had the wrong person. “Sorry,” she proceeded to jog by him, embarrassment adding to her flushed skin. Maybe it was wishful thinking.

She did not look forward to this date with Angelina.

Angelina had been to Allison Kerry’s place before. She and Ally weren’t besties, but close enough that she felt comfortable to come drop by whenever. Her left hand was itchy with the engagement ring practically burning a band on her finger. She bounced where she stood as she rang at the intercom.

“Yeah?” Ally’s voice came through.

“It’s Angie,” She pressed the button. The buzz of the front door letting her into the foyer was a welcome from the freezing morning air. She pushed through, wiped her feet, and quickly made her way to the elevators.

When she got to the apartment, she always stopped to appreciate the woman’s taste. There were pastels. Nothing too flashy, nothing too conservative. There were tons of books on the walls, a decent DVD collection. And her wine cooler was what Angie envied most of all.

“Hey, hon,” Ally hugged her and took her coat. “Will’s in the shower. So what’s the big news you said I had to learn in person?”

A wide smile on her face she held her left hand up. “He finally did it!”

“Oh, my God,” Ally covered her mouth with both hands and let out a gleeful laugh. “About time. Congrats! When’s the big day?”

“We’re thinking June. We’ll have invites out soon.”

“Was this yesterday?”

“Two days ago. You will not believe what Mark said when I called him.” She rolled her eyes at the memory. “He said I better change my name and get out of town. Like that wasn’t even funny, you know? I swear.” The phone call had been abrupt and cool. He hadn’t sounded particularly thrilled, which wasn’t out of place, but he sounded especially somber. She was hoping Will would give her a better idea when she got her alone later that day. Mark had been off lately, clearly hiding something.

Ally smirked, “That’s tame, knowing him. But yeah, kind of a dick thing to say instead of ‘I’m happy for you’.”

“Yeah. Guess I shouldn’t complain too much, though. At least he and Peter get along now. But still,” she finally pogoed up and down, letting herself feel happy. Mark was likely fine. Maybe it was girl trouble. “I also wanted to ask you and Will something big. Over brunch. And mimosas.” She clapped her hands together, like a kid about to go to the candy shop.

“All right,” Ally, beautiful and serious, tended to smile a lot more when Angelina acted childish, so she played it up a little for her benefit.

“Hey,” Will came out, red hair dampened down in a helmet of curls that she was towelling dry. “Sorry I’m running late.”

“You sure were running early,” Ally’s pun had Will groaning. She turned to Angie, “This lady decided running at sub-freezing weather was a great idea this morning.”

“Oh, gosh,” Angie cringed. “That sounds terrible.”

“Yeah, I paid for it in the shower. I was coughing up a lung for ten minutes straight.”

“Better not make that a habit. You don’t want pneumonia,” Ally went to the kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee. Do either of you want some?”

“Yes,” both Angie and Will chanted. When Will disappeared into her room to finish getting ready, Allison put on a pot and started the brew. She turned swiftly, her big hair swooshing.

“Okay. This is a long shot, but does your brother ever talk about Will?”

Angie laughed. “Yeah, I wish. I’m lucky if I can get two sentences from him over the phone. Why? Is Will okay?”

“Well,” Ally shot a glance over to the direction of the bedrooms, lowering her voice “Will’s been moping lately. I’m not sure if it’s about her divorce, but she’s been distracted. Just so you know, in case you think she’s being weird. Her ex calls her non-stop, all the time. I keep telling her to just get a new phone or call the company to change her number. But I’m worried she’s thinking of seeing him.”

“Oh,” Angie looked over to Will, worry wiggling into her stomach. “Yeah, you think she’ll not want to hear about the wedding?”

“I’m not sure. But she’s a big girl. She’ll be fine. Just so you know, in case she tries to cut from us early, let’s try to keep her nearby. I’ve got this bad feeling, you know?”

“I got you,” Angie felt a slight thrill, like she was helping out on police-business or getting into some action.

“So how’s Pete? I haven’t seen him since the picnic last summer.”

“He’s good. He’s enlisting in the marines. He’s actually due to ship to bootcamp two months after June, which is why we’re looking at that date.”

“Oh, wow,” Allison raised an eyebrow and went to pour them some fresh brew. “I’m surprised, I thought he was going to try to make it big with his magic act.”

Angie let out a small laugh, “Yeah, I thought so too. Well, we were talking about starting a family at some point. He wants to make sure we’re more stable before we do. Military seemed like one of the few options right now.” She took the mug graciously and took a slow sip.

“Ah, gotcha. It must have been a hard call,” Ally squeezed her shoulder.

“I’m ready,” Will came out, her damp hair down and over her puffy coat. Angie noticed she liked wearing greens and browns, her casual clothes reminding her of earthy forests. A satchel slung around her shoulders and knee high leather boots, she looked like an Irish nymph about to go on an epic.

“Great. Let’s go!”

She led the two ladies up the subway stairs towards her latest discovery, humming to herself a tune offkey. Angie was a foodie, obviously. She didn’t just love cooking. She loved to eat. She loved walking by a restaurant’s opening day and perusing their menu. She would consider the flavor profiles offered and decide on whether or not she’d go and try some of their dishes.

“So I discovered this place last Restaurant Week. Amazing french toast. Peter said the salmon benedicts were good. And it’s not too expensive.” When they made their way inside, the heat hit her face. The three women all sighed in pleasure when they finally got out of the cold.

The lady at the front desk recognized her, her eyes lighting up. “Angie,” The woman had menus resting against her hip and wrapped an arm around her. “It’s been months. How’s Peter?”

“Great, Sarah, it’s so good to see you again. Beats hosting back at the Swank?” Angie used to moonlight at a bar and grill where she met Sarah. Neither had enjoyed the late night clientele or the messes they made.

“This is paradise compared. Table for three?” She looked amongst her group.

Nodding, Angie was then brought deeper into the busy breakfast scene, where the scents of cinnamon, cream, and coffee wafted through her nose like perfume at Macy’s. Her stomach growled.

Once they all sat at a table out of the way and close to the kitchen, Angie noticed Will was getting another phone call. She looked at it for a moment before flipping it closed and putting it back in her purse. “Sorry,” she had noticed Angie’s glance.

“No, you’re fine.” One of the servers arrived with a water pitcher and glasses, placing each in front of the patrons.

“You know, Will, you can file a restraining order on him.” Ally looked to her colleague, heavily into her eyes. “It would only take a few minutes to fill out the form.”

“Yeah. But I still need to get some things at the apartment first.”

“Like what?”

“Some photo albums. Some things that can’t be replaced. Family heirlooms.”

“We can always sneak in when he’s at work. I doubt he’s changed the key.”

“He doesn’t exactly have a consistent work schedule.”

“What does he do?”

“ - Hi, I’m Karen, and I’ll be your server. Can I start you off with some macchiatos?”

“A pitcher of your blood orange mimosa,” Ally firmly held three fingers out, “And three glasses.”

“Black coffee,” Will added.

“And I’ll have a caramel macchiato,” Angie smiled at the woman as she nodded and swiftly left.

“No avoiding the question, honey, does he have a job?”

“He was interviewing for a call center,” was the response. Even Angie thought it sounded defeated. “Likely, he’s unemployed.”

“How the hell is he paying rent?”

“I don’t know.” Will was pressing her fingertips into the sides of her forehead. “I opened up a new account and haven’t been putting anything in the old. I’m still working on taking my name off of all shared accounts, but it’s kind of hard when he’s refusing to sign the papers or even listen when I tell him it’s over. I’ll have to wait six more days before the divorce can be filed officially, unless he decides to contest before then. Ugh.” She slumped back in her chair, the shadows of her eyes brought out from their overhead light. “I’m working on breaking the lease at my old place but the landlord won’t return my phone calls. It’s been a brutal week.”

They sat in silence after this. Angie’s mind was wavering with the low mood. It sounded hard. Divorce. A part of her was suddenly feeling dodgy about marrying Peter. What if we ever separated? She wasn’t sure if that was even a possibility. She was sure they’d work things out, no matter what it was. Well, maybe not everything. Angie thought this was one of those rare times that ending a marriage was more than valid. Will deserved better. And Frank needs to go to jail, she fumed quietly.

“Angie,” Will leaned forward, eyes wide open and thrilled. “What’s that on your hand?” She nodded towards her engagement ring. Half-embarrassed, half overjoyed, she showed the sparkling gemstone to her. “Congratulations!” The shadows had faded from her face and was instead replaced with shining merriment. “Wow, it’s beautiful. Way to go, Peter!” She let out a small laugh. “Oh, please tell me Hoffman cried.”

Angie shook her head, grinning. “No, he actually didn’t seem to care.”

“What?” Will suddenly looked furious. “I’m sure he’s thrilled. He must be.” There was a troubled frown on her face. “What did he say?”

“Uh,” she let out a laugh and repeated what she had told Ally earlier that morning. Will didn’t seem to get the joke either.

“Change your name and leave town,” she repeated the sentence, as though trying to write a poem with the words.

“Is something wrong?” Angie cocked her head, suddenly scared. “Is Mark in trouble?”

“No, no,” Will shook her head. “He was fine last time we spoke. He’s just - stressed.”

“About what?”

“Uh…”

“Here are your drinks. Mimosas and coffee. Have you all decided on what to eat?” The waitress had her notepad out, pen at the ready.

“Yeah,” Ally pointed to one line on the menu. “I”ll have the french toast with strawberries.”

“I’ll have the blueberry pancakes,” Angie handed her menu to their server.

“Uh, oatmeal.” Will gave a shy smile. “Thanks.” Angie wanted to protest but firmly pressed her lips together. She shouldn’t judge or even comment, but it felt like such a wasted opportunity.

“You’re welcome to try my pancakes if you want. They’re so buttery and moist.”

Will laughed. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m a bit of a health nut.”

“When she’s not killing fifths with your brother,” Ally had already poured the drinks out. “I’ve also seen you crush a basket of fish and chips in five minutes. Cut the crap, Will.” Allison Kerry held out the champagne flute. “To the weekend. And finally having a chance to hang out with some ladies for a change.” They made their cheers and after taking a long sip, Ally continued her onslaught onto Will. “What’s with the oatmeal?”

Will shrugged. “I’m just not feeling anything rich right now, is all.” She was already halfway through the first glass of deep red orange and looked anxious. “Besides, my appetite is shot. Sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Angie wanted to wave Will’s troubles away. “No need for the third degree. Besides, there will be more brunches to be had. Right, Ally?”

“Yeah. I’m in. I just like giving crap. Come on, Will, I’ve heard you give Hoffman plenty of shit. You give as much as you take. Don’t go easy on me.” She was resting her elbow on the table, curling her hair around her finger. There was a teasing glitter in her hazel eyes. “And I would bet my left kidney that you started running and eating oatmeal because of Special Agent Peter Strahm.”

Will choked on her drink and Ally pumped her fist in the air. “Called it!”

“What’s going on? Who’s Peter Strahm?” Angelina was fascinated, leaning forward. “You said special agent, like FBI? Ooh, please, details. Please tell me he’s tall.”

“Tall, dark-haired, a cute face I’d love to sit on, and he’s completely taken with our Wilhelmina here.” Ally put her arm around Will, fluffing her red hair outward like a dog.

“Yeah?” Will smirked back. “Who said I went running because of Strahm? Maybe there was another guy on my mind I was trying to get out.”

“Who?” Angelina’s eyes grew wide. “Is it someone I know?”

Will’s gaze fell and she cleared her throat. “Also, way to try to avoid the whole Eric Matthews situation, Kerry,” Will turned and gave the woman a death stare. “You know that’s something that I’ve been trying to wrap my head around.”

It was Ally’s turn to look flustered. “Well - yeah. You’re right. I suck.” She looked up to Angelina like the sinner begging for absolution. She was chewing on her lip before leaning forward. “So - I didn’t tell you, Angie, but Matthews and I have been… kind of a thing for a while.”

“I know,” Angie shrugged. “I knew for a while.”

“What?!” Ally leaned forward. “How?”

“Mark. Eric sometimes has dinner at my place. Mark let it slip. It’s not my business, Ally, though…” She shook her head, the jumble of frustration, anger, and just plain sadness wallowing inside of her. “...I think it’s unfair to Jane. And their son. Danny?”

“Daniel, yeah,” Ally wiped her nose, avoiding eye contact. “I know. I’m not proud of it. But I don’t know what to do. It just happened.”

Neither Will nor Angelina wanted to be the first to answer.

“So… Peter Strahm,” Will tried to restore the conversation. “He’s got these eyes that would make you melt, Ange. And those thick lashes. Ugh. Ally’s right. I, too, would do terrible things to him if given the opportunity.” Ally nodded furiously in agreement, eyes wide with lecherous glee.

“Yeah?” Angelina giggled, wishing she had a picture of the guy. “I’ll need to meet him. Maybe he can strip for the bachelorette party. Which reminds me.” She pressed her fingertips to the table, taking in a deep breath before taking the plunge. “Will you two be in my bridal party?”

Both Ally and Will turned to each other then back at her. “Uh, duh?” Ally grinned widely.

“I mean - of course.” Will bit her lip, “When is the wedding?”

“June. The day’s still up in the air.” She let out a small high pitched squeak. “I’m so happy to hear that. I know we’ve only known each other for such a short period of time but it means so much that you’re accepting. I just want our day to be fun for everyone, not just about Peter and myself.” She paused to inhale, “And I’m going to be blunt: I need your help with Mark. Sometimes he gets,” she stewed over the right word to say, “all broody. And I don’t want him to be like that at the wedding.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Will gave a sympathetic smile. “He can act like a stick in the mud.”

“And I just know this is going to be a stressful time for Mark. You know our parents died when we were younger. So I’m going to have Mark walk me down the aisle. I think that’s going to be asking a lot of him. And I’ve seen how you two are with each other. He doesn’t freeze up, you know? I think you two would be so cute if paired up at the party.”

“I’m confused. Are you asking me to be Mark’s plus one? Then why be a bridesmaid?”

“Kind of both. See, he would never willingly bring you, even for some harmless family function that I asked him to do for me. Trust me, he’d either read too much into it and I need to save all my childhood-blackmail-ammunition for other plans I have,” her voice was getting serious and dark but her excitedness had her rapidly firing off her pitch before Will or Ally could get a word in. “And our entire lives, he’s never been one to stand still in front of a camera for long. He never did prom. He never even wants to do family photos when I ask him to. So my wedding is probably one of the only times I’m going to get any good pictures of Mark. He even somehow made his police academy photos unavailable for printing! Can you believe it?”

“Actually,” Will’s withered grin was full of sympathy, “I totally believe that.”

“It’s so frustrating!” Angie shook her head. “I have like a handful of photos of him, the most recent one back when he was in high school! I want a modern picture, and damn it, he’s going to have to suck it up on my day. And just because I’m feeling petty, I’m going to go all out. I’m hiring the best photographer I can afford and I want all the pictures, ladies. All of them. And I totally want a picture of him, arm-in-arm, with his work partner, you, at the wedding. So, you being a bridesmaid and him a groomsman, would be the perfect opportunity. I think it would be just so cute. And total payback for him not telling me you were a woman for months.”

Angie let herself smile, knowing she was starting to sound diabolical. “I plan on having those copies distributed to all our friends. Everyone he works with will get complimentary copies. Oh, and I’m planning on more pictures when it’s time for the bridesmaids and groomsmen to dance with each other at the beginning of the wedding party. Imagine.” There was a twinkle in her eye and a giggle in her throat.

Will pondered this, light brown eyes squinting while she pursed her mouth in concentration. Then she let out a low laugh that grew with malicious intent. “This would piss him off on a whole new level. Oh my God, you’re so evil. I love it.”

Angie knew she liked Will for a reason. Anyone eager to give her brother a hard time was good company in her book.

“Thank you,” Ally fanned herself, her cheeks flushed with anticipation. “My purpose in life is to fuck with Mark. As his baby sister, it is my divine right to show my love by driving him insane.”

“Please send me a couple copies. I’ll frame one and put it on my desk, so he’ll have to see it every day.” Will let out another laugh. “Angie, I had no idea. This explains why I didn’t see any pictures at your place with you all.”

“I know. I just - don’t get why he’s so camera shy. He’s a good looking guy, he should be more proud.”

“I hope you don’t tell him this to his face,” Ally smirked, “He already has a big head. Also, shouldn’t you be more focused on other aspects of the wedding?” There was bemusement at her scattered priorities. “Like catering and colors?”

“I’ve had my dream wedding planned since I was nine,” Angelina waved her hand away. She wasn’t too OCD on the details of the aesthetic but she wanted the memories captured to be perfect. “And the maid of honor is a professional wedding planner. I’m not too worried, she said she’d comp me in exchange for catering her wedding next year.”

“Nice. So what do you need us to do? Besides antagonizing your brother, which Will already does during normal business hours?” Ally looked over at Will who continued to giggle, raising an eyebrow at the immature woman. “You okay, Will?”

Her freckled cheeks were blushing and her eyes were watering. “Yeah. Don’t mind me. Just. Nevermind.” There was a nervous embarrassment pouring over her tight shoulder and how hard she chewed her lower lip.

“Well, I want you both to come to the bachelorette party, of course. And rehearsals. Oh, and helping me get fitted for my dress. And of course, you get fitted for yours as well. Muted green and gold.” Angelina continued on about her dream wedding, looking forward to her special day with her two new bridesmaids by her side. “I think those colors will look fab for the two of you.”

“I agree,” Ally turned to Will. “Honey, you keep looking at that phone and I’m going to throw it in the river.”

Will’s eyes snapped up. “Sorry. It’s just-,” and was cut off by Ally swiping the black brick and putting it in her purse.

“Uh-uh. Will, I’m doing this for your own good. Forget Frank. Think about Peter Strahm pouring honey down his pants. It’ll at least work up your appetite for that gruel you’re about to eat.”

Angie laughed at the imagery, her curiosity sky high. She had to see this guy.

Mark Hoffman glared angrily at the approaching limousine that inched towards his crown vic. It was late. He wanted to be back at his warm apartment, not standing out at the waterfront waiting for this fuck.

The driver had an awareness that likely meant he was armed and possibly keeping a weapon trained on him at that very moment. Olaf rose out of the far back door, holding it out for Rosello who was slowly pulling himself to his feet.

It was time to go. It took everything he had not to simply put the car in gear and floor it, taking Rosello with his grill and seeing if the engine had enough horsepower to ram through the limo and into the bay. Other cars were beginning to pull up besides their leader and suited thugs made their way out to show their intimidation in numbers. It was an effective strategy.

The harbor stank of seagull shit and rotting fish. He never liked coming out here.

As he took steps towards the crime boss, he took in slow and deep breaths. He felt sharp and strong, unlike earlier that week. He didn’t feel particularly upset. Just tired. “Mr. Rosello.”

“Markie-boy!” Rosello waddled to the detective and placed greasy leather gloves on each of his shoulders. “You’ve been avoiding me?”

“No, sir.” He kept his face blank, his mask perfectly passive. “Just been busy. Your name came up again on a case. I had to fix things.”

“I heard. You did good, Markie-boy.” Rosello had a toothy grin and his beady black eyes bore into his skull. “Very good. How’s Angie?”

He felt his heart sink but held it in. “She’s well.”

“And Peter? I heard they got engaged,” the yellow smile was spreading wider. “I hope you give them my congratulations. I’ll send a fine bottle of champagne.”

“There’s no need,” he quietly spoke, hoping the inner screams his soul wanted to bellow would stay buried deep.

“And Red? She hasn’t responded to any of my letters. You tell her to write back, I miss her.”

“She’s not interested, Mr. Rosello,” he kept eye contact, making it clear he wouldn’t grovel, though his tone was smooth like glass. “I don’t believe I can convince her.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t seem to like me very much. I hear she’s getting recruited by your department’s elites. What does Grissom call ‘em? The Spook Squad? The Rosello Task Force?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Hoffman had his hands clasped in front of him, waiting to hear why Rosello summoned him. Despite dressing for the icy wind, it cut deep into him, making it hard for him to stand still. He fought the urge to shiver.

“Yeah, you’re probably not invited. Makes sense.” Rosello was at ease as he took a step to the side and readjusted his gloves. “How does Red feel about us meeting, Markie?”

“She doesn’t know.”

“No, I’m sure you try to keep her out of our business. I get it. Don’t want her ending up like your last partner. What was his name? Kevin?”

“You know his name,” Hoffman growled, losing his patience.

Rosello’s grin widened. “Yeah. I guess I would. He used to stand exactly where you were, only he had a better smile when he waited. Vicky. Yeah, Vicky. That was his name.”

“What did you need from me, Mr. Rosello?” He tilted his head back, disinterested in this charade.

“A bird tells me that this task force has a lot of people looking into me. People I don’t particularly want involved. I’m just feeling a bit paranoid these days, but I’d like you to personally look into it.”

“What’s made you paranoid?” Hoffman didn’t like where this was going. He was trying to go back through the past few weeks of events to see where he slipped up. He couldn’t think of anything.

“I hear G-men are here. I hear your colleagues back in the precinct rolled the red carpet out for them. I don’t like that.” Rosello’s smile petrified. “And I want them out of my city.”

“There’s not much I can do about scaring off the feds. I’m surprised you don’t have guys in D.C. that can handle this.” He was already dreading the work. The fucking headache of it all. He should just shoot himself and get it over with.

“That’s the problem. They’ve been hush-hush on who’s actually here. I need names, Hoffman. I need faces. I need where they’re staying. Do what you do best. Get me information. Do that, and maybe I’ll give you a vacation.”

“You’re so generous,” he sneered. “But I seriously doubt I’d want what’s on that itinerary.”

“You’ll have to wait and see, Markie-boy.”

“Joy.”

“Keep giving that attitude and you’ll make me mad. Remember, Markie. You’re here because you put yourself here. You best remember that any siesta I give is because I’m a generous man.”

“Yeah.” Hoffman remembered. He remembered the moment he closed the lock on the collar and became this cock’s gimp. This fucker had all the money. All the power. And there was nothing he could do to stop it. These thoughts encased him like the frigid air around him.

And yet. There was something different, this time. If Rosello was this scared, that meant something. If the feds were really there, that is. If all those holier-than-thou assholes actually were making the guy sweat, maybe there was a chance he was in some real heat.

This gave him a rush of warmth. “You think you’ll keep cheating the system?” Hoffman continued to stand his ground, his fingertips heating up.

He thought of Will. He imagined her hair, coppery fire and it filled him with life. She wasn’t going to back down. He knew her too well. If anyone could stop Toni Rosello, it was her.

Rosello raised an eyebrow. “Cheeky, ain’t ya?” Rosello let out a high wheezing laugh. “You drunk, kid?”

“No. Just tired of your shit.”

WHAM. The strike had come out of nowhere. It hadn’t come from his front, where Rosello stood, but to his side, where the big gargoyle fuckbag, Olaf, had pistol whipped him across the cheek. He tasted blood. His ears were ringing. He had his hands on his face, the surprise more painful than the actual assault.

“Still got some fight in ya? That’s good. That’s real good. I’ll remember that. Maybe you’re a bit slow, but let me remind you: I can destroy everything you care about, Markie-boy. Angie? I’ll string her up and let my boys have their way with her while you watch until she’s gangrene and begins to smell. I’ll have her boyfriend eat his own balls while she watches. And you can see her suffer. And Red? I’ll be real good to her. Just you wait. I can make you want to rip out your own eyeballs, you hear me? DO YOU?!” Rosello had let out a shriek and Hoffman nodded firmly. “I’m not cheating the system. I am the system.”

With a wave of his hand, some of the bigger guys behind the boss came around and proceeded to punch Hoffman in the face. Another threw a fist deep into his lower gut.

The taste of blood and bile rose up onto his tongue. He lurched forward and fell to the concrete. Leathered shoes stabbed into his ribs and knuckles hailed onto every inch of flesh he had. The beating continued for what felt like hours. He knew it was likely just minutes.

He was dizzy. Nauseous. And everything hurt. But he wasn’t done yet.

Rosello’s feet crunched on ice and gravel and the big man squatted over him. “I want their names, Markie-boy. Soon. You work too slow? You give me shit? You better just pucker up and blow your gun.”

He heard retreating footsteps, the start of engines, and the friction of rubber on asphalt fade away. He was so cold.

But more than anything. He was angry.

Peter was vacuuming up the living room when he heard the phone ring.

“Can you get that, Peter?” Angie’s voice called out from the kitchen. She was currently making macaroni and cheese. His favorite.

“Yeah!” Peter rubbed his dusty hands on his apron before picking up the handset. “Hello?”

“Pete.” A deep male’s voice. One that made Peter snap into attention.

“Mark! Hi! Want to talk to Angie?”

“No. You.” He was breathing hard and sounded like he was in pain.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just listen. I want you to take Angie and get out of town. Now. Get your gun. And just go. Don’t tell anyone.”

“Mark, what-,”

“Peter. You’re going to marry my sister. That means you need to protect her with your life. You understand me?”

“Of course, Mark. You know I’d do anything for her.”

“Good. I know. Look. I’ve pissed off some bad people. And they’ve threatened you two. And they mean it.”

His heart stopped and his hand began to tremble. The plastic was vibrating against the meat of his ear. “Can’t you - get a squad car or maybe we can call the police?” He hated how his voice went high pitched like that. He knew Mark must have thought him weak. Scared. But he couldn’t help it.

“Pete. I am the police. And we’re no good. You understand?”

“Where should we go?”

“Out of the city. As far as you can go. Somewhere no one would guess. But I can’t know. Just get out of town for a while. Don’t call for a couple of weeks. You hear me? Hell, don’t even call me.” He sounded weary and defeated. A tired man who had already lost everything.

“What?!”

“Tell Ange to call Will. And not for at least a month. I know it’s last minute. I know she may lose her job. But it’s an emergency. You need to get out of town tonight. You hear me?”

“You need to talk to Angie.”

“Yeah. I know. Put her on. And while she’s on the phone, pack. I mean it, Pete. Now.”

Pete dropped the phone. “Ange!” He had panic in his voice as he sprinted to the kitchen.

“What’s wrong?!” Angie came out, face shining from kitchen labor and mildly concerned. “Are you hurt?”

“Mark. Phone. We need to go!” His mind was running a million miles an hour. He was already halfway to the master bedroom, tripping over the carpet and falling on his face.

“Peter!” Angie went to him but he held his hands up.

“Talk to Mark! Oh my God!” He was in the master bedroom when he heard Angie.

“Mark! What in the worl-” and “Slow down!” morphed into, “You can’t be fucking serious. No. I will not. I don’t care.”

Peter was hunched over their bed, two suitcases open with random clothes piled over each. He turned to the doorway when he heard more of Angie’s ruminations.

“You listen here, Mark, I will not just uproot my life, especially if you won’t tell me the details. I don’t care. Oh, I’m sure they’re so scary but I will not let some thugs tell me how to live my life. No, you listen. I said-,” a pause, then, “HOW DARE YOU RAISE YOUR VOICE TO ME! MOM WOULD BE SO DISAPPOINTED IN YOU!”

Oh no, Peter sprinted back to the living room. He saw Angie slamming her fist on the end table where the phone rested, grabbed the telephone firmly in her hand with enough force that the small bell in it chirped pitifully and she paced and smacked the phone against the wall.

That Hoffman rage though, Peter rarely saw Angelina angry, but when she was, there were usually broken pieces he’d have to glue together of something that he used to like. Veins were bulging up her neck and her cheeks were scarlet. She stopped and glared at Peter.

“Don’t you fucking dare pack anything. We are staying. I have too much shit going on right now to just leave. Okay?” Her voice was so high pitched that Peter thought it was akin to nails on a chalkboard.

He put both hands up. “Yeah! Yeah! Whatever you say, Angie. Just-,” he wanted to reach up and take the phone from her claws but she hissed at him when he approached. He jumped back. “I’ll just unpack everything!”

Angie was his Queen. But sometimes, she was just downright scary.

Chapter Text

The small creature looked up at her with squinting eyes that looked too much like Eric’s that it creeped her out. It was like an alien. An alien that smelled of talcum powder, vomit, and sour shit.

“Aw, he likes you,” Jane Matthews smiled as she wiped the slimy white spit that the infant had upchucked onto her just a moment ago. Kerry gave a polite smile as she tried to balance the delicate baby in her arms. He was so small. So tiny. She was afraid she’d drop him.

“He definitely is Eric’s boy,” she gave a good natured smirk to Jane, who was gushing over her creation. “Got the same attitude, I can tell.”

Eric smirked back at them, fingering his shirt pocket for his pack of cigarettes. He always said he was going to quit but he never did. For the newborn’s sake, he restrained himself from smoking in their apartment.

“I’m so happy you finally came to see him. I don’t know why Eric has been putting it off,” Jane threw a dirty stare at her husband.

Kerry’s eyes wandered to her partner’s and the two of them had that awkward moment where they shared a mutual shameful telepathy. They knew what they were doing was shitty. They knew they were guaranteed front row tickets to hell. But it was still easier to pretend they were just good old coworkers hanging out.

She didn’t know if they’d ever come clean. Lying just was easier. Safer. At least in the short term. She knew one day the downhill snowball was going to bury them. But she hoped they’d find the right moment. The right time.

But after the birth of little Daniel Matthews, it didn’t seem that Eric was ever going to file for that divorce. Maybe he had been full of shit the entire time.

Regardless, Allison Kerry, homewrecker and infamous Jezebel of Metropolitan Police Department, was currently cradling the child of the man she had seduced, right in front of the poor woman’s face. Under her roof.

Truly, Kerry hated herself. More than anything.

“Can you stay for dinner? I can throw something on real quick. Or we can order pizza,” Jane had her hand on Kerry’s shoulder. “I’ve missed you. I never see you anymore.”

This was the extra salt in the cut. She and Jane used to be friends. Close. But after the first mistake, that night, she just couldn’t bear to return her phone calls after that.

And weeks turned into months of radio silence, hoping she would simply cease to exist in Jane’s universe. It was such a delusional and undeserving desire. But if she had a genie, she’d give all three wishes to take back ever having been Jane Matthews’ friend.

Because despite it all, she loved Eric. She loved him and wanted him. She wanted this life, with him. But she would never have it. Though she knew she had no right to, she hated Jane Matthews for having everything she could only wish she had.

The baby began to scream. It was a terrible sound, full of anguish, and it spread its suffering to all who were in earshot.

“Poor little guy,” Jane seemed unaffected by the noise, retrieving her child from Kerry’s outstretched hands. “He’s just hungry.” She proceeded to pull her top down to breastfeed little Daniel.

Kerry retreated to the kitchen linoleum, reaching for her waiting beer bottle that had gone sweaty and just barely cold.

“Probably best if you head out,” Eric was leaning against the island counter, looking at his feet. He hadn’t wanted her there, either, only giving the invite out of the insistence of his marital spouse.

“Way ahead of you,” she muttered as she took a long swig. “We can’t keep doing this, Eric.”

He had taken a toothpick and put it in his mouth, the need for something to placate his cigarettes evident as he rolled the wood across his lips. “Yeah. I know.” And yet he reached his hand to hers, gently placing the calloused skin over her fingers in a passing brush.

She pulled away. Not here.

Not here.

“I’m heading out.” She spoke louder, so Jane could hear. “It was good seeing you, Jane.” She called through the archway where Jane nursed her child, already beelining to the front door.

“But you just got here,” Jane protested, distraught.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Kerry gave a pathetic, forced smile. “But I need to help out my roommate, she’s still moving in.”

“Oh, I see.” The woman’s eyes had gone dull and lowered back to the weight sucking away in her embrace. “Well, don’t be a stranger now. Come again soon, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” Kerry mustered up some fake cheer. Sorry, Jane, but I seriously doubt it.

She fled before she acted out. She felt like she was about to vomit or cry. Maybe both.

More than anything, she suddenly had the urge to give Lindsey a call.

She slammed her fist on the door, hoping it sounded as pissed as she felt.

She heard clicks and for a split second, her heart stopped when she recognized the safety of a handgun being secured. “Mark, what the fuck is going on?”

“Ange?” Bewilderment, the click sounded again. There was the familiar slide of a deadbolt, the rattle of a chain. The door cracked open and the shadowed face of her brother peaked through.

She pushed the door forcefully with both hands, surprised by the resistance he gave. “Seriously? Let. Me. In.” She leaned her body into the door with all her might, knowing she wouldn’t succeed unless he allowed her to. “Mark, we need to talk.” When he continued to be stubborn she slapped the painted plaster. “Damn it! I’m not leaving until you explain yourself!”

She heard him curse and suddenly swung the door open. Though he had no lights on in his space, the hallway lighting illuminated enough.

“Oh my God,” her hand shot up to her mouth and her eyes stung with tears. “Who did this to you?”

He didn’t answer. Stepping back, he allowed her into his home and swiftly shut the door once she was safely inside. She wasn’t going to let him pretend everything was fine though. She flipped the switch to the nearest overhead light, shining yellow onto his face.

He looked like he had gotten face painted by a toddler with a love of blues and reds. She raised her hand to his swollen cheek and blackened eye. He grabbed her wrist gently. “You see? What they did to me was nothing to what they’ll do to you.”

“Who? Is this some macho cop shit?” She jerked her arm from his hand and went to the freezer, digging through the contents to find some peas. She found a bag of corn that she smacked against the counter and handed it to him. “Put this on your face. And answer me.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Stop trying to protect me, Mark. Damn it, keeping me in the dark isn’t going to do that, anyway.” Her eyes lowered and her throat tightened. “Do you owe someone money?”

“No. It’s not like that.” He sounded insulted. Hurt.

“Then help me understand. Please. Clearly, you can’t get work involved. So it must be something worse. But how do you expect me to just drop my career? Leave my home? And my wedding? Just like that, with no explanation, Mark?”

“It’s Toni Rosello.”

Angie blinked, the name faintly ringing a bell. “What, the guy that’s always in the papers?”

“Yeah. Things are getting heated. Now, I’m on his bad side.” He pressed the vegetables to his eye and let out a low sigh. He went to collapse into his couch, the sound of a nearby clock softly ticking through the quiet.

She was at a loss for words. “Please tell me you haven’t been working for some crime boss this whole time.”

When he didn’t answer, she kicked him. Hard.

He hissed and grabbed his shin, dropping the plastic sack onto the cushion next to him. “Jesus, what the fuck, Ange?”

She went to kick him again but he moved his legs out of the way. “You stupid son of a bitch. You no good - stupid -,”

“It’s not like I’m doing it because I want to!” He snapped, having jumped up and was now using his sofa as a boundary between him and her foot.

“Then why? Why would you do something so - stupid!” She threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, Mom and Dad are probably rolling in their graves. They raised you better than that!”

“Don’t use Mom and Dad like that. I did it to protect you,” he growled and she froze.

“Don’t use me like that! What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? I mean this guy knows about you. And he’ll kill you - or worse - if I refuse. That’s how it’s been, Ange. All right? It’s been this way for years now.”

She felt the world spin around her. She sank to the floor. “And you never told me?” She felt her cheeks go wet. She snapped upwards to him. “You’ve lied to me all this time. For how long?”

He looked pained. “Five years. Since I started.”

“Did Victor really retire and is living in Florida?”

He let out a harsh laugh. “No. He’s been in a wheelchair, Ange. His wife and kid are gone. I lost my temper, hesitated, and now he’ll never walk again. All right? I’ve been Rosello’s lapdog my entire fucking career. And now, if I don’t fix things, he’s coming for you, Ange. He’s coming for everyone. This has been shit, Ange. Fucking shit.” He pressed his fist to his head, eyes glistening as he let out a gargled sob.

She felt her face tighten and her limbs go cold. “Mark.” She got up, wanting to hold him. To tell him everything was going to be all right. She felt like they had gone back in time and he was just a teenager again, furious and alone.

He stepped back away from her, afraid. “I know I fucked up. I fucking know.”

“Mark,” she let her voice go low. She cooed like a dove. “Come here.” She kept taking steps to him, despite him backing away. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” She put her arms around him and hugged him. He let out a hiss of pain that made her release her squeeze. But she kept him in her embrace. She kept holding on. “It must have been so hard,” she was sobbing too, trying to speak through snot and salt. “Taking this all on your own. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He was stiff as she rested her face onto his chest. His breathing was erratic, his chest rising and falling like a stressed animal. “You shouldn’t be apologizing.”

“No, I should have known. I should have picked up on this.” She looked up at him. “I’ve been so caught up in myself that I didn’t look out for you. I should have seen the signs.” She wiped her face and then reached to thumb brush his tears as well. “We promised Mom we’d take care of each other. We’re going to be fine, Mark. Now that I know, I’ll be ready. We’ll be ready.” She wasn’t completely sure if she was right but there was little fear. Only anger at this fiend. Rosello. “You’ve got to have some people on your side. What about Will? And Kerry?”

“They’re trying. There’s a team at MPD trying to take him down. But Rosello’s untouchable. I think you should just skip town.”

Angie let out an incredulous laugh. “If he’s really so powerful, then it’s not like my running away would stop him from finding me, if I’m going to use that logic. No. I’m not going to let this guy scare me. Okay? I’m standing my ground.”

He didn’t look happy with her statement. “But Ange-,”

“But nothing. Let’s call Will. Let’s call the people you trust. I’ll be smart. I’ll keep my gun on me. Peter will keep his, too. You’ve taught us how to use them. We won’t go walking down dark alleys late at night alone. I’m sure we can get an officer to watch our place. We’ll just be smart. Yeah.” She pursed her lips as she reexamined his face. “You just have to communicate from now on. Deal?”

He was scanning her face, surrender in his frown. “Deal.”

“Do what you need to do to not let him hurt you like that anymore. Okay? Promise me. Promise me that you won’t die until you’re an old man. You’re not allowed to die until you’re gray and with grandchildren.”

“I promise.” It was one of those unfair demands, but she’d live with it. She didn’t care how unreasonable she was being.

She squeezed the fabric of his shirt, pulling him forward. “Seriously. Don’t let this piece of shit kill you. Or I’ll fucking kill him myself. And then I’m going to kick your ass in the afterlife.”

She had expected those full lips to suddenly twitch. She had expected him to laugh at this. She had counted on it.

Mark Hoffman was her big brother and she knew him down to his marrow. No matter how old he got, he didn’t change. Not really.

Relief misted over her when he did, indeed, laugh.

She joined him. The two of them both laughed, the tears evaporating as they giggled like hysterical children in the face of danger.

Their temporary workplace smelled of dust and new plastic. It was cozy, really just a small rental office with a respectable sized server room to support accessing their databases fast. Despite the decent set up, he missed the bustle of headquarters back in D.C. He knew he shouldn’t complain, though. It sure beat being shoved in some broom closet at the MPD’s downtown station.

He and Lindsey had both practically gagged at the state of the building. The windows had cracks in them. There was chipped paint from, what he assumed to be from, the era of lead-based solvents and crumbling concrete floors. The precinct was run down and in need of some renovations. He wondered what the hell they spent their money on but it sure didn’t seem to be a decent workplace. It sure didn’t seem to be on competent cops, either.

He made an exception for his partner’s sake, who kept insisting that Allison Kerry was worth her salt and was underappreciated where she worked. He’d wait and see, but out of respect for Lindsey, he’d keep an open mind.

But he also kept in the back of his mind the blatant state of the city. Crime bosses were flaunting their immunity as if they were royalty. Corrupt politicians seemed to own half the departments. He never liked this city. It stunk. It was a lost cause.

“Strahm,” Lindsey’s voice pulled him from his depressing mental tunnel, big brown eyes blinking at him and an entertained beam on her face. “You have that look again.”

He straightened and stretched, yawning loudly. “Yeah. It’s been a long day. I can’t believe they have nothing on this guy before the task force assembled. They started a year ago. And everything before then, it’s like Toni Rosello was a fucking boy scout.”

“Yep. It’s just like Allison said. People on the inside just scrub him clean every time something comes up.”

“It’s going to be a lot of long nights, Linds. At least we get overtime.”

“And travel comp. By the way, I never thanked you for agreeing to come up. I know you don’t like being up here.”

Peter was resting his chin in his hand, leaning over his desk. “Yeah, well, what are friends for? Besides, you'd do the same for me.” Lindsey Perez had approached him one rainy evening when he was stuck in Quantico, feet propped on his desk with nothing to do. It had been a slow year. No mass murders. No serial killers on the loose. He had been considering redecorating his office when she had approached with a proposition.
”Want to help me pay a debt to an old buddy of mine and help some urban street cops in taking down the worst crime syndicate since Al Capone?”

With a pitch like that, how could he have said no?

Lindsey was one of the agents he inherently respected, since the first case they happened to work together on. She was devoted to her job. She got results. She was brilliant. And she was beautiful. He would have considered pursuing something more than just a close working friendship with her, if only she was interested in men.

It was disappointing, but Strahm got over it quickly. After a few years of occasional mutual assignments and nothing but professional success, he now saw her like the sister he never had and someone who really helped make the world just a bit better. She even invited him over to her family’s Thanksgiving dinner last year.

Despite their work together, she was technically not his partner. His partner, Dan Erickson, was currently on leave, taking advantage of the slow season. Erickson and himself specialized in serial killings. He worked at Behavioral Analysis, profiling the more violent and sadistic offenders and often stayed in the basement of Quantico or reported to Erickson in the capitol.

Perez was with Human Trafficking Investigations. She rescued kids from terrible existences he’d rather not think about. He listened to serial killers talk about how their moms didn’t love them enough. He knew he had the easier job.

Oh, it sucked. But he didn’t deal with victimized children nearly as often as Lindsey did. He always wondered if her job was why she confided to him once that she’d never start a family. Which was a shame. She’d be a great mother.

When she had called and invited him to join her on the case, he hadn’t understood why she wanted him. Apparently, there was an epidemic of child exploitation and finally the FBI was called to intervene. He wondered why she needed a profiler to help at all. That was, until she explained their target. The fucking brains behind one of the worst human trafficking networks this side of the Missisippi.

Toni Rosello was a real piece of work and that was with just the remnants of information he could gather. If just a fraction of what was collected was truth, the guy was likely a textbook case of narcissistic sociopath. Methodical. Highly intelligent. Insane. And with enough wealth and leadership capability that his servants all followed his orders with swift precision and desperate execution.

The guy didn’t seem to take criticism very well. Or any semblance of disrespect. And he liked playing games, as did most overpowered assholes with way too much money and time on their hands.

“Well, it’s getting pretty late. How about we grab some drinks? Allison invited me out.”

“Hmm,” Strahm kept looking at the one headshot of Rosello, tired, but not particularly interested in getting up. He wasn’t going to admit it but this was the most interesting casework he had done that year. He normally would have pages of generalized expectations of what his subject would be likely to desire, do, believe. But he only had the very basic statements.

Sexual deviance. Needs to feel dominant in every relationship. Abusive and short tempered, with a fragile ego. But not much else. He was worried he was getting rusty. Losing his edge.

“Hey, Strahm,” Lindsey leaned forward, waving her hand over his face.

He looked at her with a bored smile. “You can go on without me. I’m not interested. Besides,” his smile grew, “I don’t want to be a third wheel.” He had picked up on hers and Allison Kerry’s relationship. It sounded like the old college experimentation hadn’t lost its spice after all those years.

“If you don’t come, then Allison’s friend, Will, is going to be stuck with that title, then.” There was a teasing in Lindsey’s voice that he registered.

“Oh? And I care because?”

“Get off it, Strahm, I saw the way you kept eyeballing her when we met the task force. She’s a looker. And technically not a coworker. So you don’t have to worry about fraternization.” She cocked her head to the side and shot him a playful grin. “At least, long term. Got something better to do? You just going to stay here all night? Let your hair down a little. Lighten up.”

He remembered Will. The little freckled redhead with the heart shaped mouth and large brown eyes. He certainly remembered her.

“No point in getting distracted.”

“Rosello isn’t going to just mail us a confession in the next twenty-four hours. And you can’t be effective at your job unless you take some breaks. Mingle with the team.” She got to her feet and was readjusting her hip holster. “Last call for splitting a cab. Oh, and the director mentioned keeping an eye out on the local talent. I’m working on convincing Allison to ditch MPD and come work for us. I hear Maddox’s good people and Allison told me about the work she did back west and what she gets done here. They both sound like recruitable material. Think of it like a service to the Bureau. Bet bringing on some fresh blood will look good in your next performance review. Just saying.”

“Fine,” Strahm would put up more of a fight but he secretly didn’t really want to sit at that desk a moment longer. He got up and went to throw on his suit jacket. He was suddenly craving a beer and some peanuts.

Lindsey seemed to be familiar with where they were going. She led the way as they walked through the stink of garbage lined streets and carefully stepped over the neverending homeless that seemed to just be part of the city’s very infrastructure. It was so damn cold and so many people were shivering in front of flaming trash cans. They coughed out pleas for pocket change.

They made their way into the pub, the smokey den full of cloying cigar plumes was rich with leather and perfume. He was pleasantly surprised. The place was clean. Green glass stained light fixtures and rich walnut paneling on the walls made him feel like he was transported far from concrete, fluorescence, and sirens.

“Linds,” Allison Kerry’s thin wrist pulled their attention, the woman looking foreign with her exposed collarbones and shoulders. She looked like a young co-ed out on the town, not some homicide detective meeting colleagues to talk shop. Strahm rarely felt out of place, but in the company of this yuppie club, he felt stiff in his basic black and white suit. He felt occasional eyes coldly look at him, like a fly that had accidentally buzzed into their house.

They made their way across the various clusters of young professionals who were smoking hand rolled tobacco from South America, eating their lineage veal, and talking of the need to solve world hunger while scoffing at inhumane labor practices.

He rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

The two women were at a booth in the far back corner. Like good cops, they were sitting next to each other and keeping their backs to the wall. From the empty glasses collecting at the table’s center, the ladies were already a couple of drinks in.

Will Maddox, furthest inboard of their booth seat, came into view. He kept his face passive despite how much creamy, bespeckled skin he could see. She smiled, lips a deep maroon that just made her other features roar at him. His throat sealed shut.

“Glad you could make it,” Kerry was waving towards the nearest waiter, who nodded in their direction as they took their seats. Strahm tried to play things apathetically. He looked at Kerry, noting the way her shoulders had hitched up and how she seemed to gravitate her view closer to Lindsey’s direction.

“How was shopping?” Lindsey was playing with her hair, her thick ponytail over her shoulder as she pulled at a strand. “You two look hot.”

“Thanks. Will was in serious need of a makeover. Her wardrobe needed something more than just button downs and dress slacks,” Kerry smirked.

“Hey, most of my clothes are just - inaccessible - right now,” Will grumbled into her glass. It looked like something strong. Bourbon, maybe. Dear Lord. He felt mildly alarmed, seeing her drink something he’d gag at. In fact, there were three empty glasses in front of her. He didn’t want to go full psychoanalytic on someone he had just met but he couldn’t help making conclusions.

Inaccessible? The heavy drinking? Maybe a break up. Or an apartment fire. No, likely a break up. The way her eyelashes fluttered in his direction and faltered away was probably nothing more than the need for a rebound. Defiant reclamation of her autonomy.

He doubted a woman as lovely as Will would stay single for long, unwillingly. Any implication of her interest in him made him a bit more skeptical, now that the initial impression was over. He noticed no wedding band on her finger. He knew she was living with Kerry. Maybe she’s like Lindsey.

“What can I get you?” The waiter arrived, struggling to keep up with the copious tables.

Lindsey ordered some red wine. He ordered the cheapest beer they had on tap. He raised an eyebrow when Will asked for another whiskey. Kerry, not paying too attention to her choice, asked for a refill.

“Are there other files on Rosello you happen to have?” It was the first thing that came to mind.

Kerry slumped and let out a moan while Will perked up. “Actually,” Will rested her elbows on the table, leaning forward. He caught a glimpse of cleavage framed in black lace and he forced himself to look away, his cheeks hot. “I’d be happy to go over everything I’ve gathered about the guy. Most of what we’ve given is all we have. Everything else just,” she held her hand and flicked her wrist, “vanished.” There was emotion in the way she hissed this out, as if it physically pained her.

He nodded, tossing her a grimacing frown. “That must be frustrating.” He had already been briefed by Detective David Tapp about their mole problem. From his understanding, it was her partner. That betrayal alone would complicate things, working with her. It was strange they had her on the case, though a mole for the mole was a decent strategy.

He wasn’t sure if they could completely trust her, though.

“You have no idea,” Will was loose and at ease, animated as she loudly whined. He figured it had something to do with the booze that made her particularly less stoic and uptight. His first impression, back at the Grill, had been that she was closed off and defensive. Friendly to a professional degree but she seemed to keep new faces at arms length. “I still can’t fathom how this fucker just gets away with everything he does. Just a few months ago, we put away one of his pimps. The guy was found stabbed to death in the county jail showers just a few weeks later. And then a few days after that, his case file just vanished from processing.”

She pressed her forehead on the table, letting out a groan. “And it’s like he never existed.”

“Hon,” Kerry put her hand on her back. “Stop thinking about work. And maybe drink some water.” Kerry outstretched her hand again, calling back their server.

“Yeah.” She shot up, red curls flipping upwards, cheeks pink. “I might have gone a bit overboard.”

“Uh-huh,” Kerry kept smiling, eyes locked onto Lindsey. “Are we going to just talk about work tonight? It’s still the weekend.”

Strahm ignored her, honing in on Will. He appreciated a woman that prioritized work. “Tell me about Rosello. You’ve met him?”

“Ugh. Yeah,” Will swirled her straw, taking a slow sip. Her lips left red marks wherever they came into contact with. He licked his dry mouth. “The guy likes to ‘mess with us’,” She finger curled quotation marks, “whatever the fuck that means. My partner had to coach me before meeting him so I didn’t piss him off and put a target on my back. And then he goes and mails me dick pics.” She wrinkled her nose, eyes glazed.

He widened his eyes and felt his jaw drop. “Your partner did what?” He never met this partner but now wanted to put a face to the name. Hoffman was his name. Hoffman.

“No. Not his dick. Rosello’s dick. You don’t know my partner.” She inhaled, “He’s not on this case.” She seemed irked. “Complicated.”

“Wait, what’s this about Hoffman’s dick?” Kerry rounded on her, looking concerned and fascinated.

“Nooo,” Will slurred, “Not his dick, Rosello’s dick.”

“You need to rewind, honey.”

The waiter returned, giving him a bottle of beer and a chilled glass. He drank straight from the bottle, ignoring the icy pint, flaring his nostrils as he sharply inhaled. He felt hot and irritable. While Kerry and Will blubbered together like tweedle dee and tweedle drunk, Lindsey shot him a warning glance. He got the message. Patience is a virtue.

He could practically hear it in her voice, her having chanted this mantra at him on more than one occasion.

He rotated the glass bottle in his hands, stealing glances at the woman across the table, who was repeating the tale in low murmurs to her colleague. It looked like tonight was going to cease productivity. Because of her relationship with the mole, he had wanted a chance to study her. He needed to talk to Will when she was more coherent. He set a mental note to give her a call sometime soon to pick her brain. Preferably somewhere quiet and secluded. Private.

His hopes that she would be much more forthcoming tonight was backfiring already. Sure, she didn’t seem to have any shame and answered his questions unguarded. But she was rambling and scattered. He didn’t have the tolerance to decipher her jumbled answers. Or maybe, he was just tired. It had been a long day. He needed to remind himself of this.

His cool drink settled in his stomach and already he felt himself calm down. He hadn’t eaten yet, his head light.

Someone’s cell phone was ringing. Will seemed to be fumbling for her purse, pulling out the flip phone, dragging the antenna upwards, putting the receiver to her mouth. “Hello?” He could see more of the whites of her eyes as they stretched outward. Her rouge lips parted. “Mark? Right now?” The way she shot upward and was already turning her body as though wanting to leave the booth told him all it needed to.

Ah, there’s the boyfriend. He took another swig of his beer.

“Wait, what? Uh-huh. Okay. All right. I’m coming over. Right now.” She flipped the plastic, turning to everyone. “Sorry, I need to go.”

“Wait.” Kerry held her hand out. “You promise that was Hoffman? And not Frank?” Eyebrow furrowed, intense scowl, Strahm stored these details for safekeeping.

Mark Hoffman’s the partner. So not her boyfriend. But Frank? An ex? So it is a breakup. He didn’t like how he felt almost relieved by this. But he felt the twist in his gut loosen.

“Yes, Ally, it’s just Hoffman. I promise. I’m not sneaking off to see Frank. Come on, it sounds urgent.”

“Want me to go with you? You’ve had a couple.” Ally gestured to the mess they made. Will just gave her a funny scowl while she slid her arms into her winter coat.

“I’m fine,” Will sighed. “Come on, scooch.”

Strahm knew Lindsey wanted to spend the night talking with Ally. He knew by the way Lindsey’s lips thinned just a little and the way Ally shot an apologetic pout her way, there was about to be some disappointment.

“It’s not safe going out on your own. I’ll take you,” he offered, eager for an opportunity to dip out early. “It’s getting late. I think I’m going to turn in.” He wanted to shoot a smirk towards Lindsey but kept his face expressionless.

Will paused, looking at him with careful consideration. She was on guard, despite her inebriation. He wouldn’t push if she insisted. But still, it was dangerous walking out in this city alone and drunk. No matter if she carried her gun in her purse or walked around with her badge on her chest.

“I agree,” Kerry chimed in. “Let Peter take you.”

“Okay,” her eyes were still shining with that acute awareness that only a woman who had seen too much had. “Thanks.”

They left the two lovebirds, walking out into the cold. He kept an eye out for a cab, intending to hail one as soon as one turned the corner. None appeared. They walked in awkward silence, the click of her heels and the scrape of his soles conversing for them.

“How far do you need to go?” Strahm wanted her to feel assured that he had no ulterior motive. He was just looking out for a colleague.

“Not far. He’s just a thirty minute walk from here.” The playful and silly act had frozen up. She looked so serious, scanning her surroundings as she briskly walked. The woman he had first met at the Green Lion Grill was back, as if she had never truly left.

“We can always get a cab.”

“It’s fine. I need to sober up. Sorry. Just got a lot on my mind.” Despite her quick footing, she was slow, her short stature compared to his long gait making him have to take extra short strides so she could keep up. It amused him how petite she was, the top of her head barely reaching his shoulder, in heels. She walked like a person who felt taller than she really was.

Each footstep echoed off the cement. She was shivering, despite wearing her coat. Her legs were bare, showing strong curved calves. He wondered if he should offer her his jacket. He didn’t want to come off as creepy.

He kept his jacket on.

“So,” he was grabbing wildly in his brain for anything to talk about. But all that came to was work. He decided now was his chance to snoop. “Why’s your partner not working with you on the Rosello case? He on another assignment?”

“Something like that.” She had her arms crossed, trying to walk fast and keep her face forward. Maybe he had misread the situation the last time they met. Tonight, he felt walled off. It was fair. If the roles were reversed, he’d be concerned about being escorted home by some guy he’d just met.

“Mark Hoffman’s his name?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ve heard of him. What do you make of him?”

“Why do you want to know?” She sounded almost hostile.

He felt frustration flare up under his ribs. “You can guess why. It’s obvious he’s involved.”

She stopped, scraping the rough ground. “Yeah, well, it’s not like it’s his fault. Let’s make things clear. Hoffman is not the bad guy. It’s Rosello.”

Strahm raised an eyebrow, taking in the glint of cinnamon irises under the pale yellow of the street lights. Fire and brimstone. “I know he’s your partner. But he’s compromised. You can’t deny that. You can’t deny this looks bad on you as well.”

“I’m not. But I don’t want everyone to just start pinning the blame on him. He’s another victim in Rosello’s trap. Everyone thinks he’s some malicious asshole. But they don’t know him like I do. He’s a good friend and will stick his neck out for us. No one ever talks about that but they should.”

“I see. It’s clear you two are close.” He needed to get them out of this awkward rut. He opted for changing the subject. “So. How do you like working at MPD?”

“It’s all right. Kind of a mess.” There was an almost relieved sigh as she finally looked at him, warily. “How do you like working with the FBI?”

“If I said I’d love it, I’d probably be raising some red flags.”

“Right. You’re a profiler.”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re a shrink.” She pushed red curls behind her ear, avoiding his look.

He laughed. “Not really. Why? You need one?” He hoped some good humored teasing would lighten the mood.

“Maybe.” She smirked back. “I think we all could use some therapy once in a while.”

“Ain’t that the truth. Well, if you need to just talk. I’m all ears.”

“We’ve only just met.”

“True. I’m sure our working together on this investigation will suffice for a grace period. Who knows? Maybe you can come help us out in the future.”

“Are you offering me a job, Special Agent Strahm?” He liked the way she said that, her voice low and pleasing.

“Maybe. We’ve only just met, Detective Maddox,” he returned the ball in her court. He put his hands in his pockets, though he was warming up from their walk.

“Well, we’ll see. I’ve gotten pretty invested with the precinct. A lot of good people who are just swimming against the current. And this city needs as much help as it can get. If not me, who will?”

He gave her credit. She sounded like she cared. “Well, I’m sure you can make some good changes. Just don’t sacrifice your ideals. But if it gets too hard, don’t feel ashamed about jumping ship. Especially if you end up hitting a glass ceiling.”

Her red lips curved, concave up. “You make it sound like I’m stuck in the fifties. Is the FBI so ahead of its time?”

“I think so. Look at Lindsey. She probably doesn’t deal with half the bullshit you and Kerry put up with.”

“Maybe. I’m not sure if I have the stomach for it, though. You deal with guys like Ted Bundy.”

“More often than I’d like. But you’ve got Toni Rosello. From what I’ve gathered, they’re not much different. But people like us are the ones that step up and take them out. If not us, who will?”

“It must be hard.” She was studying him, suspicion draining and replaced with intrigue. “Sounds like a nightmare.”

“Someone’s got to do it. We’re in the same boat, Will.” It wasn’t often someone turned the conversational spotlight back at him. He felt weird, talking about himself. “But I’m not complaining. Sounds like you guys have a lot on your table. The corruption makes my head hurt. I’d lose my shit if people kept misplacing paperwork. I can’t believe no one’s been fired yet.”

She let out a scoff. “Yeah. Right? I was in denial when I first got here. I thought people were just bitter and stretching the truth. It was a culture shock.” She bit her lip. “Honestly, I’m so frustrated. We need to do better.”

He smiled. “You going to make things better?”

“I’ll try.” She shot him a glare. “You keep asking that. You think I can’t do it?”

“I never said that.” He wanted to hold his hands up. Her defensiveness caught him off guard. He wondered how often she had to stand up for herself. “You must get a lot of pushback here.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Maybe Lindsey more than me. But from what she tells me, you all have it real bad.” Silence. He wondered if he sounded condescending to her. “Where’d you come from? I hear you’re from the west coast.”

“Yeah. San Diego. I miss it.”

“Why’d you leave?”

She didn’t answer right away. He had caught a glimpse of regret in her frown. “I don’t know anymore.”

They eventually reached the apartment building. “Well. Thanks for the walk,” she forced a smile. “Sorry about dragging you this far.” She had pressed the front buzzer, waiting by the intercom speaker.

“Don’t sweat it.” He had his fists in his pockets, wanting to leave with a lasting impression.

”Yeah?” A gruff, deep voice called out.

“It’s me,” Will’s eyes were fixed on Strahm as she spoke into the soundbox. The front door clicked and buzzed sharply. She was already heading in. “Take care, Peter.”

“Uh - Will.”

She stopped, face blank.

“You know, if you ever want to talk. I’m here.”

She gave him a raised eyebrow. “Peter, weren’t we just talking?” She gave him one more dazzling lipsticked smile, making his heart skip a beat, before leaving him out in the cold.

When he opened the door, he thought he was dreaming. He had never seen her in a dress before. Or dolled up. When she took off her coat and flung it over his couch, he drank in her bare back and wondered who the lucky bastard was that she had gotten cleaned up over. He just prayed it wasn’t Frank.

And here he thought he couldn’t feel any worse.

He finally stepped into the light, letting her take a good look at his ugly mug. A part of him liked how quickly her expression morphed to horror. Concern. “You look nice. Who’s the guy?” He pretended nothing was wrong.

“Jesus, Mark. I should be asking you that. What the hell happened?” She stepped closer to take him in. Her eyes swept from his face and neck to his bare arms. He had only his tank shirt on, having just struggled out of the shower and only able to bear the thinnest material on his bruised flesh. She was so close that he felt his skin prickle.

He smelled perfume, something rich and sweet. It tickled his nose. His pulse was echoing in his ears, a throbbing pain pounded across his body with every beat.

“Rosello?” She didn’t try to ease the conversation. She went straight for the jugular. “Tell me, Mark.”

“Rosello.” He went for his comfort, bee lining to the fridge and taking down his whiskey. “You want one?”

“No.” She shook her head, following him. Her shoes were loud on his floor. She’d probably piss off his neighbors downstairs. “Jesus. Is Angie okay?”

“She’s fine. But that’s why I called you.” He downed a healthy glass, refilling the cup. He hated what he was about to ask. “I need your help.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to tell your buddies to keep a patrol on her and Peter. Only someone you trust.” He was gripping the edges of his counter, squeezing with all his might. He wasn’t a man. He was pathetic. “And protect her. Because I can’t.” He expected Will to scoff at him. To call him a spineless coward. To walk away.

“Of course, Mark.” She placed a cool hand on his knuckles. Soft and light on his hot fingers. “We can do that. We’ll keep her safe. What about you? We should put you in a safe house. You and Angie.”

“No. If I vanish, it’ll just motivate him to come for her. For now, I need to just keep doing what he wants.”

“Which is?”

He saw the dark makeup beginning to smear under her eyes. He wanted to wipe it clean. “Give him intel on your investigation. And he wants the names of the feds you’re working with.”

She took a step back. “I can’t tell you that, Mark.”

“I know.” He looked down at his drink. “I’m not expecting you to.” Pathetic. That’s what he was. He couldn’t look her in the face. He had almost hoped she would have just given him the names. “Sorry I took you away from your date.”

She let out a huff. “I wasn’t on a date.”

“Didn’t know that’s what you wear when you buy groceries.”

“What if I told you,” she pulled her hand away, “that women don’t always dress up to impress a man?”

He finally stole a glance. “Fine. Sorry. It’s just you look pretty. I just don’t know how to tell you without sounding like an asshole.”

She blinked, blushed, crinkled her nose, then let out an audible groan. “Like that, Mark.” She let out a huff and went to help herself to a glass. “Why is it, every time I see you, I have to have another drink?” She pulled the bottle from his grip and poured herself a healthy dose. “Tell me everything. From the beginning. I’m not going to judge. But tell me everything.” She snapped her fingers and he sharpened his gaze at her. “Every detail. Toni Rosello will go down, Mark. I swear it. But if you try to cover shit up anymore, it’s going to make my job really fucking difficult.”

“You should probably call your family first. Anyone you care about. Rosello’s scared like I’ve never seen him before. That’s making him more dangerous. Your parents back west, any siblings. Anyone you care about. ”

She let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, good luck to Rosello. I’m fine.” She was taking a big gulp of her drink, staring intently at a photo of Angie on the fridge.

Even he could feel the awkward tension filling the room, he decided to risk it. “...Your parents alive?”

“One. Technically.”

This was news. Hoffman waited for her to continue. When she refused to elaborate, he dared to push. “Technically?”

“My father’s been in a coma for a couple of years now. He won’t wake up. My mother and brother died when I was still in high school.” She sniffed and cleared her throat. “Home invasion. I was at dance camp. My father was on a fishing trip. Clark and Mom were home.”

“Jesus. I’m sorry.” He shuffled sideways to her but paused when she held her hand out.

“No. Don’t be. It was a long time ago and it’s made me who I am today. It made me want to go into law enforcement. ‘Cause they never caught the guy.” She was pouring herself another drink and then hoisted herself onto his counter. She was now perched at eye level, her knees just inches from his stomach. She rocked her heels back and forth and continued sipping spirits. “And a few years ago, my dad got a stroke. He’s currently in a hospital back in California. He had decent benefits when he worked the railroad. He’s taken care of but they said his brain atrophied to the point that he’ll never wake up. To me, he died a long time ago.”

“Damn.”

She shrugged, lower lip stiff. “The only guy Rosello may try to get to is Frank. And that would just be doing me a favor at this point.” She was slurring and her voice was thick like syrup. Her forehead was leaning towards him. “Jesus. I think I’ve gone a bit too far.” She was rocking forward.

“Hey.” He caught her, grabbing her shoulders, her skin scalding to the touch. “Yeah. I think you’re done.” He slid the empty tumbler out of her reach.

“Shut up.” She pressed her face into his shirt and let out a low groan. “Shit, I’m drunk.” He stiffened, gently squeezing his fingers into her skin.

“Yeah. You are.”

“There is someone, though.” She pulled back, panting heavily. She was flushed and put her hand on his chest. “Sorry about your shirt.”

She had smeared lipstick on his white tank. He didn’t care. His heart was beating fast as her hands brushed up and down his chest. This was getting a bit too close and personal. He knew she’d regret this and kept her firmly held back with his arms. “Yeah? Then call them. Warn them.”

Her pink mouth had a smile he wasn’t sure he liked. A woman’s smile. Her hands were like feathers, tickling up to his collarbone and shoulders. She began massaging his traps, digging digits into his tight muscles and making him inhale sharply. How could something feel so good and sting so much? “I don’t need to,” she whispered.

“Oh?”

“Rosello already has him.” She kissed his cheek, pulling back with a sad glower. “I want him back.”

He felt his voice hitch in his throat. The room had gotten stifling. His pants felt tight and this made him flush with embarrassment. He half-heartedly stepped back. “I think you need to go to bed.”

“I think you should join me,” she was singing, low and full of a teasing melody. Her face was so close he could smell the alcohol on her breath.

He smirked back, the horrors of earlier slipping away. “That’s probably not a good idea.” Though they drank together often, this was the first time he’d seen her acting so… forward. Relaxed. Maybe a little too relaxed then she’d like when she sobered up. I’m going to enjoy holding this over your head until the end of time.

This was nothing. As soon as the sun rose, she’d pretend this never happened and they’d go back to the way things were. The way things had always been. She wouldn’t want a pathetic man like me. “I think I should take you back to Kerry’s.”

She pouted. “And leave you alone for the sharks? No way, Jose.” Her palms were on his neck, the pads of her thumbs tracing his jawline. “I’m staying right here. With you. I think it’ll be safer if I stay the night.” Her lips were wet and warm on his neck, attacking him out of nowhere.

He froze, paralyzed as his living room clock ticked away and she continued to kiss into his bruised skin. It hurt. It soothed. A part of him wanted to let her continue. But the more rational part of him told him to shut this shit down fast.

“What are you trying to pull?” He pushed her back firmly, hoping they could pretend she hadn’t just crossed a major line. This was the sort of thing he had tried to avoid, pushing her to Kerry and away from him. His neck was cold from her absence and he suppressed a shiver. It would be so easy to just let it all happen.

But not like this.

She hit his shoulder with her forehead, pulling the thin fabric of his top in her fists. Knuckles brushed his chest hair. “I hate seeing you in pain.” She was whining into his skin, hot breath muffling into him. “I want to make it go away.”

“You think kissing it is going to make it better?”

“It doesn’t?” She blinked at him, unfocused.

“Not when you’re piss drunk. If the roles were reversed, this would be downright criminal.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.” She grumbled, finally pulling away. “Sorry, Hoffman.”

Thank Christ she’s a rational drunk. But there was a disappointment burrowed in his core, making him feel as though he was sinking. He chose to ignore it. He may have been a helpless man, a slave to Toni Rosello. But he would at least be a man that didn’t take advantage of a drunk woman. “You can take the bed.”

“Always the gentleman.” She kicked off her heels, the hard soles clattering onto the wooden floor. She ran her hand through her hair, pulling her thick curls back. “I haven’t been sleeping well. I’m not used to sleeping alone anymore.”

“That sucks.”

“I won’t kick you out of your own bed.”

“I’m not going to let you take the couch.”

“Then we’re at an impasse.”

He narrowed his eyes. “How so?”

She let out a frustrated noise. “Mark.”

“What?”

“Don’t let me sleep alone. Please.” He realized she was crying, burying her face into his chest and the warm wetness of tears spread across like summer rain. The way she pleaded. It was full of desperate need.

“Hey.” He wasn’t sure if he should, but he put his arms around her. He squeezed, trying to make her stop. He hated seeing her like this. “You’re okay.”

She sobbed, “I’m so fucking lonely, Mark. I have no one.”

“No, don’t think that.” He lamely patted her back as she cried heavier into him. “I’m right here. You’re okay. I’ll stay with you. I’m not going anywhere. Just. Stop crying, okay?”

She broke off and let out a small chuckle. She pulled back and wiped her tears, smearing black streaks around her eyes. “Damn it, I’m probably being a lot right now.”

“Yeah. But it’s okay. You’ve got a lot going on.” He swallowed and added, “you kind of look like a zombie right now.”

She laughed more, playfully slapping his arm. “Fuck you.” The anxiety eating him up slowed down.

“Let’s get ready for bed. We’ve got work in the morning. Though you could call in sick.”

“No.” She kept wiping the corners of her eyes. “Here I am, coming to help you out and I just unload on you and you end up helping me.” There was a fondness in her smile and awe in her eyes. “Thanks.”

He retrieved some paper towels. He heard the sound of a phone ringing and her shuffling. When he turned to her, she had a fresh frown and furrowed brow while she stared at her cell phone screen. He handed her a fistful of tissue. “Here’s looking at you, kid.” The frown melted and she grinned again as she wiped her cheeks and made her way into his bedroom. She had tossed her phone on the couch.

He heard the shower running. While she was preoccupied, he quickly did a walkthrough of his bedroom. He collected his bloody shirt he had dropped onto the floor from earlier. He straightened the bedsheets. He consciously recalled the wooden box was tucked away behind the air vents. He left some spare sweats and a shirt on the bed and retreated back into the living room, his fingers twitching as he ran through the scenarios.

He said he’d sleep with her. But he wasn’t sure what that would entail. He figured she just wanted someone in the room with her, so he fetched some spare pillows and blankets to make room on the floor.

The familiar shrill ringing of her phone made him pause. It was so late. There was no good reason for a call unless it was work or an emergency. He went to get the cell, picking it up to find the caller ID. Anger festered in his chest. Frank.

He squeezed the silence button, having it go to voicemail. Almost immediately after, the phone rang again.

He didn’t pause to think.

He flipped the phone, pressed the green button, and put the receiver to his ear.

“Will?” The fucker’s voice sounded urgent.

“What do you want, Griffin?” he growled back, keeping his voice steady and hateful. “Will doesn’t want to talk to you.”

He could hear the man’s rasped breathing. “Who the fuck is this?”

“Mark Hoffman. Look me up.”

“You. You fucking prick. So you’re fucking my wife now?” There was spiteful laughter. “I knew it.”

“No, I’m not. But let’s make things clear. She’s gone. She’s not coming back. And if you keep bothering her, I will make you stop. Back the fuck off. Do you understand?”

“Fuck you, pig.” The phone clicked and the call ended. Hoffman snapped the phone and placed it on the kitchen counter, the vein in his neck throbbing. There was a newfound anger that he needed to cool off. He flared his nostrils and inhaled deep, holding his composure.

The sound of the shower stopping made him return to his preparations. By the time he returned to the bedroom, Will was already changed, damp haired and sitting on the bed.

“Hey,” she towelled her hair, nodding at his little nest in the corner. “You’re not going to sleep there?”

He opened his mouth to say something but the words had died in his throat. He looked at the pile of blankets on the floor and back at her, bare legs over his bed, taunting him. She had forgoed his sweat pants. All she wore was one of his t-shirts. He just barely made out her nipples. She was cold. Fuck. “I figured. Just. Wasn’t sure.”

Will stretched, yawning, unphased by the tension he was caught in. She stayed on one side of the bed, getting under the covers. “Goodnight, Mark,” she murmured, eyes half-lidded. She went to turn off the nightstand lamp, shrouding them in darkness.

Fuck it. He went to the other side, staying as close to the edge of the bed as he could fit. He softly groaned from the aches in his limbs, the muscles sore and tight from his earlier beat down. Every movement was agony.

It was a queen size, not necessarily cozy, but he wasn’t used to sharing. He could feel her, the weight of her compressing the springs on his right side. She was angled in a way where she would gradually sink towards him, his weight just that much greater. He tried to roll over while avoiding her touch. Their arms brushed together, shooting up static in his joints.

“Mark?” Her voice broke through the silence.

“Hm.”

He felt her move, a thin limb slowly wrapping around his shoulders and the sensation of her cheek pressed against his chest made his heart pound fast. He suppressed the ache from his bruises, letting her sink her mass onto him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” He forced his voice even and steady, but it was more of a croak. It kind of hurt. But he wasn’t going to ever admit it. “You really comfortable?”

“Yeah. This is nice.” She rubbed her face into him like a cat. “Thanks for this. I owe you one.”

He listened to the sound of her soft and rhythmic breathing as she drifted to sleep. He stared into the black as the sandman finally made its rounds to him.

Chapter Text

It was one hell of a rainy Thursday afternoon. It seemed to rain a lot these days. The low rumble of thunder vibrated through the old building. The lighting flickered as he walked through the halls of peeling lead paint and dusty cracked linoleum.

Matthews made his way up the stairs of the station, heading towards the recreation room. The sound of squeaking tennis shoes and the smell of rubber and pinesol chased him as he walked by some of the guys from Narcotics who were in the middle of a game.

“Yo, Matthews!” One of the boys called out to him and he nodded back while balancing his gym bag. Across the basketball court was Room 109, a padded room where self defense training took place.

As soon as he crossed the threshold he witnessed Will Maddox flip Allison Kerry onto the mat in a flurry of brown waves and the solid thump as a hundred pounds and some change whacked into plastic padding.

“Damn,” Ally let out a low groan as Maddox pulled her back up to her feet. She was already sweaty, wiping her brow with the sleeve of her athletic jacket. “Got me.” She was pulled up by Maddox, getting to her feet as she stretched the arm she had been flipped on.

“You can try it on me next,” Maddox smiled up at Matthews. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Matthews chewed hard on his gum as he went to put his belongings at the edge of the room. He didn’t particularly want to spend his lunch break ‘reviewing tactical procedure’ as Maddox put it but Tapp had approved and what Tapp said, goed.

The rest of the geek squad met throughout the week to train. The partners stuck together, while Fisk and Gibson paired up. Because of the odd turnout, Maddox had requested bringing on Hoffman, a silverlining to the wasted lunch breaks. Tapp hadn’t been keen but so long as they kept the small talk non-work related, he had grumpily agreed.

He began stretching while Maddox was showing Allison some stances on what looked like jiu jitsu or maybe judo. He couldn’t tell off the bat. He never took any specialized martial arts. He never needed to. He was always fast and strong, never needing to worry about fancy maneuvers or tactical strategy like the smaller guys needed to rely on.

He figured he and Hoffman would chill with their backs against the wall, coking and joking while the women tumbled over each other. He looked forward to the show, already a wide smirk painting his face as he imagined a semi-erotic catfight in the next few minutes.

“Here, this will be more effective if you try this move when someone much larger is trying to grab you. Hey Matthews,” Maddox breathlessly waved at him to come closer. “Come on over. Try to grab her. And lose the gum.”

“Sure thing.” Matthews crinkled his eyes at her, smacking the gum while taking his time to the center of the mat. He caught the sharp look Allison threw at him, a green-eyed warning to behave. He softened his face. For her, he’d play nice.

“The gum, Eric,” Allison softly murmured. “Don’t want it ending up in my hair.”

He swallowed and opened his mouth for her to take a good look. “Should I give a warning? Count to three?” He smirked at Maddox.

“No, we don’t get warnings in the field. So don’t give it here.” Maddox took a step back, leaving the two of them with plenty of space.

“Don’t worry, Al,” Matthews watched Ally as she pulled herself into a defensive stance, spreading her feet and slightly bending her knees. He raised an eyebrow. It looked like her new roommate was teaching her some tricks.

He rushed forward to grab her arm, squeezing and pulling her into a bear hug. He had her firmly, arm trying to go around her throat, but he was stopped by her chin. She had tucked her fucking chin. She squirmed for a moment but he was in no rush to capacitate her. He let her struggle.

“Use his weight against him,” Maddox called out.

As if on cue, he suddenly felt himself lurch forward. He let out a surprised noise and found Ally drop and slip from his grip while he stumbled a few steps off to the side. He went to correct, going to reach for her arm again when she suddenly clasped his wrist and rolled in the opposite direction he was moving.

He let out a hiss of pain as he was forced to his knees, Ally now standing with his arm pulled to his back in the opposite motion of his ball and socket joint.

“Uncle?” Ally was panting hard.

Matthews let out a roar and pushed into her, throwing back his head until it collided with her face and sent her flying backwards.

He had knocked the wind out of her. Ally was on her back, eyes wide and gasping. A part of him felt regret tug his heartstrings, realizing he had gone too far. “Shit.”

“Ally?” Will knelt over her and helped her up to her feet. “Walk it off.” She gave Matthews a wary glance. “We did say not to hold back.”

“Al,” Matthews took a step towards her. “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, Eric.” She had her hands pressed into her knees, wincing. She looked up to Maddox. “Can you run by how to counter that shit?”

“Yeah. Take a breather. That was real good. Solid first time.” Ally went to lean against the wall and get a drink of water. And then the redheaded shrimp spun to face him. He expected bitching. Some nagging. But she didn’t look angry when she looked up at him and raised her arms, “All right, Matthews, do your worst.” She looked stone cold.

“You sure?” He was starting to second guess whether it was a good idea, playing rough with them. It just wasn’t fair. Besides, he had heard about Hoffman having to bail her ass out, her getting pinned by some gangbanger wannabe on some undercover job a couple months back. He seriously doubted she should be strutting around, talking a big game like she knew what she was doing.

He looked back over at Ally. He’d need to take her aside. Let her know to maybe take what this gal said with a grain of salt. But not here. He chose to be friendly, out of respect for his partner. Where the hell was Hoffman to keep his in check?

“Do your worst.” Maddox gave a confident smile. “Hurt me.”

He suppressed a sneer. “All right.” He threw a fist at her chest and she spun sideways, dodging it. She kept her hands up and was rocking back and forth.

“So you know some tricks. But let’s be real. You’re out of your weight class, Mad Max.” He lurched forward to grab her, gripping her by one elbow and pulling her in for a tight squeeze. She was a blur, grabbing his forearm.

The world spun in vertical ribbons of light and motion. He felt himself suddenly on his back, his head striking the padding with a solid thunk. His neck strained and he found himself staring at the light fixture above, wondering what the hell just happened.

“You okay?” He was looking up at the woman, catseye amber blinking down. Up close, he could count the freckles on her chin and nose. Sharp teeth smiled triumphantly.

“You got me.” He grunted and took her outstretched hand. She leaned back to help pull him up as he went back to his feet. “Not bad, Mad Max. Not bad.”

“Did I miss the fun?”

Hoffman walked in towards the three of them. He had fading yellow bruises on his cheeks. Old scabs and cuts on his neck. Matthews had heard he had gotten a beat down but hadn’t realized the extent. “Sorry I’m late.”

“Mark,” Maddox seemed to brighten up. “You made it.” Her voice had gone from its low, tough-girl monotone to a soft jingle. Matthews and Ally exchanged a brief glance, amusement twinkling in Ally’s eyes. She was like a kid on Christmas.

“About time,” Matthews cracked his neck as he made his way over to Hoffman. “We can throw down like back in ninety-two.”

Hoffman gave him a knowing smirk. “I recall you lost back then.”

“I’m overdue for a rematch.”

“We’ll spar with our respective weight classes, first for intervals of ten minutes,” Maddox announced, “And then we’ll alternate with our partners.”

“Aye aye, Mad Max.” Matthews called out as the two women went to one side of the mat. They were already gearing up, one donning boxing gloves while the other held a padded riot shield.

“She give you hell for that nickname?” He strode with Hoffman to the opposite end of the room as the man walked to his side. He didn’t plan on wearing any protective gear. Hoffman didn’t make a move to retrieve his bag either.

“Nope,” Matthews paused, struggling to find something neutral to say. “You said she was high strung. I don’t see it.”

“Give it time.” The two of them stood face to face, awkwardly, not sure how to proceed. “We seriously have to do this every week now?” Hoffman glanced over his shoulder where Ally and Maddox were punching and juking, committed to their work.

“Yeah. Tapp loves busting our balls. Shame you’re missing out on most of the fun.” Matthews raised his fists and threw the first punch. He wasn’t using much of his strength. It was more like playground jabbing. Hoffman blocked it and gave him a return throw, not quite as fast as he knew the man could move, and he dodged it.

“From the looks of it, I’m not missing much. I’ve got too much on my plate as it is.”

While they horsed around, Matthews thought of Hoffman, being pushed under Rosello’s foot, and thought of how much that must have sucked. It was a damn shame. He remembered early on, when they first met, the ambitions they shared.

Hoffman was stuck. Fighting shadows and forced to slow everyone around him down, too. It was part of why he hadn’t worked with the man on a case in years. Once Rosello was out of the picture, he expected his friend to be right as rain. If they ever could get a conviction on the bastard.

Despite the shit Hoffman was in, Eric Matthews held him in the highest of regards. He doubted he’d have handled the professional downfall and public shame that Mark Hoffman was experiencing. Certainly not with the same level of grace. It was fucking commendable.

“Okay, let’s switch.” Maddox called out to the room and the pairs broke apart.

“Later,” Hoffman walked off, already wiping at his forehead while Ally walked up to him.

“Don’t go easy,” Ally strode up to him, like a cheetah approaching prey. She was confident. Sexy. It was like Fourth of July in his stomach whenever she got this close. After a couple of years together, they had been doomed to fall for each other.

He still needed to figure out what the hell to do. With her. And Jane. And Daniel.

“You okay?” She was waiting patiently, her stance loose and poised, her biceps flexing as she held her cushioned fists upwards.

“Yeah. Just tired.” He swiped at her, trying his damnest to hold her in place. She side-jumped and slipped away.

He knew this training was more for their benefit than his. He rarely lost a fight. It was Ally who tended to get knocked over or overpowered when the chips were down. Tapp was just being political and subtle. Equal.

As he managed to wrap Ally in a chokehold, her forgetting to tuck her chin to prevent him from getting there, he squeezed gently. Of course, he held back. But he made it clear she had lost.

This was all because of the latest victims. Three broads. Clearly Rosello’s M.O. And their features were undeniable, having been found together, wrapped in plastic and laid out right on the station’s front steps earlier that week. With features that were disturbingly familiar. Curly red hair. Wavy brown curls. Crinkled black hair. All young women, their throats slashed.

The message was sent. And the task force had been briefed. The response was to prepare and not let this bastard hurt any of them. He needed to give Ally some tough love.

She tapped his forearm, surrendering. He released and let her slip and twirl about to reorient herself. She was breathing hard, already exhausted. “Cardio, Al,” he quietly murmured, no longer feeling so laid back. It could have been her, wrapped in plastic and left out in the rain to rot. If Ally ever got hurt, he wasn’t sure how he’d handle it. He needed to make sure she could handle herself. Or at least hurt the bastard enough to get the hell away.

“Eric?”

He blinked again. “Sorry. Look, you’re leaving your left side vulnerable. You need to work on that. Try to block me. Pay attention to what arm I use mostly. We all use dominant sides. Usually.”

And then he swiped for her again. She picked it up fast, like he knew she would. It was a relief. At least she was a quick study. When he made a grab for her again she had dropped and flung herself back, tumbling backwards in a funny looking roll. He stopped to laugh.

“Fuck off,” she panted and went to retie her ponytail. She had a red scrunchie around the wrist. It made him think of blood. The pictures from the recent victims, particularly the redheaded one, had been another warning to the precinct.

What Rosello left as evidence on one of the past victims had made him skip lunch.

Hoffman should be informed. Hell, Maddox should be taken off the fucking case.

Maybe he was overreaching and seeing connections that weren’t real. But he had that tightness in his stomach that was thick and heavy with the feeling that Rosello had a thing for torturing redheads. Or was targeting Will Maddox. Either reason, Maddox needed to watch her back.

And Hoffman should be told that his partner is in danger.

“Woah,” Ally’s eyes widened as she gawked over his shoulder. He spun to see what got her spooked.

Hoffman had both arms around Will tightly, while she struggled in his hold. He looked smug. She tried to stomp onto his foot but he was picking her off the ground, like some life sized puppet that kicked and flailed pathetically.

“You done?” He calmly asked as she grunted and tried to push out from him.

She suddenly skipped, the tips of her toes bouncing off the floor, then threw her head forward and threw it back as she leaped up. There was a clear sound of bone-on-bone contact and he let out a surprised grunt, dropping her. She ripped out of his arms, fell forward onto her knees and then shot her foot out to kick him in the ankle.

Matthews flinched, expecting her to break his leg. Maybe dislocate his knee. But she paused.

“Hit.” She wheezed before crawling away. Hoffman was gripping his chin, looking aggravated.

“I’d still win this,” Hoffman growled, taking a lumbering step towards her.

“Duh,” she kept crawling from him, as though realizing for the first time that the bear was dangerous. “But that’s not the point. The point is getting away. Staying alive. I think I’ve proven that now. I'd have run as fast as I could out of here.”

Hoffman nodded, still wincing as he gingerly pulled his hand away. His jaw was red and looked like it was already swelling. The sight of the injury bothered Matthews. She should have held back, like I’m sure he did. The kid had been brutal.

“Let’s take a break,” Ally volunteered to make the peace. “I’m out of water.” He opted to join Ally to go refill while leaving the two bickering lovebirds to whatever tryst they were going through. They left the room and instantly Ally gave him an eyeroll. “Those two. Does it take you back?”

He smiled back. “Maybe. I don’t recall you leaving so many bruises.”

She laughed as they made their way to the closest water cooler. “No. Definitely didn’t go assaulting each other. In fact, I recall a completely different exercise routine we used to do on the regular.” She was flashing him a toothy grin and a low voice, talking in the way that made his skin hot.

“Yeah. I miss those times.”

She was close and leaned into him. “You busy this weekend?”

The image of Jane and Daniel crossed his vision. It quickly dampened the heat in his stomach, though not in its entirety. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

She nodded, not angry, only disappointed. “I figured.” She licked her lips and looked around before leaning in. “We could always try somewhere… accessible.”

“Oh yeah?” He felt thrills shooting up and down his limbs and the urge to grab her by the hair and taste the sweat on her skin was becoming hard to suppress.

“Yeah.” She looked around again. “There’s a broom closet down in the basement, by the morgue. And it has a lock.”

He nodded at this, face burning as he imagined them sneaking down there. Kind of fucked up. Kind of kinky. “We could probably meet after this.”

“I’d like that,” she murmured, voice rich like molasses. They refilled their bottles and returned to Room 109, Matthews now wearing a smile he didn’t bother to suppress. He let himself take in Ally’s curves, anticipating gripping and squeezing them in just a few minutes.

They returned to the lovebirds, walking in the middle of an even more heated debate.

“-you can handle yourself, then why the hell’ve you let the bastard hurt you?” Hoffman had sounded bewildered. Furious. “This whole time. You’ve just let him beat you.”

Maddox had her arms crossed, looking off with shame burning on her spotted face.

“Everything good?” He figured he’d break this up. He didn’t want Hoffman to fuck up a good thing, though he wasn’t sure what the hell he was whining about. It sounded a bit too personal for his ears.

Hoffman jerked and turned, his face passive but a slight nervous glint in his eye showed he hadn’t expected them back so soon. Or maybe he just forgot there were people around, in the heat of the moment.

“Yes,” Maddox nodded and smiled, a little too cheery for it to be authentic. She was like a saleswoman, always quick to charisma and good with putting on a show. “Unless Ally wants to spar with Hoffman, I think we’re done here.”

Damn, she was all ‘Mark, Mark’ earlier. He nodded, “Yeah, we can call it in early. Good work out.”

Ally had gone to Maddox and the two softly exchanged some words while he waited at the doorway. Hoffman stood off by himself, glaring at Maddox and avoiding looking anywhere else.

Matthews wasn’t going to worry too much about it. He and Ally said their goodbyes and left them alone to sort out whatever it was they needed sorting out.

“Ol’ Daft,” Toni Rosello called for his bodyguard as he leaned back into the buttery soft leather of his office chair. His cigar was already halfway through. He patted the ashes into his crystal ashtray and took another puff as he licked his lips to taste the honey.

He imagined a special little redhead rubbing her ass on his lap while running her tongue over the same lips. He let out a frustrated puff of smoke and scratched his eyebrow with his thumb. “Fuck, the last one didn’t last long.”

He was used to getting whatever he wanted. Women, especially, were not difficult. Most responded to green. Another healthy amount were attracted to power. With this one, she was a wild mare that wouldn’t break. It only made her more appealing to him. So he figured he’d go do the gentlemanly thing and wait.

After all, he was a gentleman.

But the gentlemanly tokens of his affection weren’t working. She had yet to respond to any of his letters. The pictures didn’t seem to make her eager to dial his number and agree to dinner. He was considering escalating.

But then again, he liked making himself wait. It made the reward much sweeter when he finally got what he wanted.

And he was used to getting everything he wanted.

“Yes, sir?” Olaf, the big oaf of a man, walked in, pinstriped suit only emphasizing how much fabric was needed to clothe the ape.

“Get me a florist. I want the biggest bouquet of red roses sent to Metropolitan Police. Oh,” he puffed and puffed, “And find me one of them - what the hell are they? Arachnologists?”

“Uh, yes, sir. A rack?"

"Arachnologist, you idiot. Spider scientist. Find me one."

"Yes, sir. And the roses... for the same person you had me mail to before?”

“What do you think?” He turned his eyes to the loyal giant. A part of him resented his size. He didnt like feeling small. It was one of his pet peeves. But the man behaved and he was reasonable. There were plenty of fun toys to play with. Olaf still had his purpose.

“Yes?” The man looked confused. Maybe a little nervous. This was good. Fear was his greatest asset. Fear made him what he was.

“Good man. Now get out.”

Olaf disappeared as quickly as he had entered. Rosello was left alone again, in his great room of the various exotic animals he had shot whenever he went on African safaris. He was particlarly fond of the elephant head that was mounted over his fireplace.

The polar bear rug that clashed with it merely boasted his wealth. That particular hunt had been too boring. A female trying to guard her young. Boring.

He had something new to hunt. Someone who didn’t seem interested to play games with him. Everyone can be manipulated. He thought long and hard, taking his remote control and flipping on his big screen to the news. He’d either find something inspiring and distracting to take his mind off his blue balls or he’d finally get around to finding exactly what motivated Red.

He had been so disappointed when he found her only family was currently a vegetable, molding in some hospital she never visited. But her cold bloodedness had surprised him. He had always figured she was Daddy’s Little Girl. He looked forward to learning all about it.

He needed to see her. The photos he had the private investigator take were rarely more than her going to work.

The speaker on his desk pinged. “Yeah?” He pressed the button. Finally. Something new.

“The PI is here.”

“Send him in.”

The weasel of a man had a wide nose and a goatee that Rosello wanted to take some pliers and jerk off the guy’s chin. The man kept eye contact, though, which was impressive. “Mr. Rosello, this past week’s surveillance.” He placed a thick packet of documents on the desk.

When he flipped through the first pages, he let out a pleased noise. “Ah, excellent.” Red, dressed like a belle at the ball, looking off in the distance. He appreciated how the photos had been developed with color. He flipped through more, pausing at the full body shot of her in some cherry toned dress that showed off enough for him to no longer need to imagine and his dick itched.

“When was this?” He held his new favorite picture for the guy to see.

“Sunday evening. She was with two federal agents and a colleague.”

“Hoffman?” He recalled, vaguely, that he had met with Markie-boy, but hadn’t expected him to be able to get around soon after.

“No. Detective Allison Kerry.”

“Ah, Matthews’ broad.” He let out a loud laugh, remembering that those two were pretty close for partners. “What was the occasion?”

“Not sure. Seemed like a date. But the target left early, escorted by one of the feds to Hoffman’s apartment.”

“Oh?” He rubbed his chin, displeased by this news. “Interesting.” He hadn’t considered Markie-boy to be shagging up with Red. But this made things significantly easier for him if this was true, though he didn’t want to risk losing his best MPD plug if it turned out she gave absolutely no shits for the big lug.

He sighed again, then giggled to himself. Oh, this is getting interesting. How fun.

“Olaf,” he yelled out, not bothering with his intercom.

The man obediently entered. “Yes, sir?”

“Find me another one. Someone a bit more fiesty. The last one cried too much.”

“Yes, sir.”

It had been a long day.

She tried to pretend that the plainclothesman wasn’t there. She walked fast, her snowboots crunching on patches of ice while the man’s dress shoes clicked closely behind her. The man’s name was Gibson. Matt Gibson. He looked young and she had never met him prior to that week, when Will had come by with him to explain his presence.

She didn’t like it, having someone she didn’t know follow her. She had gone to Dillon’s and back and someone with a suit was always there. It was supposed to make her feel safe. It just gave her a migraine and the heavy feeling of being a nuisance for taking up the MPD’s time.

There were many faces she was now growing accustomed to. She had recognized most of them from past potlucks, save for today’s man and another who went by Fisk. She wouldn’t have minded so much, but today’s escort seemed so… glum. He barely said a word. He looked very young, too young to already have that permanent frown on his face.

When she first got ready for her shift, she had brought down some coffee and a cider donut for him and he hardly responded besides taking the brown paper bag. He seemed to just take himself so seriously. He was polite. But there was little beyond him nodding in her direction when they locked eyes. But at least Ally and Will would be part of the rotation. Mark had insisted she play ball with them but didn’t give much on why he wasn’t going to be one of the patrolmen.

She just didn’t understand why her brother couldn’t be part of her bodyguard entourage. It certainly would have made things a bit easier.

She stretched her arms, repositioned her purse, and made her way down Michigan Avenue, leisurely looking at the various window displays. She wanted to go in but the rules had been clear. She needed to go to work. Go home. And only run errands after informing Will or anyone on the team.

Her thoughts wandered onto Peter and wondered if he felt as annoyed about the whole situation as she did. Peter’s shadow today was Fisk, who was parked in an unmarked car right outside their apartment building. Because Peter didn’t work at the moment, he was essentially under house arrest. He was taking the situation much better than she was, playing video games in the same pajamas he’d worn since Tuesday and cleaning up the apartment in between.

She didn’t mind, though. She wanted him home to spend as much time with her as possible before he had to leave. He was about to enlist and ship off to boot camp. He would be safe and constantly monitored after that. There was little likelihood that any mob bosses would dare try to trespass onto a military base and hurt him once he shipped off. At least, that’s what the MPD said.

This helped, knowing he was only weeks away from ensured safety. Her situation, though, was looking bleak. Will had even suggested a safehouse, which she would absolutely not do. The thought of having to simply disappear just made her more depressed.

It had been a busy day in the kitchen. She had slipped into the big pot of the soup of the day, causing a typhoon of orange minestrone all over the tiles. Her head chef had been particularly nasty about it. She wanted more than anything to quit but she was so close in her savings to finally afford to start her bistro. So close. She just needed to suck it up a little bit more.

And then her wedding. God. She was already behind on invitations - she still needed to mail them out. And then there was reserving the venue - she was thinking of this historical ballroom or maybe go for something a bit more hip and modern, like the former industrial steel factory to help save some money. And then...

She was light headed. She stopped to lean against the nearest wall, digging in her purse to get her water bottle. Working in the kitchen was sweaty work and the neverending rush that day left her with no opportunity for a break. She hadn’t remembered the last time that day she had remembered to drink any water.

“You all right?” It was Detective Gibson, steel gazed and thin lipped.

“Yes. Sorry, just dizzy.” She pushed herself off the wall and steadied herself.

Gibson put a hand on her shoulder. “We can have a seat real quick,” he pointed to the nearest coffee shop, “while you get your bearings.” He let her hold onto him as he steered them into the nearest chain cafe, the smell of roasted beans tickling her nose. The heat was nice on her face.

She sat in the nearest chair and let out a long breath. “Thanks.”

“Want something?” Gibson scratched his nose and looked around again, always alert. “It’s on me.”

“Coffee,” she straightened up, sipping her water and rubbing her forehead. She should have brought some aspirin. Her phone was ringing. Gibson was gone. She flipped her phone open. “Hello?”

“Hey, Ange,” Peter’s voice came through, relief in his voice. “Glad you’re safe.”

“Did something happen?” She straightened up, pressing the phone tighter to hear over the roaring of a blender.

“Just checking in.” Peter was always a worrier but after Mark had made that late night phone call he was a bundle of nerves. Her heart was breaking, seeing her fiance so anxious and paranoid. He had begun getting nightmares, tossing and turning at night.

“I’m almost home. We just went to get some coffee. I needed to sit down.”

“Long day?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“It’s been quiet, just been working out.” There was a bubbling in his voice, like water about to boil. “M-maybe we can take that vacation? Leave town?”

She pondered this, the offer more tempting after the crumby day she had. “How about we talk about it when I get home.”

“Great. Get home safe. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Angelina hung up as Gibson returned with two styrofoam cups in hand, placing hers in front of her. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it. I didn’t thank you for this morning. I appreciate it.” He spoke slow and easy, his voice holding a hint of a southern accent. Gibson continued avoiding her eyes and she finally accepted this was how it was going to be.

Can’t get along with everyone. She kept a pleasant expression, enjoying the warmth of the drink and sipping the scalding liquid.

Gibson’s hand flew over and tapped the side of her arm, making her jump. “Stay very calm. But I think we have company.”

This made her heart race and she did everything she could not to suddenly leap to her feet and begin darting her eyes around the cafe. “Where?”

“Don’t be so obvious. Your nine o’clock. Two guys, look like they’re not part of the upper west side crowd. And they’re mean mugging us good.” He opened his to-go cup and poured some sugar packets in it while adding, “we’ll just sit tight for a little bit. See if they’ll leave. If not, I’ll call for backup.”

Angelina swallowed and tried to look as oblivious as she could but she couldn’t help but cross her legs and shrink into her seat. Her vision fluttered briefly, from Gibson to her left where she saw the two rough looking men that were both sitting and glaring at her. She looked over to the barista and the other patrons, all who didn’t seem too interested in the strange hulking figures that were perched right by the exit.

She and Gibson remained there for over an hour, both finishing their drinks. Her knee was starting to shake, bobbing up and down. Maybe it was from the caffeine. Maybe it was from the anxiety she felt from feeling the penetrating eye daggers directed at her from across the room. Gibson remained calm, the bored expression plastered as he checked his watch.

“All right. I’m calling it in.” He picked up his phone. “Hey. I need a ten seventy five at The Beanery on Caroline Street, off of 10th street. We have two males, caucasian, approximately six foot four and five foot ten. One is wearing a denim black jacket and blue jeans with a white shirt. The other is wearing a leather jacket, blue jeans and a black shirt. Copy.” He hung up and turned to her. “Don’t worry, Ms. Hoffman, we’ve got some people on the way.”

“Thanks,” she whispered back, hands fidgeting as she pressed them together and in her lap.

“He’s probably just testing the waters,” Gibson leaned forward and finally turned to her. “Nothing bad’s going to happen on my watch, missy, promise you that.”

“I don’t understand. Why is this guy going through all this trouble,” she blew out exasperated air, turning her body to put her back to the men. Gibson kept his face and torso directly facing them. “I wish all of this would end.”

“We’re working on it. It’ll be over soon,” He grimaced awkwardly, trying to give one of those smiles that were more cringe cheek pulls than a warm upturned mouth. He cleared his throat and they resumed silence.

After long minutes, the sound of sirens roared in the distance.

The two men looked to each other before getting to their feet and leaving their table. They left the coffee shop with one more intimidating stare down, their backs disappearing once they exited the door and rounded the corner.

A squad car with its bright blue and red lights filled her with relief. Her shoulders sagged. Two uniforms came out, hands on their guns, as they entered the coffee shop.

“Ms. Hoffman, let’s get you in the car. The boys will take us to your place.”

She was placed in the back of the squad car, Gibson at her right. All she wanted was to take a bath, drink some wine, and cuddle on the couch with Peter. She fought the water that seemed to collect in the corner of her eyes, brushing them briefly with the back of her hand as she kept herself staring intently out of the window, hoping the officers didn’t see.

She kept her eyes straight ahead as Hoffman drove them to the latest crime scene. It was a cloudy day. The overhead was so thick and gray, it felt like it was late at night. It wasn’t quite spring yet and the neverending murkiness of the city seemed to want to hold onto the bitter cold for as long as possible. She could still see her breath when she walked outside.

She was getting real tired of having to bundle up and wear her boots.

The morning had been icy, as well. She had literally said nothing that entire day. Neither had her partner, who seemed to be perfectly fine with reciprocating her silent treatment. They still hadn’t gotten past the last time they sparred, Hoffman’s sudden frustration with her ability to defend herself confusing and unneeded.

He practically accused her of wanting Frank to hurt her. Going on about how, if she could flip and maneuver out of his attacks, then Frank should have been easy to not let do the things that had been done. It was just hurtful. Disrespectful. Rude. Ugh. The barrage of irritating thoughts made her fold her arms and huff out audibly. She leaned her head back into the head rest, chewing the inside of her cheek.

And the audacity he had to think he was in the right in this argument was just plain frustrating.

She briefly took in his profile as he drove before returning to admiring the graffiti they whizzed by. They were heading to the Crossroads, a den infamous for addicts to ride out their back alley highs and find the next fix. The entire time, he kept his eyes on the road, pretending she wasn’t even there.

She wondered how things got this awkward. Everything had been just dandy before their latest fight. She didn’t get why the man who would hold her while she fell asleep would go off on her not putting up more of a fight from historic trauma. The mixed messages were driving her nuts.

This is for the best. We were getting too personal. This is what happens when you get too personal.

He maintained his stone-like expression, almost robotic, as he pulled the car into one of the alleys to shortcut their way through one of the nicer neighborhoods. Normally, when he drove, she put on some music to help fill in the noise. Today, she stubbornly refused. And he seemed perfectly fine with it, which just pissed her off even more.

She was going to spend this lunch break beating the shit out of the gym punching bag. At the end of the day, she was scheduled to stake out Angie’s place along with Sing, relieving Allison and Matthews. She’d talk shop with Sing and hopefully make some progress with getting Angie and Peter off of Rosello’s radar.

Hoffman parallel parked and she got out as soon as he silenced the engine. She didn’t bother waiting for him as she bee-lined to the crime scene, seeing Forensics already flashing their cameras. The familiar stink of decay and blood made her steel her stomach as she ducked under the yellow tape and held up the badge chained around her neck when the patrolman raised his eyebrow at her approach.

“Detective Maddox,” It was Daniel Rigg, approaching her along with Matthew Gibson. She hadn’t realized Gibson was on duty, having not seen him in his uniform before. She didn't envy being a rookie.

“Officer Rigg. Officer Gibson.” She shook both their hands.

“What’s he doing here?” Gibson nodded over to her back, while Hoffman was strolling up to them.

“We just got called in. Why?” She had her hands on her hips while staring up at Gibson. He seemed like good people, from what little interaction she had with him when moonlighting the Rosello case. He was by the book, straight laced, and so uptight his face never looked like he was in a fun mood. He barely spoke two words to her.

“He should head back. It’s likely a Rosello case.”

“How do you know?”

Rigg and Gibson exchanged looks. Neither would meet her penetrating stare. “Maybe,” Gibson added, “you should go too. We’ll call in Kerry and Matthews.”

“They’re currently on duty over at Angelina Hoffman’s.”

“Then call Sing and Tapp.”

“Both are currently out on the field too, looking into some gang war that's starting up. And Fisk is on emergency leave. I’m all you got right now.”

Again, the two exchanged looks. She was already pissed off. Now she was just getting furious. “Boys?” She hated being kept out of the loop. “What are you hiding?”

“Nothing.” Rigg cleared his throat while staring over her head. She looked over at Hoffman who wouldn’t give her any attention.

“Then let’s get to work.”

Gibson put a hand on her arm. “Maddox. A word?” She noticed he had kind brown eyes, the warmth giving her sudden flashbacks of her brother. Gibson steered her off to the side, out of earshot from the other two men. “There’s one thing we’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you about.”

“Yeah?” She pulled from his gentle grip and folded her arms. “What?”

“There’s been a notable victim profile of the latest serial killings. They fit Rosello’s M.O. with the sexual trauma, time duration of torture, and method of execution.”

“What’s the profile?”

Gibson swallowed, suddenly looking so much younger. He was young. Younger than her, younger than Sing even. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to not be there at that moment. “Female. Late teens to early thirties. All with… features that resemble - fuck,” he lifted his eight point hat and scratched his buzz cut with his thumb, “-they look like you, Maddox. That’s what Tapp and Kerry said, at least.”

“Why wasn’t I informed of this theory?”

“Shit, Maddox, you know impartiality is one thing we all need. They’re already talking about having you removed from the case.”

“Who, Tapp?”

“Grissom.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Tapp’s fighting for you, though. Frankly, it’s because,” he squinted, “if he’s motivated by some weird obsession with you it could be used to our advantage.”

“I agree.” Will shot him a smile, knowing it looks harsh and ready for a fight. “I’m down for whatever’s needed. Hell, use me as bait. Maybe I can wear a wire and just walk up to him.”

“Yeah. Huh. Maybe you should be talking to the higher ups. After all,” he gestured to his navy blue dress shirt and the brass badge, the collar devices marking his lower rank, “I’m still just a patrolman. Fuck, I hate these things.” He cracked a grin, “Half the reason I joined the task force was just to wear civvies.” He pulled at his sleeve, the gesture taking her to when she was a kid.

Halloween. Bram went as a policeman. I went as a ballerina. The image hit her but just didn’t fit right. She couldn’t focus her memory to recall what her little brother looked like. And that hit her hard. The photos. They’re still at Frank’s. She blinked, returning to reality. Smiling, sharing a sympathetic nod, she punched him playfully. “Keep being such a go-getter, and you’ll probably get promoted before you know it.”

“Yeah, well, I’m trying. Thanks, Mom.” Gibson laughed and she decided that he was on her whitelist. “So… what are we going to do about this? Hoffman should probably leave?”

She bit her lip, glancing back at the two men who seemed to be having a grand old time talking sports. Or whatever. “We know for sure it’s Rosello?”

“From what I’ve seen, yeah.”

“All right. Then I guess I’ll have to send him home.” She was going to have to break the silent treatment first, which the petty side of her didn’t want to do. She swallowed her pride.

The two of them went over to the other side of the crime scene where Hoffman and Rigg were leaning against the bricks. Rigg looked notably less friendly while Hoffman kept his back to the two of them.

“Hoffman.” She called out to him. He barely turned to her in acknowledgement. “You can head back to the station.”

He finally gave her his undivided attention, blue eyes like arctic water pouring over her. She resisted the urge to shiver. “Whose orders?”

“Protocol,” she responded, refusing to back down. She took a step forward to the towering man. “This is a Rosello case.”

“And?”

“And you know damn well what that means.” She flashed to Gibson and Rigg. “Do you two mind?” The uniformed officers both slunk away, giving her some privacy as she prepared to rip into her partner. “Hoffman. Stop this.”

“Stop what?”

She pressed her finger to her temple, letting out a sigh. “This. Fuck. What’s with you?”

“Maybe I’m just trying to investigate the case. I’m not the one getting cozy with the fresh meat in this precinct.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “What the fuck, Hoffman?” He was silent, glaring at her. She looked up to the black clouds and prayed for lightning to just take her out of her misery. “What do you want from me? An apology?”

“That’d be a start.”

She fumed and glowered, wanting more than anything to smack him. “And I’m guessing I’m the only one who should say they’re sorry. You know, I’m not the one that insinuated I deserved what happened to me.”

“You are perfectly capable of defending yourself. And you didn’t. All those times I saw you banged up. Fucking black and blue. You just stood there and took it. I don’t understand that.”

“Maybe because you’ve never loved anyone that much.” Her voice was wavering, rising and lowering like a rollercoaster of pitch. She knew that was below the belt. But her heart felt raw and he only made the pain worse. Her eyes felt damp so she turned her head. “Stop. Please. Let’s just not talk about this anymore. Go back to the station. Hell, take the rest of the day off, I don’t care. But you can’t be here. Okay?”

“Will,” His tone had gone gentler, “Hey -”

“No. Go. Now. Or I’m reporting you for compromising the crime scene. I'll fucking bring in IA. I'm not playing.” She turned to leave when the sound of gunshots exploded in her head and made her hand fly to her hip. She felt his strong hands pull her and shove her against the wall, behind a dumpster.

She dug her heels into the pavement, squatting behind the rough metal as Hoffman pulled out his gun and was kneeling down beside her. Adrenaline kicked in. She was on high alert, scanning the area.

Every person on the scene had drawn their weapons, hunched behind their squad cars or behind any reliable boundary.

“Fucking Crossroads,” she heard one guy spit.

A walkie-talkie broke in the tense environment. “We need a sweep of the area. Found a one thirty four. Who the fuck was supposed to sweep the scene?”

She saw as Rigg and Gibson, weapons extended, went into one of the buildings. She turned to Hoffman. “Might as well help,” she stood up and began checking her surroundings, keeping her finger just outside the trigger guard as Hoffman paralleled her.

“Will. Stick with westside. I’ll go east.” He nodded to the right where Gibson was headed.

She made her way to the leftmost region where the majority of officers had gathered. She knew it was the relatively safer area but she checked every corner, every potential hiding spot for hostiles.

They cleared the area and she finally felt safe to put away her weapon. Hoffman and Gibson were still missing, along with a few of their uniforms. Rigg had returned, joining her as she leaned against a squad car.

“Never a dull day out here,” Rigg muttered.

“You telling me.” She folded her arms and sighed. She turned to the man, considering him. “Maybe you can talk some sense into Hoffman. You two seem close.”

Rigg gave her a wary look. “About what?”

“He needs to head back to the station after this blows over. He can’t work this case if it’s Rosello related. Do you mind?”

Rigg smirked, “I ain’t telling him shit. He knows what he needs to do.”

She rolled her eyes. “Great. Perfect.”

“Maybe you should just trust him. The man gets results.”

She shook her head, aware that this officer had no fucking clue how messy and complicated this situation was. She wasn’t sure if he was cleared to be privy to it. She kept her mouth shut and stared straight ahead.

Several more gunshots were heard. Echoes in the distance. A few more officers were running towards the scene, rewithdrawing their pistols and heading to where Hoffman and Gibson had gone. Her heart sank and she craned her neck in hopes of seeing something to put her worries at ease.

Sudden panic ran through her like blades. She pushed off the car and jogged over to join the men. Her hand was at her waist.

Turning a few corners, jumping over litter and overturned steel barrels, she finally reached where most of her colleagues had gathered. Gibson’s face was splattered in blood. He was shaking like a leaf. Hoffman looked fine. Almost happy.

She let out a sigh of relief, clasping her holster and relaxing her shoulders.

One of the burly men was smacking Hoffman on the back and letting out a triumphant roar.

There was a man laying in a pool of blood at their feet, several bullet wounds in his back. One of the uniforms kicked him and let out a laugh. Will approached the group.

“You two all right?” She looked from Hoffman to Gibson. “Matt?” She put a hand on his arm and he jumped, looking up at her. The warm boyish glint was gone, replaced with a hollow shadow. “Matt, let’s get you cleaned up.” She shot Hoffman a relieved look but flinched. He looked high. “How about you, Mark?”

He blinked, then smirked. “We’re fine. Got the bastard just in time.” Something felt off. There was an intense energy she practically tasted. He felt almost hostile, despite the pleased smile he was flashing her.

“Okay. Maybe you should sit tight. I want to talk to you in a second.” She pulled Gibson from the group while some of the eavesdroppers let out a whistle and an ‘oooh you’re in trouble, Hoffman’. She’d normally be annoyed by this, but the relief that no one was hurt let her overlook this. “Did anyone call for medical? And the coroner?”

Silence.

“Someone call medical response. Please.” She called over her shoulder. “Come on, Matt.” She took him away from the cajoling knuckle draggers and found a crate off to the side. “Have a seat. There you go.” She could feel his arms trembling violently. He slumped down, staring at his feet. “Matt?”

He looked up at her. “Hoffman killed him.”

“I see. What happened?”

“The guy got the drop on me. Took my gun. I thought I was done for.” He wiped some of the blood off of his forehead, looking at his now soiled hands. “But Hoffman was there. The guy-,” And then he looked up at her, fearful. “He just killed him.”

Will listened to this, not sure if she understood. “Hoffman saved you.”

“Yes. No. The guy had his hands in the air. He shot him.” He blinked then shook his head. “Fuck. It happened so fast.”

Will raised an eyebrow. “Hey. Everything’s okay. You’re okay. Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

His hand reached out, pulled at her coat sleeve. “Maddox. He didn’t need to shoot him.” His voice was strained. “He didn’t need to.”

She bit her lip. He was in shock. The sound of the ambulance siren getting louder was comforting. “You’re safe, Matt. Come on, let’s get you checked out.”

“You’re not listening.” His grip on her arm was tight. His face contorted with indignant anger. “He shot that man in cold blood.”

Will felt a frigid breeze blow past them, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She looked over to Hoffman, who had been staring right at her. She couldn’t read him. “All right. Let’s figure it out when we get back to the station. Come on.”

She took Gibson back to the streets where Rigg was standing by his squad car. “Rigg. Look after Gibson.” An ambulance was approaching, the lights flashing. “After he gets looked over by the paramedics, take him home.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“Investigate the original crime scene,” she tucked a red curl behind her ear. “Where is the body?”

Rigg pointed off towards where a lone officer guarded more yellow tape. She went off, hoping she’d look over everything before Hoffman got back and tried to intervene. If she could examine the crime scene while he was busy, she’d be able to avoid any more attitude from him.

The chaos was a godsend, in a way. No matter how pissed she was at her partner, she wanted him free of Rosello’s influence. Recalling that calloused and malicious smile he had given her, she felt reinforced in her motivations to get him the hell away from that mob bastard.Before he was tainted any further.

“Officer,” she nodded to the guard as she went under the yellow tape and looked down at the white chalk lines tracing the corpse. She went numb.

The woman was young. Looked like a college student. She had long, auburn hair and plenty of freckles. There was a notable resemblance that she couldn’t deny. The facial shape, proportions, it felt uncanny. Walking around the woman’s splayed limbs, Will forced herself not to mind her nakedness. But she did force herself to face the cruelty.

The woman’s breasts had been sliced off.

That was the first searing scar that was burned into her brain as she scanned the other features of the deceased. Her fingers had been broken in several joints. One of her ankles had been bent, her foot in a direction it was never meant to go.

There was gore running down her inner thighs.

She let out a slow breath, feeling fresh fear and wanting more than anything to just close her eyes and disappear.

This was one of those cases that made her feel out of her element. But she pressed on. As she continued examining the area, she nodded to the woman’s earlobe. An earring was the only article of clothing still on her. It looked familiar.

“I need some gloves and an evidence bag.” She turned to her only company, who knelt by one of the forensic officers’ packs and pulled out the supplies.

She removed the earring off the woman’s lobes, pulling it up to the lighting fixtures placed around the crime scene. And she almost dropped it when she realized where she recognized the white gold leaves and the three emerald marquise cut stones. Handed down, mother to daughter for generations.

She bagged the earring, the rushing sound of her heart pounding under her skull. “This needs to be dusted for prints and analyzed.” She handed it to the officer, already knowing she was likely stepping down from this investigation. They were always kept in a special mini drawer in the jewelry box. She was suddenly dizzy.

“Will,” Hoffman was there all of a sudden. “What did you find?” She walked by him, wanting to get some space. Some fresh air. She just needed to sit down for a moment.

She stood by a wall and held herself up, breathing quick and heavy. She squatted with her back to the bricks, looking up at the charcoal sky.

“Will,” he was there. Concerned. “Talk to me.” He was squatting beside her, big hand on her shoulder.

She looked up at him, wide eyed. “The victim was wearing my earring.”

Chapter Text

He drove her back to the station. Will was no longer sulking nor pointedly ignoring him like that morning. He wished she would. Instead, her face was haunted as she stared straight ahead.

He had expected her to accost him with probing questions about what happened with Gibson. He had braced himself to relay a story to her to discredit the rookie. He had not expected to see her go into shock.

The victim had resembled her, as did the previous bodies that Rosello left them. This was exactly why he had not intended to leave her alone at the crime scene. He had tried to protect her from seeing Rosello’s work for as long as he could, especially because the fucker was getting more creative in his own twisted way.

And she treated him like the bad guy, as if he didn’t have her best interests at heart. She had proven to him that she did not give a damn about her own well-being, so he was going to assume that responsibility. He needed to explain this to her. He wanted her to understand.

All he could do was drive her away. Make her hate him. They were getting too close and Rosello was starting to notice. This was for her own good.

And then that fucking junkie came out of nowhere, complicating things. He had to go save some idiot who couldn’t maintain positive control of his fucking weapon.

Will seemed to be fond of the kid. He didn’t like the shrimp much but he wasn’t going to just let one of their own get shot with his own gun. He taught him a valuable lesson. Shoot first. Because those fucks certainly would if given the chance. Besides, it was always good to have someone inside of the task force that owed him. Big.

They returned to the station as though they had just left a funeral, solemn and bleak. He kept watching her from behind, following her as she walked up the stairs and to their desks. She hesitated and when he followed her gaze he felt fresh anger shoot up his throat. He tightened his hands into fists, squeezing hard.

Red roses, tons of them, were arranged in a vase on her desk. It took up most of the real estate. She approached them with a healthy skepticism, walking around her desk and taking in the bouquet. An envelope was nestled in between the flowers. To Red. He recognized the handwriting and instinctively grabbed her wrist when she reached for the paper.

They stood there, ignoring the men walking by who cast curious glances. Some even looked like they were amused. It must have been a funny sight, him standing there like a fool with his partner looking pissed over a flashy romantic gesture. Fucking perfect.

She turned on him. “What do you think you’re doing?” There was fresh anger in those orange eyes, full of distrust at him.

“Careful. You don’t know what he did to them.”

“How did they get here?” She sounded accusatory and she jerked her wrist out of his grasp. He let her go, shame burning his neck and cheeks.

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah,” she nodded, wary and disbelieving. “I don’t know anymore either.” She took the envelope, breaking the seal and pulling out the note.

And then he saw something quickly crawl over the sleeve of her shirt. Something shapely. Black and shiny. With long pointed legs. He slapped at it without thinking.

“What the fuck, Mark!” She snapped but he pushed her back hard. She flew backward and stumbled.

“Get the fuck back!” He grabbed the phone on his desk and slammed it hard on the creature. He heard the pop and crush, pulling back to see gelatinous goo and curled spider legs. There was a hint of red and he turned to her. “Black widow spiders.”

“What-,” and then she gasped and pointed at her desk. He turned again, seeing another with its bright red hourglass shining up at him like a bullseye. He slammed downwards with his phone, not caring if he broke it.

“Holy shit!” One of the nearby detectives had witnessed the action and upon approaching closer, saw the arachnids. More were starting to come out of the vase, crawling over the roses and down the sides of the glass. On their desks.

Another voice yelled out in the distance, but he didn't register over the pounding of his pulse in his head.

He kept killing them. He heard Will and other people behind him, shooing curious onlookers away.

“Mark!” Will’s voice called him and he felt her tug at his suspenders from behind, pulling him back. “We’re evacuating. Grissom’s orders.”

One minute, he was fetching coffee for Tapp and himself. He was listening to the radio, hearing the latest scores for the Patriots and the Steelers’ game. He was thrilled to hear the Steelers were winning, having been born and raised in Pittsburgh until he went to college.

And then, the next thing he knew, he was being rushed out of the break room to the sound of screams and panic. Someone had pulled the fire alarm. But word passed around in the hallway that this wasn’t some fire.

Apparently, there were spiders? He didn’t know it was Halloween. Last he checked, it was December. He was just glad he had kept his coat on when he joined the crowd in the winter air. He balanced a coffee mug in each hand, planning on still making his delivery despite the melodrama of the day.

They all mustered outside, everyone cold and shivering. He walked by Internal Affairs Division, looking for Homicides to muster with Grissom. Sipping his steaming cup and gingerly pushing through his colleagues, he finally recognized some friendly faces.

There was some shouting in one section of the parking lot where he got a glimpse of his partner and Matthews, who were observing some commotion. As he got closer the yelling grew until he realized it was Maddox and Hoffman having a loud disagreement in front of the entire department.

Well, this can’t be good.

He raised an eyebrow when he saw Maddox shove upwards angrily at Hoffman, not quite pushing him but the effort was obvious. He grabbed her wrists and looked ready to shake her.

“Hey!” He called out and held out his occupied hand. “Maddox, I’ve got that coffee you wanted!” Completely random, but it worked. The two of them stopped to turn their heads in confusion, staring at him as he beamed back. “Remember?” He held out the spare cup, “You wanted us to talk shop once I got back. You ready to get to work?”

He watched as she jerked her wrists out of Hoffman’s grip, though he held onto one of them until Matthews appeared and put a hand on the big guy’s shoulders. Good on you, Eric. The two needed to be separated before they ended up causing a scene and getting the entire division screwed.

Maddox didn’t say anything as she brushed by him and stormed in one direction. He played it off as he stayed close to her heels, lazily sipping his joe in between strides until they were as far from their muster location. They could still see and hear their supervisor when he finally showed up, glasses fogged and cheeks red with rage. Turning from Grissom, Sing studied Maddox. Her breathing was erratic, shown by the clouds pouring past her lips as she fumed.

“Here. This will help.” He held out the cup. “Better drink it fast, it’s already lukewarm.” She took it, avoiding his eyes. He knew she was crying but he pretended to not notice. He continued noisily slurping coffee and exchanged glances with Tapp. Matthews had pulled Hoffman in the opposite direction they had gone, a cigarette in his mouth while talking to his friend.

He noticed her shoulders were twitching, her head bowed in shame. There were curious stares all around them, probably gawking at the soap opera unfolding. She finally took a drink. “Thanks, Steven.”

“Any time, Mad Max.”

She let out a huff. “You too?”

He smirked. “What? It’s not the worst nickname Eric has come up with.”

“Uh-huh.” She had thrown a glance back in her partner’s direction, pain in her face. “You know, Tapp already got a visual on us. We could probably go to lunch until all this blows over. Though it sounds like we need an exterminator?”

She shook her head, looking back at the station’s doors. “Rosello sent poisonous spiders our way.” She swallowed. “Unfucking believable. And it's all my fault. That's what everyone's going to say.”

He bit his lip. “Technically, I think they’re venomous.” She blinked, looked at him carefully, and punched him in the arm hard. He couldn’t help it. He laughed, his arm stinging.

“I never knew you were such a pain.”

“Yeah, well, I'm still pretty new. Come on, let’s go to the Grill. I need some poutine and I think you need to take the rest of the day off.” He knew it wasn’t the time or place to bring in all the other shit that was going on. The latest victims would be a lot to unpack over lunch, if she was ready to hear all that.

“You know, that sounds perfect right now.” Newfound fury in her voice, she threw back the last of the coffee. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here. I’m fucking done with today. I’m fucking done with everything.” She kept looking over at Hoffman, like a forlorn puppy dog.

He nodded, taking the ceramic mug from her hands and passing them to the nearest rookie. “Sweet. You wanna drive?”

He had been counting on her cheering up at this. “Yes.”

She was an absolute terror on the road. He thought his mother was nuts, often putting mascara on while steering with her knees on the highway. But Maddox, thankfully, had her hands on the wheel while whizzing in between cars and narrow alleys like water siphoning through rocks.

He also learned that she liked to talk when she was angry. He had not expected her to just unload but here they were, and there was a lot to absorb.

“And can you believe that he thinks it’s my fault because I should have just judo flipped Frank day one? Can you?” She turned to him as she stopped at a redlight, sighing while inching the car on the back bumper of the vehicle in front of them.

“Definitely a dick move.” Sing kept his eyes straight ahead, so he could witness his own death directly if this was the day. “I don’t know Hoffman too well but it doesn’t surprise me. He kind of comes off as a bit of a black and white kind of guy.”

“Really.” She floored it when the lights went green, going around the car in front of them before the driver knew what happened. “Even after this shit? With Rosello?”

“Honestly?” He gasped when she sharply turned, the wheels squealing as they spun around the corner on black ice. She managed to not go off the curb and returned to her lane. “Yeah!” He had flinched when she finally slid into a parking spot, their journey finally over. His heart was racing and he trembled as he got out of the car.

“Well, he’s a hypocrite.”

“Nobody’s perfect, Maddox,” Sing wanted to kiss the concrete but kept his composure as they walked to the restaurant. “But we did warn you about him.”

“Yep. You did. I didn’t listen.” She pulled her red curls back, nostrils flared. “I guess this is just what I deserve.”

“Well now,” Sing held the door open for her and she let him, “When I first came onto the force, I wouldn’t have trusted Hoffman as far as I could throw him. But I wouldn’t discount your judgment. You’ve always stood up for him. What happened back there? If you don’t mind me asking.”

They found a corner table, out of the way but with a good view of the interior. A waitress already left them drinks and menus.

“Well.” She bit her lip, “I know he’s reporting everything he knows to Rosello. And someone had to bring that - fucking bouquet of spiders on my desk. I just assumed it was him.”

“Wasn’t he with you all day?”

“Yes.” She sounded begrudging. Embarrassed. “I realized that. Just now.” She pressed her fingers against her temples and let out a low groan. “Can today just get any better than it already has?”

Sing nodded sympathetically. “Long day?”

“Well, considering that I’ve been kept in the dark on recent events pertaining to this case? And the fact that the latest victim I examined this morning was wearing my mother’s earrings while my partner is being a pain in the ass, I’d say it’s been a lot to chew.”

Sing whistled low. “So the cat’s out of the bag.”

“Yeah. Oh, thanks for that, by the way. Appreciate not being informed that Rosello has explicitly been murdering all of my doppelgangers in the city.”

“Well, it’s not just you he’s been basing his victims on. There was the triple homicide last week. But most of the victims were redheads.”

“Please. Just tell me straight. I’m so sick of not being trusted to handle this.”

“It’s not that we don’t trust you, Maddox,” Sing leaned forward, whispering, “it’s literally the opposite. We don’t want you forced off the task force. Grissom’s not liking this one bit. He’s worried you’re going to end up in one of the fridges down in the basement with all the others. Tapp has had to pull some weight to keep the women onboard. You, Ally, and Perez are targets to this creep. The guy’s not just a misogynist. He’s depraved. And he’s now got you on his most wanted list. It’s why we’re suddenly having self-defense training.”

The waitress appeared, pausing from the conversation. “I can come back later?”

“No, it’s fine.” Sing turned to her. “I’ll have the swiss melt and poutine.”

“Tuna salad sandwich.”

The waitress nodded, taking their menus and retreating. He craved a beer. Maybe next time. He and Maddox had a long night ahead of them for their shift for Angelina Hoffman’s patrol.

The silence felt uncomfortable and she spoke up first. “I think I should reach out to Rosello.”

This made him widen his eyes. “That’s risky. Too risky.”

“Yeah. But we need to get this asshole. I could wear a wire. Just take him on his offer. Invite him out to dinner.”

“Slow down,” He let out a small laugh, hoping she was joking. “Take a breath, Will. If you go rushing it, there’s going to be mistakes. Things can go downhill real quick.” A part of him wanted more than anything to take the plunge with her. But it was Tapp’s voice that kept him still.

”Don’t go doing something foolish, now, Sing.”

Eyebrows knotted with fury, she let out a heavy breath, pulling out a pack of cigarettes, taking one between her lips while offering him another. She lit up and took a low drag.

He took one, letting her light one for him. It was just one of those days. “Didn’t know you smoked.”

“Quit when I married Frank. Been hanging around too much with Matthews these days. Decided life's too short and been shit lately.” She was already blowing plumes and flicking ash into their table’s ashtray.

“First things, first, let’s eat. We can’t go take down this kingpin on empty stomachs.” Maddox had that fire that Tapp had burning inside him. It was that kind of fire that did a lot of good most of the time. But sometimes, if there wasn't someone around to help them remember to keep themselves under control, it would burn them.

And that was what Sing was good at. Keeping fires under control. He was the level-headed one.

He just hoped these next few weeks he'd be able to keep his own head on straight.

Chapter Text

Allison pulled up to the curb, Will’s old apartment building towering over them. “You ready?” She asked, looking over to her friend. Will sat straight up, looking directly ahead with her jaw clenched. She was dressed for labor: jeans and boots with a sweater that barely covered the bulge of her pistol strapped at her hip.

They both came prepared, knowing if Frank Maddox was home, they may just need them. All the guys were busy. Tapp and Sing were looking into some street gang that was starting to expand their turf southside. Matthews and Fisk were guarding Angelina and Peter. Even their FBI backup had to fly back to D.C. for the week, some political event needed their presence.

And Hoffman was off-limits, according to Will. She wouldn’t talk about him. She refused to explain why she had to get her things at that moment. It couldn’t wait. ”Not a moment longer,” she had said when she had gotten home that night.

Word was it had something to do with the spider incident. It was one hell of a rumor to get off duty to. Not knowing gnawed her insides and Will wouldn’t throw her a bone.

The sky was dark. There was an electric stench in the air. Wisps of snow fluttered onto the windshield. “Let’s get this over with.” Will was the first out of the car, leading them to the elevators and up the five stories.

Allison had been on high alert, scanning the hallways as they made their way to the residence. She had her hand resting on her holster, bracing for whatever bullshit this evening would throw their way.

Will took out her keys, the metal clinking as she put one into the door’s lock. The sound of the lock disengaging and the mild surprise glimmering in her eyes made her pause. “I thought he’d change the locks by now.”

Allison bit her lip, not liking that. It meant he had expected her to come back, after all he had done to her.

Will opened the door and called in. “Frank? It’s me.” She was the first in, inching through the foyer. “I’m getting my things. Are you here?” After some tense breaths, she softly murmured, “Guess not.”

The place had a sour, musty smell to it. It was freezing. A window must have been left open. There was trash, beer cans, and glass bottles everywhere she turned. Stepping over some trash bags, she kept surveying the area while Will had gone into the living room. The sound of metal and glass being rummaged through made the hairs on the back of her neck stand.

The sooner they got out of there, the better. It felt like a fungus was creeping into her veins. This made her look over to Will again, needing her close by her. A window was open in the living room, the wind blowing through the stained curtains and keeping the place frigid.

Will was squatting by the bookshelf, a leather-bound book in her hands as she flipped through the pages briefly. Satisfied, she slapped the book shut and stood up. “I just need my jewelry box and then we’re done.” She briskly walked across the room and through the kitchen, going toward the bedroom.

She paused, looking into the room before letting out a disgusted noise. “Oh God. You don’t want to see this.”

“I’ll take your word on it.” Allison called back, the urge to leave rising up her chest. “You find it? Let’s get out of here.” She stepped into the kitchen, glancing down at the plates on the counter. It was a good thing it was winter. The bug count was much lower despite the fuzzy mold rainbowing the various dishes.

She saw a flicker in the corner of her eye and she swung around, going for her weapon.

He was just there.

She saw a swift sideways movement and, suddenly, sharp, intense darkness whacked into her. Everything simply faded.

She heard the wet THUNK and was instantly on alert. She had just picked up the small box buried under discarded towels and was suddenly drawn with her gun pointed at the doorway. Her heart was racing. She had to remind herself to take slow, deep breaths.

“Frank,” she reached for her phone, dialing the station. “What did you do?”

Silence. She cautiously approached the doorway. “Ally? You okay?”

She burst through the door, sweeping her corners before pointing her gun to the kitchen. She saw Allison face down on the kitchen floor, brown waves with crimson fluids spread in a crumpled heap. “Frank!” She raised her voice.

“Metropolitan Police Department,” the voice of the dispatcher sounded on her phone, just barely heard over the sound of her beating heart.

“Officer Down. Back up needed at 425 East Madison Street. Apartment 503B. This is Will Maddox. Assailant armed and dangerous.” She took another step, about to cross the threshold of the hallway into the kitchen.

“Hang tight, we’ll be there in five - ,”

She ducked as soon as she saw the flash of movement, the sound of the bat striking the sheetrock exploded over her. She spun as she landed on her ass as she looked up to see Frank hulking over her, bloodshot eyes and snarling teeth roaring.

He swung downwards and she rolled over quickly, just barely missing the head strike. It had gotten her bun, her hair snagged on the floorboards. She kicked her heel into his knee, feeling the joint pop.

He let out a scream and swung again, this time hitting its mark as she raised her arm up to shield her face. She felt her arm break, white-hot pain searing through her body as she let out a pained yowl.

“You fucking bitch!” He screamed as he collapsed onto her, grabbing her by the fistfuls of hair and slamming her head against the floor.

The world was rocking and shaking as she kept ramming into the hardwood. She knew she was toast. He was straddling her, ramming his fists into her cheeks. Her eyes. Everything hurt but she couldn’t tell if she was dying or if this was a nightmare. She heard bits and pieces of his voice. Cursing her. Calling her every disgusting thing in the English language. And she felt he was right. Why would he be doing this if he wasn’t right?

She felt it stop all of a sudden. He was panting over her. There was something wet in her mouth. Sweat? Blood?

“I’m going to kill you,” he was whispering nearby. She recognized the words. But they were just words. “I need to. Look what you made me do.”

How had she ended up there?

She had never imagined it would all end like this.

A scuffle in the distance. Her gun. Where was her gun? She had it in her hands. She tried to move her fingers. Just feel for it. Her hand grappled into the ether. Nothing.

But she could move. She could fucking move. But it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

She heard footsteps and then a sharp pressure in her stomach. She let out a low groan. It was the worst pain she had ever experienced. He had just stomped onto her stomach. She was coughing, throwing up copper and bile. Air. She needed air.

She was going to die there.

The footsteps faded again, broken glass and the sound of paper crumpling was grating on her aching head. She felt warm water fall down the sides of her temples. Despite all the damage, her eyes somehow could still shed tears. She didn’t want to die. He was going to kill her. But she didn’t want this.

Then get up. This wasn’t a real voice. Something deep and primal. Something she’d never experienced before. He’s gone. Get. Up. She listened.

She forced herself to roll, despite how much it hurt. But pain meant she was still fucking alive. She could still fucking go. She pulled herself to her elbows, wincing as her weight dug into the nerves of her broken arm. She needed to get to her feet. Run.

Find your gun. Grab a weapon. So many thoughts were bombarding through her. What was the right choice?

The window. Fire escape.

Of course. One of her eyes was swollen shut. The other, she could just barely see out of. But she knew this place. She had lived in it for years. This was once her house.

Frank’s back was to her, bent over in the living room. She needed to just run for it. The window. The window was open. She limped and moved as fast as she could.

“No you don’t!” He snarled as she toppled forward, falling out. She felt his grip on her ankle but she kicked again. She must have hit him because he let out a pained cry. She fell onto the frozen metal grates, pulling the bars with her bare hands. They stung from freezing onto the black iron but she pulled herself up on the railings. She was on the fire escape. Outside.

She let out a strangled scream at the top of her lungs.

“Shut the fuck up!” He was crawling out the window after her, his voice and breath so close. She tried to go down one level, the stairs slippery and the structure trembling under them as they raced down the spiral.

She was just out of his reach but barely.

And then her head was wrenched back. She felt her chin point towards the sky as his fingers dug into her neck. She was choking. Bright yellow splotches danced across her vision like strobe lights.

She didn’t want to fucking die. She wanted to live.

She pulled her good arm behind her, reaching for his face. She clawed and dug her fingers for any vulnerable points, feeling the warm softness of his eyeball as she pressed her thumb into it.

His grip weakened and she jerked forward, losing her balance as she felt herself topple off the railing.

She was falling. The drop a sudden freedom that made her almost believe she was flying.

But this was short-lived. She knew this was the end. She just knew.

And then she felt points and needles shoot up her spine as she collided with uneven solids. Some soft. Some hard. And it fucking hurt.

But pain meant life. Pain meant she wasn’t dead yet. She had to force her one eye open to look up. She was staring up at the black stairs framed in dark blue. A dumpster.

Of all the places to land, she landed in the fucking dumpster. And Frank was glaring down at her, still, a monster that wouldn’t stop.

A police siren sang, calling for her. It gave her a fresh dose of adrenaline. She took a sharp breath.

Keep moving.

Sitting up was almost impossible. She had to pull herself up with an exhausted weakness that made her feel like her bones had turned to lead. Her head was just a bowling ball of broken glass and pins.

She forced herself over the dumpster and she crumpled onto the icy concrete, crawling out onto the public sidewalk.

“Oh my god,” a voice was heard. She reached forward, seeing shadows in the distance. They must have been people. Good people. People who would help.

She held out her hand and someone warm took it. And relief washed over her as she began to cry.

Knox and him were snickering at the TV as Dennis the Menace played in the background. In between sips of whiskey and the fog of smoke, it had been an alright evening. Now, it was well past midnight, and the two of them had started flipping through channels and decided to watch some reruns that old Vernon had watched in his youth.

He felt his pager go off on his belt. He went to check it, surprised anyone had bothered. He had decided to leave his cell at the office, never quite used to carrying it around like he was expected to.

It was Angie. He got to his feet while Knox kept cackling as the boy on the screen left a bucket of paint under his neighbor’s ladder, ready to see the shenanigans unfold as the adult descended down the steps.

Hoffman dialed Angie’s number, wondering what she could possibly want this late in the evening.

She picked up after the first ring. “Mark. Will’s in the hospital.”

He froze. “What happened?” But he knew.

“Frank.”

The confirmation made him grow hot with hate, the phone beginning to shake in his fist. “Where?”

“Mercy General.” Her voice was hoarse. She must have been crying. “It’s bad, Mark.”

“I’m on my way.” He hung up, baring his teeth.

“Everything all right?” Knox had muted the TV and was wheeling into the kitchen.

“My partner’s in the hospital.” He was already retrieving his coat from the kitchen chair. “I need to go.”

He was looking for his car keys, having tossed them on the kitchen table.

“Will she live?” He asked the right question. Not what happened. Not who did it. But the only thing that mattered. Will she live?

“I don’t know.”

“I’m coming, then.”

He didn’t bother to argue. It would have been futile anyway. Besides, Hoffman didn’t want to be alone. Not at that moment. “Then bundle up. It’s snowing.”

He drove fast, turning on his hidden police lights as he made his way through the quiet city streets. Knox kept silent and the only sound was the whoosh of the heater blasting onto them and the sound of his own loud breathing.

Once they parked at the hospital, he got the wheelchair set up steered Knox quickly through the sliding doors and into the warmth and fumes of rubbing alcohol. Emergency Care was surprisingly quiet. He recognized the group of familiar faces waiting amongst the chairs and outdated magazines. Tapp and Sing nodded as they stayed seated with their backs in the corner, clearly on guard duty. Angelina and Peter, rose with tear-streaked and tired faces. Kerry was with them, her head wrapped in gauze with a purple bruise on the side of her cheek. Two of their uniforms were there, whom he recognized were part of the Domestic Violence Unit.

“Mark,” Angie buried her face into his chest and hugged him tightly.

“Can we see her?” He looked over to the nurse behind the check-in counter, who was giving them a pitying frown.

“Not yet. They said she’s in critical condition. She fell several stories.” Angie let out a huff, resisting a sob.

He pushed her. Lava boiled under his chest.

“He got the drop on me, Hoffman. I’m sorry.” Kerry had avoided his eyes, the glistening of angry tears at the edge of her lashes glimmered under the fluorescent light. “I fucked up.”

“Hey now,” Vernon’s gruff voice broke though, “Don’t go blaming yourself, Kerry.”

She blinked, her lips parting as she gaped. “Knox. I - I didn’t see you.”

“Kerry, don’t tell me you’ve softened that tough-gal image after these short years.” He pushed his wheels and nodded towards Tapp. “Come over here, missy. Let’s give them a moment.”

Kerry and Knox went out of earshot, Hoffman keeping his eyes on his sister. “Did they say how bad it’s going to be?”

“They just need to set her arm and leg. And do some X-Rays. They’re only letting family see her.”

“She doesn’t have anyone here,” he growled, shoving a fist into his pocket. Fucking Frank had a right to see her and not they? It was fucked. “When are non-relatives allowed?”

“In a few moments,” a doctor arrived, draped in lab coat and clipboard in hand. “She’s conscious and insists you all will be permitted or she will ‘crawl out of this hospital’ if she has to.” He didn’t sound impressed as he clicked his pen. “She refuses to give a statement until we’ve allowed all visitors. She said she wanted to speak to,” he looked down at his clipboard, “Allison Kerry, Mark and Angelina Hoffman. I’m assuming that’s you three?”

He smirked, relief washing through him. It sounded like she was going to be fine. “Lead the way.”

The doctor led them through doors and hallways. “I must warn you. Her appearance. It may come as a shock.” He was looking at Angelina as he said this, barely flicking his glance towards Mark or Allison, who wore her badge around her neck in a silver chain.

He pulled back a curtain and Angelina gasped. He refused to shut his eyes, though the urge struck him.

The person lying in the hospital bed did not look like his partner. The only part that had been constant was the red curls pulled back with thick bandages wrapped around her forehead. Eyes swollen shut, tubes in her nose, arms, and a cast on her left wrist with blood staining the white, it would have been just another victim in a crime he was investigating on the job if he did not know it was her.

He kept his face still as he went to her side. He put a hand against her good one, letting his warmth seep into the cool skin. He found himself in the past, the familiar smells and sounds of the hospital and the soft sobs of Angelina making him feel like a young man again, saying goodbye to his mother.

He swallowed hard. “Will.”

“Mark.” Her voice was rough and soft. One eye opened slightly and a glimmer of amber in between pink flesh glimmered up at him. “Sorry about today.”

He squinted. “What do you mean?”

“I know you didn’t leave those roses. I was an idiot.” Her face was a bloated mass but he thought he saw a small curl of a smile. “I broke his knee.” Her fingers curled over his hand.

“You’re not an idiot,” he dumbly replied. “And good.” He squeezed her hand back. “Hang in there, Will.”

“Plan to.” She looked up at the ceiling and he saw a tear slide down her cheek. “Mark?”

“What?”

“Promise me,” her voice trailed off, visibly wincing from pain.

He leaned close. Deja vu. “Don’t strain yourself, all right?”

“I’m not. Just.” She let out a whisper, “Promise me you won’t go do something stupid. With Frank.”

Despite it all. Despite all this shit. She still had to do things the right way. His vision was reddening and he had to restrain himself from squeezing her hand too tightly. “I can’t promise that.”

“Please. Try. Let Domestics take care of it.”

“He almost killed you.” He knew damn well that a multi-story fall didn’t beat a person up this badly.

“And there’s plenty of evidence to lock him up. Please. Don’t do something stupid. I know you.” Her tone said more. I know what you’re capable of. Now she was squeezing his fingers, small hands with shaky strength.

“Fine. Promise.” He wanted to promise her the moon if it would just help her heal up. “Just rest. I’ll be here.”

“Thank you.” There was relief in her voice. A trust that he feared.

Angelina knelt down, softly crying as she put a hand on Will’s face. He left the two women there, taking an awkward step back as they knelt beside their friend. He looked away, uncertain of what he should do.

The doctor had returned to shoo them back to the waiting room, now with the two Domestics officers at his back. Hoffman knew this was when they took Will’s statement. There’d be a manhunt, if Frank had decided to run. Hoffman was itching to join them but kept the urge pushed down as he returned to the waiting area with Angie and Kerry, seated while they all sat in a depressed quiet that was only broken with the distant phone ringing and intercom pages for doctors to report to the scene.

“Dr. Denlon, ICU. Denlon, ICU.”

He pulled up a random pamphlet, some addiction rehab clinic, that he half-heartedly studied, as he took in the people around him. Kerry was rubbing her bandage, staring down at her feet, while Sing had a hand on her shoulder in comfort. Tapp and Knox were having a conversation, old friends catching up on lost time in respectful and solemn expressions. And Angelina was wiping tears while Peter rubbed her back.

Hoffman’s pager went off again. He checked, the number making his throat go dry. No. Not now. But he couldn’t ignore it.

He got up, approaching the front desk. “Mind if I use your phone?” The nurse pointed at a nearby payphone booth. Hoffman went to make the call.

Putting in change, he licked his lips as the phone rang. He silently wished for it to just be a check-in. He’d known what happened. Doesn’t mean I got to do anything but report.

“Markie-boy,” the nasal voice grated on his ears. “Give me the news on Red. She going to pull through?”

He clenched his jaw. “She’ll live.”

“She’ll heal up? Had I known she’d go back to that piece of shit, I’d have sent some boys over to keep her in one piece. Broke my heart when I heard what happened. So I’ve decided to take care of it.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman inhaled sharply, his nostrils flared. “You know where he is?”

“Oh, better. Come to my place. I’m feeling generous. Promise you won’t be disappointed.”

Hoffman looked over to the waiting room, locking eyes with Tapp and Knox, who both were watching him with an intelligence laced with tragic knowing. Tapp glared at him with a superior smirk.

“I’m on my way.” He hung up and left without saying goodbye.

Rosello’s home smelled of expensive things like Cuban cigars, leather, and walnut furniture. He always felt like the lounge hall was a symbol of everything Rosello was: overcompensation and death.

There were more stuffed animals than he’d seen in their city zoo before it was shut down. He stared at the big elephant head, a fleeting sadness rushed through him. To see something so grand and innocent fall victim to a worm like Toni Rosello just stung.

“Ah, Markie-boy,” Toni strode in, wrapped in a mustard paisley smoking jacket and a thick cigar in his teeth. “Punctual, I see.” He let out his hyena laugh, yellowed teeth bared. “Come, Olaf is warming up our guest.”

Rosello had a peculiar walk. Hoffman had never noticed, but he waddled because of his pot-belly, an awkward gait that he felt oddly glad he had. It made him seem more flawed. Finally, something that made him feel a bit superior to the slimy bastard.

He kept getting whiffs of the cigar as Rosello continued down the hallways of dark woods and extravagant wallpaper. The carpet under their feet felt expensive and Hoffman almost felt guilty for tracking the snow and dirt onto it. Almost.

Rosello opened a large door and below, stone steps led to the basement. Or really, an archaic renovated basement with an interior designer that was clearly well versed in victorian sado-masochism. The place looked like a torture-porn dungeon.

Graystone walls and sconces on the walls made Hoffman feel like he was on a theme park ride or on some movie scene of Dracula. The sound of the soles of their shoes on the stone stairs echoed off the walls.

A low moan was heard, coming in the distance. Hoffman already knew who it was, his stomach rolling as he pursed his lips with distaste.

Reaching the basement floor, the sight of the Frank Griffin curled in the fetal position as Olaf held a cow prod in his hand, brought the first pleasant spark in Hoffman’s heart. He looked on as Olaf pressed the end of the electric leads into the back of Frank’s neck and squeezed the trigger. The click of current and the sudden cries coming out of the man’s mouth made Rosello giggle.

“Oh, that’s cute. Let me have that,” Rosello held out his hand and Olaf obediently placed the grip respectfully into the man’s palm. Rosello hoisted it and pushed it into Frank’s face and the man seized, limbs flying as he twitched and writhed.

“Please,” he let out a strangled sob, “Stop!”

“What do you think, Markie-boy?” Rosello turned to him, intense with curiosity. “You can do whatever you want. I, sure as hell ain’t calling the cops on you.” He let out a laugh at his joke, a chorus of hyenas howling off with the dungeon echo.

He took a step towards the pathetic lump on the floor, who was crying like a baby. “Please,” he whispered, looking up at him with desperation. “Don’t let them do this to me. You’re a cop. You’re supposed to be one of the good guys.” He was on his knees, grabbing the pant legs of his trousers. “Please.”

Hoffman knelt down, squatting to get a better look at this embarrassment of a man. He looked up with wet brown eyes and his small nose; this was a creature that had been gifted kindness and love in this shit world, only to disregard and intentionally harm this gift with the stillness of a child who never knew anything but comfort.

He grabbed the man by the side of the neck, his rough hands touching skin as soft as a baby’s. He pictured Will, the pastries and coffee she’d offer every morning; the times she’d tell Grissom he was running papers when he was really late for work. Her smile. He thought of how she had kept her faith in him for much longer than most; how she kept believing he could still be good. And then seeing her in that hospital bed.

Promise me.

He promised he wouldn’t do anything stupid. He remembered that.

And with Rosello pulling the strings, there was little room for stupidity.

If anything, this was the smartest decision. Demonstration of loyalty and revenge, all in one sweet action.

He pulled at the man’s ear, twisting it with all his might. Frank let out a gurgling screech that just pissed him off more. He slammed the man down into the cool rock while pressing into his neck, pulling out his knife. He’d start small. Just a bit of flesh. Compared to what he did to Will, this was a pittance.

He took out his serrated knife, the one Angie had given him last Christmas.

And he began sawing off Frank Griffin’s ear. Blood was flowing out of the man’s head and the sight of it excited him. This felt the way justice should feel. Overwhelmingly satisfying. Almost orgasmic. He was breathing huskily as he kept slicing into the flesh, the screams making the hairs on his neck stand and his mouth water.

The sound of a happy hyena melded with the screams and Hoffman found himself smiling as the ear was finally sheared off the man’s head.

She pulled the leaves out of the vase of fake flowers resting on her mother’s tombstone, sighing at how unkept it seemed. She hadn’t come to visit her parents in years, life taking over and just making everything so busy. Eric Matthews and Allison Kerry were standing a respectful distance away, leaning against their car and huddled close.

Peter was taking a small brush across her father’s nameplate, cleaning off the hardening snow so they could see the dates and name clearly.

She knew it didn’t really matter, but the act felt good. It felt ritualistic and gave her something to do.

Mark had not gotten back to her when she left several voicemails for him. He had just stormed out the other night at the hospital and she worried he would drink himself into some trouble, like he was prone to do. A part of her wanted to join him, but she kept herself confined in her apartment and a bottle of wine.

The ache of loneliness hit her, as she imagined how Mark was handling the news. Apparently, Frank Griffin had gotten away. This news must have been driving her brother insane. It was one of his pet peeves, when the bad guy got away. Ever since the hit-and-run that killed their parents.

She took in a deep breath of the frigid air. Turning to her fiance, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. At least she had Peter, who was always a comfort and there for her. She couldn’t imagine a world without him.

“I wish they could have met you,” she commented as she looked down at her parents’ graves.

“Me too. Do you think they’d have liked me?”

“I know my mom would have loved you. My Dad?”

“Yeah?” Peter turned, alarmed. “What would he have thought?”

“Well, you know how Mark is. He gets that from our Dad. He had an old-school attitude on what made a man so I think he would have taken a bit to warm up to you. But in the end, he’d of realized that you would be the best man a woman would be lucky to have,” Angie beamed up at him and kissed him on his nose.”

“Whew,” Peter let out a relieved laugh, “I can’t imagine a man scarier than Mark.”

“Oh, Dad was much worse. Mark is a flower girl next to him.”

“Yikes,” Peter smiled in thought. “Speaking of flower girls.”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of my cousin’s daughter as the flower girl?”

“Oh, I was thinking Mark would be the flower girl. That’s why I brought it up,” Angie teased, “Sure. Sounds like a plan.”

“Six more months.”

“Not soon enough.” Angie looked up at her fiance, “I can’t wait to be Mrs. Angelina Acomb.”

“Well, soon-to-be Mrs. Acomb,” Peter wrapped an arm around her, “shall we return to the warm car? We’ll freeze to death at this rate.”

“Let’s.” Angie mentally said her farewell to her parents and they left the cemetery.

When he had heard about what happened, he had made some phone calls and burned an I.O.U. that Erickson owed him so he could take the next flight back to the city. His thoughts lingered heavily onto Will, sorrow heavy on him like pressure plates pushing into him.

Lindsey had to stay behind, sending her warmest regards in the form of a teddy bear and a Get Well Soon card. He was currently in a taxi, being taken directly to the hospital. He was not sure of the details, only that Will had been attacked and narrowly escaped.

He was sure she’d elaborate if she wanted to. He’d offer his services for trauma counseling, if needed. Though, it always was a gray line due to his more personal interests in her.

When he pulled up to the freshly plowed hospital entrance, he recognized Detective Eric Matthews smoking and shivering outside the doors, by an ashtray. “Can you believe they won’t let me smoke in there?” Matthews shook his head with disdain.

“Last PSA said those things kill and this is a hospital,” Strahm gave a good natured grin. “Times are changing.”

“For the worst,” Matthews took another drag. “Mad Max was moved out of ICU and is now in Primary. Third floor. Forget the room number but it’s to your right getting off the elevators.”

“Thanks.”

“Cute bear,” Matthews kept eye contact with Strahm, a cool gaze that felt penetrating.

“It’s from Perez,” Strahm felt an urge to go on the defensive.

“Ah,” suddenly Matthews was less intense. “I’m sure she’ll like that. She’s looking a lot better than when it happened. But she’s pretty banged up. It’s hard to see.”

Strahm nodded, his imagination all too canny that he doubted he’d be shocked. He made his way to the third floor, walking by nurses as he finally reached the room.

Recognizing the nameplate on the door, he knocked before entering. It was a private room, the TV turned on to the news, but muted.

“Strahm?”

He smiled, pretending it wasn’t as bad as it looked. Her eyes were swollen and purple, both looking up at him in surprise. It didn’t look like her. It was like a bad alien creature that had her voice.

“Hey, Will,” Strahm took a seat. “Lindsey wished she could have flown up but she’s being held back.” He put the bear on the table beside her and the sealed envelope. “Kerry told us. How’re you holding up?”

“I feel good. They gave me some wicked strong painkillers. I feel ready to go home.” Her voice was muffled and thick like honey.

The cast on her wrist and her elevated leg in plaster made him assume that would not be the case. There were little parts of her freckled skin that didn’t have purple or yellowish-green blemishes. Most of her was covered in bandages or floral hospital fabrics.

“Glad you seem in good spirits.” He wasn’t good at pretending to be thrilled. He tried to smile but it felt like he was just tensing his cheeks.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Try to look happy. I know I look gross.” She turned to him with misty eyes. “But you know, I don’t feel sad. Not in the slightest. It’s over. I’m alive.”

He nodded, feeling himself mentally retreat into clinical listening mode. “It will take time to process the trauma.” He hated the words as soon as they tumbled out of his mouth but it was too late. He had just made things awkward.

They sat in silence, staring at the TV as it spoke of the latest housing projects being constructed. “Four Walls Build A Home”. Cute slogan. Some big-shot engineer was designing affordable apartments with a key focus on sustainable communities to help cut back on the homeless rates in the city. An admirable mission.

“Strahm,” Will’s voice was throaty, “that offer you gave last we spoke. Is it still on the table?”

He turned to her, analyzing the stare. “Of course.”

“Can we start now?”

Peter cleared his throat and turned to the door. The slightest knot in his throat and the tinge of guilt in his stomach made him almost regret offering. It was frowned upon to give counseling to people you knew professionally. It was a potential conflict.

But he had offered, albeit out of a pitiful attempt to flirt and his savior complex he had trouble managing. He had to reap what he sowed, so to speak.

He went to shut the door. Once it clicked, he turned and provided his full attention. “Where do you want to start?”

“Just one thing.”

Peter returned to the chair by her side. A tear was falling down her cheek, dropping onto the pastel fabric of her hospital gown.

“After everything he’s done. Why don’t I hate him?”

He blinked. “I’m assuming by ‘him’ you mean…?”

“Frank. My husband.”

Ah. The word crushed him flat, catching him off guard. He hadn’t realized she was married. Never wore the ring. He could have read more into that but kept his composure. “After everything he’s done, you feel like you should hate him. Is that correct?” He had to reorient the conversation. This was a delicate matter.

“I should. I know this. I know that I should have left him after the first time. So why didn’t I?”

“You know what they say. Hindsight.” He leaned forward, wanting to reach out to comfort her but kept a healthy distance. “What were some reasons you stayed in the past?”

She looked up at the ceiling, ashamed. “I love him. Loved him.” She wiped her cheek with her good hand. “I’m not helpless. I’m not. I could have kicked his ass at any point.”

Strahm felt a real smile pull at that. “I’m sure.”

She shot him an angry glare. “And it’s my fault for letting it get this far, isn’t it?”

She was baiting him. He recognized the pleading question. The need for assurance. “You are not responsible for the violence your partner chose to do. Let’s make that clear.”

She swallowed. “Funny. Hoffman thought otherwise.”

Her other partner. “Well, Hoffman sounds like an idiot.”

She giggled at that. It was like church bells ringing. And he decided to commit.

“What else did Hoffman think? About your situation and your husband?”

She shook her head. “He didn’t like it. But he kept quiet, usually.”

“Must have been hard, not being able to talk about it with your partner.”

She let out a half-laugh. “Well, it’s honestly harder to talk about it than to pretend it’s not a problem.” She flinched, shutting her eyes tight as she cradled her broken arm to her chest.

He nodded, biting the inside of his cheek. A strong urge to protect and defend wrapped its electric arms around him. His heart pounded in his ears. “Do you need the nurse?”

“No.” She hissed, “I’m fine.” She shook her head. “I just want to move on. Get back to work.”

Ah. The layers were peeling back. Maddox was a textbook workaholic. He was the same. It was a decent coping mechanism. He swallowed as the memory of her face surfaced. He didn’t want to think about her right now. Not ever.

“Frank will go to jail. I’ll have to sit through the trial. And hopefully, he’s locked up.”

“I’m sure he’ll be convicted. They haven’t caught him yet?”

“Not yet. They would have told me. Hoffman would have told me.” She turned with a doubtful shadow in her eyes. “But there’s a chance he could walk. The DA is shit here. Domestics rarely get a conviction here.”

Like a mold spreading in his lungs, he felt sick. “He’ll have the book thrown at him. Despite how crooked your department is, there’s no way they’d let this guy walk. You're a cop. You all look after each other.”

“No. I don’t want some back alley deal. None of that. I want him locked away the right way.”

Peter couldn’t help but crack a smile. “Yeah. Don’t we all." He wanted to fix this. "I can help out. Make sure the paperwork’s filed right. Make some phone calls, maybe get some attorneys from out of state to keep the DA straight.”

There was a pregnant pause. They stared at each other and he wondered what was with the hesitation. “We're not in a personal relationship, so there’s no real conflict if I participate. Also, it’s related to the Rosello case. I heard about the earrings found on your lookalike. I’m assuming Frank must have either pawned it off or has some link with Rosello that needs to be looked at.”

“You know what? Sure.” She nodded. “I trust you won't be doing anything shady?”

“Of course not. You see, we at the Bureau have something called standards.” He pulled a teasing smile, hoping she’d take it well. “Unlike you dirty cops.”

She laughed, then winced. “Ow. And thanks.”

“Sure thing.” His mind was running wild. He’d need to investigate where her husband was last seen. Despite his lack of personal relations, it certainly was about to get more personal from now.

Chapter Text

She walked with a slight limp. She pressed on, up the stairs to the Homicide floor. Despite her crutch at her good arm’s side, her opposite arm in plaster, and a bulking medical boot strapped to her leg, she made it up with no problem. Things hadn’t changed the two weeks she was away. People looked up as they walked by, some giving sympathetic smiles, while some gave warm greetings laced with pity.

The worst was the occasional predatory stare, an almost lecherous hunger on some of the more problematic colleagues. It seemed word got around about her dirty laundry. Everyone knew. Already, she had to turn down lunch invites.

She didn’t care. She forced herself to just get to her desk with a stiff upper lip. The clicking of the crutches was echoing off the cracked walls of the hallway. She hated how slow she was and her casted wrist itched. This was going to be a long few months.

The snow outside didn’t help but thankfully the sidewalks were salted and the painkillers cut the sharp cold from being felt on her skin. She felt like her spine was buzzing and had an artificial pleasance warming her insides.

She made it to her desk, frowning at her partner’s empty seat across from it. A styrofoam cup of coffee was still steaming on it, indicating he had been there recently. Dropping her bag onto the tabletop, a familiar male voice cleared behind her.

She turned to her supervisor. “Captain Grissom.”

“Good to have you back, Detective,” Grissom held out his hand and shook it firmly. “If there’s anything you need while you’re healing up, let me know. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Thanks, sir. I hope to get back to the field as soon as possible.”

Grissom nodded, a tight smile pulled below his mustache. “All in due time. Glad to hear your go-getter attitude is still there.”

She forced a smile back. Not like it was going anywhere. “Of course.”

Grissom nodded over to Hoffman’s desk. “Hoffman’s falling behind on his paperwork.”

“I’ll get on it,” she resisted letting her smile widen from amusement.

“And - I’m serious, Maddox. If you need some personal time, let me know.”

“Will do.” She was eager to pretend everything was back to normal. Finally, her boss left her and she sat in her chair with a low breath. She wanted to see Hoffman. To talk to him. She hadn’t seen him since the night it all happened. He hadn’t visited her after that one time.

She figured it was hard to see her in that state. She self-consciously pulled out her compact and studied her face. The swelling was all gone. The bruising had faded to green blushes. She angled her reflection and caught a glimpse of blue eyes staring back.

She flinched, dropped her mirror, and spun in her chair to glare at her partner. “Mark.”

“Will.” He put a coffee cup on her desk and went to retrieve her compact. “Welcome back. What did Grissom say?”

He had gone to his seat, rifling in his inbox. Something was off. He avoided her gaze.

“To finish your paperwork. Desk duty until I’m off the crutches, I’m assuming.”

With that, he shoved folders over to her side of the desk. “Have at it.”

She let out a frustrated groan at how easily he threw them at her. “Gee, thanks.” She flipped through pages. “Can you look at me for just a second?”

He did. She couldn’t read his stoic expression but she felt him study every inch of her face. This lasted longer than she liked, his gaze penetrating. “Okay, thanks, that’s enough.”

“Satisfied?” He was gruff. Curt. It stung.

“Yeah. Fine.” It was her turn to stare down at the papers in front of her. But a part of her felt even angrier. “What’s your deal?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know damn well what I mean? I haven’t seen you in two weeks. Where have you been?”

“Busy.”

He wasn’t going to give her any more than that. She fell back into her seat and crossed her arms. “Fine.” She began gathering a fat stack of folders.

“Where are you going?”

She forced herself to balance on her crutch while she gathered the paperwork. “I’ll be spending the day over in the conference room. Where the task force is. I’m sure there’s plenty of things to do over there.”

She turned and went to storm off but slipped on some melted snow. She collapsed, papers flying.

“Hey!” Hoffman sounded incredulous.

“Don’t help me!” She hissed at him, gathering papers.

“You’re being ridiculous.” He went to gather some papers, brushing them onto a pile with his palms. Some of the papers were damp from the icemelt on the floors. Great.

“So are you.”

“At least let me help you move over there.”

“You’re not allowed in that room,” she growled up at him. His stone-wall face cracked slightly.

“Will. Please.” The way he whispered made her shiver. “Let me help you, at least in this way.”

She hated how quickly her resolve was melting. “Just - to the door. But you can’t come in.” She turned and began her crippled journey to the Task Force’s office, still angry but not wanting to attract any more attention to their altercation.

Down the stairs, around the corner, through some historical partitions that made no sense but were part of the floor plan, and they finally reached the office in tense silence. She turned and held her hand out, waiting for Hoffman to dump the mountain of files onto it and walk away.

He hesitated. But then leaned forward, hand on her shoulder. “Domestics haven’t caught Frank yet.”

She kept herself from shaking under his firm grip. He was squeezing, his hand burning through her sweater. “I know. They told me.” She finally understood why he was being so strange. He didn’t like Frank being free. This was what was bothering him.

“Let me go after him. I’ll bring him in.” His face was close. Stern. He was practically pleading for her to grant him permission.

“No, Hoffman. Stay out of it. You’ll just kill him. Respect my wishes. It’s for your own good.”

“You think I can’t control myself?” There was a challenge there. A dangerous game he wanted to play.

She closed her eyes and remembered Hoffman that one night in the nightclub. She remembered how hard it was to pull him off of the pimp. “I don’t want to find out.” Her hand was on the doorknob and Hoffman put his other hand over it to stop her. His touch was practically burning her.

“Domestics don’t have the resources and they're idiots. They’ll never catch him. Let me hunt him down. I’ll find him. I'll even keep him as intact as possible. While he's out there, you're still in danger. What if he comes back for you?”

“I’ll shoot him.” She was breathing hard, noticing how close their faces were.

He scoffed. “Sure. You’re a terrible liar.” He gave her a look of frustration and dismay.

“And so are you.” She knew he’d kill him if given the chance. She wouldn’t stand for it. She wouldn’t let Hoffman dirty himself any more than he already had. She shrugged out of his hand and dug her elbow into his sternum, forcing him to take a step back. “Now, go enjoy catching bad guys in the field while I cry over paperwork. Excuse me.”

The door opened, pulling Will’s hand with it.

“Everything all right here?” Peter Strahm was suddenly there, leering over at Hoffman.

“Strahm,” Will was taken aback, looking up at him. “What are you doing here?”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling innocently. “Waiting for you. Ready to get to work?” He reached over to take the files from Hoffman. “Appreciate you getting her this far. We’ll take it from here.” He had a smile frozen on his face. Behind him, Tapp and Sing were sitting at a scratched table in the center of the room, waving with uncomfortable grins.

Will inched into the room, hoping it was the end of their discussion.

“Who’s this?” Hoffman didn’t look happy, studying Strahm with eyes darting up and down.

“Special Agent Peter Strahm. Nice to meet you.” Strahm held a hand out, smirking. When Hoffman didn’t take his hand, Strahm, instead, moved to touch Will’s back to help pull her into the conference room. “Hey, Will, no need to be on your feet this long. Have a seat.”

“S-sure.” She felt her face heat up and she looked away from her partner in hopes he wouldn’t notice. But when she snuck a glance back at him there was the distinct frown as they locked eyes. He had noticed. And he didn't look thrilled.

Hoffman squinted up at Strahm, jaw clenched. “I’ll see you around.” He turned and left, Will feeling guilt hit her hard as the sight of him went farther out of reach.

He felt his heart thudding in his chest. He had to remember to breathe. He finally got a visual on one of the feds and he felt the sting of fear frost inside his mouth. This guy was dangerous. He could tell just by looking at him and knew he was going to have trouble.

He certainly didn’t like the way he acted around Will. Like he knew her. Personally. That was bothersome in itself.

Returning to his desk, Eric Matthews was leaning against Will’s vacant tabletop, cigarette hanging from his lip. “You look like you need an early lunch.”

“You buying?”

“I’ve got a newborn, asshole,” Matthews smirked as he blew smoke out his nostrils. “Besides, you still owe me for saving your ass on the Druthers case.”

“Fair enough. But I'm surprised you have the time.”

“Funny thing. Turns out, I’m getting reassigned temporarily.” He took his cigarette with his fingers and pointed at him, “Apparently, you need a new partner. Grissom’s orders. He thinks you ain’t gonna stay on the straight and narrow without Mad Max. And Tapp, begrudgingly, agreed to release me. I agreed, on condition Ally stay with Will on desk duty. Now, I’m a sexist asshole and in the doghouse with my partner. Sound familiar?”

“Surprised she didn’t shoot you for that.” Hoffman felt mild relief, though he knew the women were probably furious. But they needed to stay low, for their own good.

“Yeah, well, she basically threatened to end our partnership. I figured she needed some air to breathe and I could go for reliving the good ol’ days. What do you say, partner?” There was an urgency in his voice, guttural and eager.

“Fine with me.”

They sat at the bar in Larry’s, Matthews already down one pack while Hoffman had thrown back several glasses of whiskey. Both men had their attention glued to the TV, eating their lunch in silence. Hoffman felt like he had gone back in time and was just a young twenty-something rookie with his Police Academy roommate.

“You meet the fed yet?” Matthews was always the one to break the silence first.

“Yeah. This morning.”

“He’s been visiting Mad Max at the hospital. They’re getting close. The other fed is still in D.C. She's cute but I get the vibe the feds aren't shagging. She's real cozy with Ally these days. Kind of hot.”

Hoffman stared at the basket of greasy fries. Normally, Will would pick at his scraps. The basket was disturbingly overflowing. It didn’t look right.

“Figured I'd warn you. Not insinuating anything. But if you don't like some guy moving in on your partner, I've got your back. Especially this guy. He rubs me the wrong way. I think he’s a hardass prick who thinks he’s better than the rest of us. Total elitist asshole.”

He took another drink. “None of my business.” His ears were ringing. He didn't want to think about it.

“Acts like he’s some saint. I overheard him talking about bringing her to work with him, like he's some hotshot and she's too good for us.”

Mark looked down, seeing the reflection of the overhead lighting fixtures shine through his drink. The refraction of light made his hand look almost crimson. Thoughts of the other night and Frank Griffin’s screams filled the ringing. He still needed to come up with a plan to deal with him. A story Will would believe. Would understand.

“Ready to head over to Hill Street?” Matthews had spun in his barstool and was leaning his elbows on the counters, giving Hoffman a sideways glance. “Cleaning up the streets will put you in a better mood.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.” He threw some cash on the faded bar and got to his feet, his head fuzzy and swimming. Shit. He may have had a little too much to drink. “You drive.”

The two of them made their way to their latest case. A gas station robbery, with the convenience clerk shot. Small Asian woman - girl, really - laying in a puddle of her own blood. Staring up at the fluorescent lights, mouth agape.

Hoffman let out a sigh as he squatted down to get a closer look at her. His head was swimming. The woman had some discoloration on the side of her face, consistent with a pistol whip. Beyond that, there were no self-defense injuries.

As he scanned the surroundings, from the opened cash register with no cash inside, the overall neat cigarette cartons stacked with nothing out of place save for the spray of blood painting the walls, this looked like cold-blooded murder.

“Show me the tapes,” Hoffman pointed to the security camera in the corner. The uniformed officer and shop owner led him to the backroom. Matthews was silent, as he usually was when investigating. He was a listener. An observer. He didn't like arranging or planning, preferring to react and play things by ear. Hoffman was always expected to lead. It was refreshing, after so long competing with Maddox to call the shots.

The small television lit up with black and white visuals, gritty resolution showing the shapes of the cashier. A dark figure approached, pulling his gun. Male, black, adult. Age? Couldn’t tell, but old enough. Not too old to move so freely.

They watched as the suspect slapped the woman across the face with the weapon, followed by her falling over. Though the tape was silent, Hoffman could hear the gunshots as the perpetrator fired upon her. While digging through the register, the man looked up briefly, his face captured by the camera.

“Freeze it.” Matthews ordered. He put his finger on the glass, by the suspect’s head. “Looks like a perp we’ve been eyeballing. Typical gang banger. Jonas Singer.”

Hoffman tried to make out any discernible features, but it was just a blur. It could have been anyone. “You sure?”

“Yeah. The guy likes to sling in this neighborhood. Let’s pay him a visit.”

They had left the scene, with barely a departing message to forensics, speeding down and around several blocks. Matthews stopped abruptly, staring across the street where the man leaned against the bricks of a rundown building, huddled into himself for warmth.

“Listen.” Matthews parked the car and killed the engine and took out a fresh cancer stick with his lips, “You go around the other side and I’ll confront the prick. I’ll give you five minutes. Be ready for him to run. Fucker is fast. I’ve been trying to nab him for months now. He usually worms out of a conviction but not this time.” There was a mean smile on Eric Matthews’ face, “You got my back?”

“Yeah.” Hoffman got out of the car and took the long way around the block, a shortcut in-between two large buildings, and jogged down the alleyway. It reeked of rotting garbage and piss. When he rounded the corner, he slowed his pace and kept his distance as he watched Matthews approach the suspect.

Singer held his hands out, clearly familiar with Matthews. He was already backing away, preparing for his escape.

Hoffman closed in, silent, his hand rested on his holster in case the guy pulled out his weapon. Upon closer inspection, the guy looked young. Maybe early twenties. But there was a hardness in his face that showed a pride that was cozy with danger.

“The fuck you want, pig?” The man took another step back.

“Want to talk. There was a robbery at the corner store. You know anything about that?” Matthews inched closer to the man.

“I don’t have to talk to you,” Jonas muttered. “Leave me alone. Even if you arrest me, you ain’t gonna find shit on me.”

“Then you’ve got nothing to worry about. Come here,” Matthews reached for the kid as he leaped back, spun on his ankle, and began to sprint.

Hoffman was already upon him, grabbing him firmly by the arm. And then he saw the fist grow in his sight. He dodged and swung back, his knuckles contacting the firm flesh of the guy’s gut. The breath was knocked out of him and he collapsed to his knees, his gasps like a dying wind.

Matthews was already handcuffing him, roughly. “Now you fucked up, Jonas.”

Jonas wiggled but his wrists were restrained. He was hoisted up and marched across the street to their car.

“You sure about this?” Hoffman quietly asked as Matthews slammed Jonas Singer’s face down hard onto the hood of the car and searched his pockets.

“What? You want to rub his feet?” A challenge arose. Matthews was angry. “Don’t tell me sweet little Mad Max turned you into a boy scout. This prick’s plenty guilty."

"Where's the evidence?"

"Oh, fuck off, Hoffman. She’s made you soft.”

“She didn’t.” Hoffman felt defensive. For himself and her. Sure, this type of treatment of a perp wouldn’t have phased him a few years ago. But Maddox had shown him there was another way. A nobler way.

But then again, he wasn’t a fucking saint like she was.

Matthews kept applying pressure to Jonas who continued squirming. Matthews again pulled the guy’s head up and slammed his forehead back onto the metal frame, a loud thunk sounded. “Hoffman. He’s our guy. We can make sure he’s put away for a long time. Quick and easy. Don’t let that bitch’s naive idealism make you forget reality. He’s gonna walk if we go by the book. Besides, look at what's happening to her because she’s trying so hard to be so noble.” A flash of her in the hospital bed made him tense. Yeah. The city was infested with people like Frank Griffin. Going at it through the justice system would never clean it up. There has to be a way. A more efficient way.

Frank Griffin was experiencing a harsh justice. A justice Hoffman felt was well deserved. And it was all thanks to Rosello. Rosello, despite being the sick fuck he was, had an honor code that Hoffman understood. Frank Griffin was currently in a living hell for his sins, something society was too chicken shit to enforce anymore. True justice was impossible with their current legal system.

But with Frank Griffin, justice had been gifted right into Hoffman’s hands to administer. And he administered it well. Effectively.

Fuck the right way. It never worked.

“Let’s take him downtown.” Just be ready to deal with IA after all this. His head was already spinning with things to do to cover their trail. They’d need to get their stories straight. They’d need to plant some evidence. It could all be taken care of, this way. Matthews could play the big hero. Hoffman could see scum locked away for good and for the first time his entire career. It was a win-win.

Rosello covers his tracks. That’s how he escapes the consequences. This was the tricky part that Hoffman wasn’t sure he’d be able to properly do. He normally just followed his shadow boss’ instructions, not having to form a cohesive plot.

But after years of serving, he knew many of the tricks of the trade. He was a fast learner.

He went to retrieve Matthews’ fallen weapon, bringing it over to Jonas.

“The fuck you looking at?” Jonas snapped, glaring hatefully up from his seat in the back of their car.

Hoffman wordlessly pushed the man’s shoulders forward so he was leaning with his chin to his knees. He then pressed the revolver in the man’s hands and pressed his fingers against the cool metal. “What the fuck!”

“Shut up,” Hoffman growled, taking the gun back and handing it to Matthews. “The bastard went for your gun. We’ve got assault of an officer. Attempting to flee the scene of the crime. I’m sure we’ll find some drugs on him. We can get him for possession.”

“I ain’t carrying!”

Hoffman resisted the urge to smack the fucker on the side of the face. “You will,” he muttered. The perp’s jaw dropped.

“And the murder?” Matthews had his thumb in a belt loop, eyebrows cocked with mild amusement.

Hoffman paused, pursing his lips as he thought hard. “Like you said. He’s on the tape. And we’ll likely find the victim’s hair on his clothes when we book him.” Plus, the public defenders are shit.

“What?!” Jonas Singer was howling in the back of the car. “You can’t do this!”

“Now we’re talking,” Matthews went to the driver’s side, smacking Hoffman’s shoulder warmly. “Let’s drop off the bastard and celebrate.”

As they drove back, tuning out the pleas and cries of Jonas Singer, Hoffman felt a mix of sensations. He felt satisfaction warm through his chest. A buzzing of excitement rang in his ears. And a strange denseness in his gut put him on edge.

Rosello. Frank Griffin. Now, this. The faint memory of a promise being made was quickly swept under the rug of his mind.

He was already in things so deep. What was one more thing?

It was for a good cause. A just cause.

Will must never find out, he decided. No matter what.

Chapter Text

She wanted blood.

She kept ramming her limbs into the punching bag with all her strength, hoping to get this rage out of her. It wouldn’t go away.

She already felt the skin breaking on her knuckles, despite them being wrapped and gloved. It stung like a bitch. But she kept on punching.

“Got something on your mind?” Behind her, Lindsey Perez sounded amused.

Kerry spun around, gasping for air. “I thought you were still in D.C.”

“Just closed the case this morning. Now, I’m all yours.” She held her arms out to the sweating woman. Heart pounding and muscles twitching, Kerry allowed herself this moment of reprieve. She leaned into Lindsey, smelling her fruity cologne and feeling the coolness of her pantsuit against her damp skin. “It’s surprisingly early for you to be hitting the bag.”

“Had to take the day off.” Kerry took her gloves off, dropping them to the ground. She went to the nearest wall to retrieve her water bottle, taking her time relaying the news. “...I’m off the Rosello case.”

“No shit.” Lindsey put a hand on her shoulder. “Why?”

“Fucking Eric. Told Tapp he wanted me safe. It’s bullshit. Asshole. I heard it’s something to do with Hoffman. Fucker.” Her mind was like a turtle on its back. All she could conjure were words like fuck, asshole, fuck, and goddamn it. “Goddamn it!” She threw her water bottle down, trembling.

“Hey.” Lindsey kept her hand on her, the contact electric and soothingly cool. “Let’s get something to eat.”

“Not hungry.”

“Ally,” Lindsey leaned close. “There’s a silver lining here.”

“Which is?” She looked up into Lindsey’s pretty face.

A smile spread on those full lips. “It means we have no business keeping us professional.”

She couldn’t help but let out a low laugh. “Aren’t you a bad girl.”

“You know it. Come on, let’s head to your place. You can tell me all the details on the way.”

Allison had whined and griped while Lindsey maneuvered through afternoon traffic. One thing Lindsey Perez was good at was listening. She nodded, eyes trained on the road but her focus was with Allison. It made her feel like she was worth something. Once they reached her apartment, Allison stripped off and went into the shower.

While her eyes were shut and she was washing her hair, the sound of the curtain rings rushing and the sensation of soft lips on her shoulder made her tense muscles relax. “Linds,” she softly murmured through the steam.

Small, skilled hands trailed up her arms, squeezing her shoulders. One hand made its way down to her breast, nails lightly dragging against the flesh. She felt goosebumps despite the scalding water.

Tossing her head back, Allison sighed as Lindsey continued exploring her skin. Her mind briefly flashed to Eric but was quickly brushed aside by the sudden thrill from Lindsey lowering her hands to her mound. She couldn’t resist letting out a surprised cry when Lindsey ran her finger over her clit, massaging her neck with her mouth.

“Oh, fuck, Linds,” she had her eyes shut tight while one hand was pressed against the tiling for support. She was about to fall over.

“Want to take this to the bedroom?” There was a smugness in her voice in between the sweet kisses and gentle nips of her teeth on her shoulder.

“Yes. Please.” She felt like she was becoming jello.

They barely towelled off, an eager pair of slender limbs and dripping hair. Lindsey had steered Allison to the bed, pushing her onto her back before pushing her thighs upward. Looking down at the edge of the mattress, Lindsey had her cheek rub against her inner thigh while lowering her mouth to please her.

“Oh!” She felt her hot and wet tongue graze her in just the right place. She let out a deep breath as she felt herself being lapped and kneaded. Lindsey had pulled back on her clitoral hood, tracing around her most sensitive spot with a rhythm that made her want to grind into, while at the same time, flinch away from the feeling. “My God!”

Lindsey started pushing a finger inside of her, moving in and out while flicking her sweet spot. Her foot kept twitching with the rhythm, until the burning heat that grew inside her finally overflowed. She let out a final gasp as the orgasm rushed over her like high tide, relieving pressure in her joints and making her feel like she was floating and sinking at the same time.

Not wanting to leave Lindsey unsatisfied, she pushed through the haze of bliss, sitting up. “Hey. Come here and sit on my face.”

Her laughter was like bells on Christmas.

He watched the Metropolitan Police Department’s finest at work. He was only visiting, preferring the quiet and better equipped amenities of the Bureau’s office than this dank and dilapidated conference room. And worse, the coffee was stale and burnt.

It was a small group that day. Apparently, Matthews and Kerry were both taken off the case, that bombshell barely acknowledged beyond Will’s noticeable increased focus on reviewing her partner’s case files.

He doubted they were going to need his skills much that day, having already provided detailed reports and predictions on Toni Rosello’s behavior. Until something new came up, he had to kill his boredom by studying his colleagues.

Fisk was currently escorting Angelina Hoffman, out on patrol. Tapp and Sing were in the corner, Tapp chuckling at something Sing griped. When the door opened and Gibson came in, Strahm was thankful for the terse cloud over the kid’s head. Finally, something interesting.

“I just filed a complaint with IA,” Gibson announced, southern drawl thicker than usual. He must have been nervous, though he held himself well.

The already muffled room had gone still. “Care to share with the class, Gibby?” Tapp, the alpha leader of their clan, had his arms stretched out on available surfaces on either side of him, making him look larger.

Gibson was not well loved by this group. But Maddox had looked up from the desk to give him a sad smile.

“Hoffman shot that man in cold blood. Unlike everyone else in this department, I’m doing something about it.”

Tapp let out a low chuckle. “All right, son, let’s see how this goes. But let this old timer spin the story that IA is going to get from all this. A fellow cop had his gun taken from him by some junkie. And backup came and took that junkie out. No dead cops. Hoffman’s a hero, in this case.”

“He shot the junkie first. After he surrendered.”

“They’ll probably promote him before they fire him, Gibs,” Sing, too, seemed kinder to the rookie. “Don’t get blindsided if that happens.”

Gibson was unhappy, looking for a face that would validate his conviction. He had decided their corner was the likely source of friendly conversation, and to Strahm’s vexation, the kid made his way to sit with them.

“Maddox,” Gibson leaned forward, “you were there. You can tell them.”

She returned to signing, flipping pages, and checking off boxes. “I was on the scene but not a witness to the events.”

The kid pushed and Strahm predicted this would be a popcorn worthy moment. “But you know Hoffman. Maybe you can testify-,”

“Testify against Hoffman?” Will’s eyes had shot up and there was a warning snarl growing on her face. “He’s my partner, Gibson. He’s had my back and saved me from plenty to know that he did what he thought was right to keep you alive. Try to remember if it weren’t for him, you’d likely have been killed. By your own gun. So unless you’ve got something important relating to classifying homicides paperwork or have something new on Rosello, please let me do the one job I’m allowed to do right now.”

The room had gone icy. Peter tried not smiling but couldn’t help letting a smirk grow as Gibson slunk away, looking like a petulant child that got sent to his room. “You’d be a scary mother,” he murmured.

She scoffed. “Don’t worry. Wasn’t planning on having kids.”

The room phone rang, Tapp, being closest to it, reached to answer. “Tapp.” The man’s at ease face was suddenly steeled, eyes glittering. “Where?” He was writing things down, snapping at Sing to read what he wrote.

Sing jumped to his feet. “Gibson, there’s reports of shootings on 95th and State. Rosello’s territory. Looks like his boys are fighting each other. This turf war sounds like it’s about to be a civil war.”

Will looked up, dazed. Tapp hung up the phone and pointed at her. “Sit tight, Maddox. We need someone to stand by. Strahm, you too.” She looked like she had swallowed an egg, fury in her scowl. Everyone else had run out of the room, off to adventures and danger.

He decided the best course of action was to let her cool down for the next hour. In the meantime, he got up to stretch his legs, walked around the room and studied the various cork boards that had pictures of suspects and connections, bound with twine in a spider web of leads and theories. This latest installment would hopefully paint a clearer picture of any of Rosello’s vulnerabilities. His most trusted allies were listed and Strahm studied them to search for the likely culprit who was currently making the power play. Hoffman’s face was beside one mean looking ogre of a man named Olaf. Below, there was a pointed face man who had risen in ranks fast. Someone with no previous criminal history, which raised a flag.

“Maddox,” Strahm tapped the picture, “Who’s this guy?”

Will squinted up at the picture. “That’s Mario Amoretti. Some distant cousin to Rosello. He’s kept his nose clean, or more likely, covered any criminal activity he’s been involved in. We don’t have much for you to build a decent profile.”

He nodded. “Shame we can’t interview him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Too bad. You can read people well enough after just one meeting?”

“Usually.” He folded his arms, looking down at her. There was skepticism and intrigue in the way she bit her lip as she looked him up and down.

“You know, I’ve been morbidly curious. What was your impression of me?”

He smiled. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Psychoanalyze me, Special Agent.” She cocked her chin up, a small smile on her pink lips.

“Fair warning,” he took slow steps closer to her, taking in the array of freckles on her cheeks and the amber irises that glowed back. “No one’s ever pleased with what I tell them.”

“I can take it.”

He sniffed, rubbing his nose. “You’re a people pleaser with,” he paused for the least offending words, “a strong conviction that you need to prove you’re capable by maintaining independence. But deep down, you just want people to like you.” He waited for her to react before he dared to continue.

She rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin up. “Go on.”

He rounded the table, feeling it safe to get closer. “You have a tendency for irrational convictions and take things personally when decisions are made despite your convictions.”

This got a reaction from her. “Like how?”

“Your faith in your corrupt partner, despite everyone telling you otherwise. Your need to do things yourself, even if the risk of your safety is astronomically greater than your colleagues. You want to be the hero.”

“Don’t we all? Part of the appeal.” She began to lose interest, turning away. “My turn.”

He took a seat next to her, now his curiosity peaked. “You think you can profile me?”

“Just flexing my talents.” She turned sharply, her hand reaching out to take his hand. He felt his pulse quicken as he held his breath. She ran her fingers over his palms, an intimate contact that felt so gentle and soothing he almost forgot where he was. Her hands were soft. They locked eyes, her face lovely.

He swallowed as the air had become thick. She leaned forward and kissed the meat of his palm, a sweet and gentle smile shining back at him. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

He could hear his heart in his ears and he struggled to get words to come out. “I’ve been told.”

But then she dropped his hand, the smile becoming cruel. “I’m not the only one with a savior-complex, you know. Like you. When you look at me, I see there’s pity… and something else.” Her eyes went warm to icy. “You find me attractive. And think you can save me. Or have me. But your vague summary of my person could be applied to anyone, like a daily horoscope. But you haven’t said anything that I’d find particularly insightful. You don’t know how hard I had to work to get to where I am today or how hard it is to keep respect in a precinct that sees you as some helpless little girl that they want to fuck. Is that all I am, Strahm?”

“No,” he felt she was misunderstanding. His cheeks flushed red and he wanted nothing more than to go back in time just five minutes ago, before he fell into this trap. This was embarrassing but his pride was struck and wanted retaliation. “I’ve only just begun.”

“Rationally, a person who has just been in a dysfunctional and messed up relationship like mine would probably not be making the moves so soon.”

“Grief drive people to perform impulsive decisions,” he calmly said, refusing to back down, “such as this.”

She blinked. “Grief implies he’s dead.”

“I am not saying Frank’s dead. But you are experiencing a severe loss. Throwing yourself into environments of high stress is your knee jerk reaction, as evident by your fixation with returning to the field when your bones are broken. Get over it, Will.” His palm, where the phantom sensation of her touch still remained, began to itch.

She huffed, glaring back. “Easy for you to say.”

“Yeah - I get it, I’m not a woman who works in this crooked department, so it’s easy for me to just go about life. But I’m not your enemy, Will. Far from it. I want to be your friend.”

“Why?”

He was at a loss. “Because you’re a good person.”

“You don’t know that.” She shrunk back into her seat, looking away. Her hand haphazardly went to her wrist brace.

“Actually, I do. It’s kind of my job.” He pulled her hand, squeezing it. “I can tell you care about others. You’re just going through a bad time but that does not dictate who you are. I respect and admire you. Your work ethic. Your stubbornness. Your need to lead. I want to experience your company more, though I admit, maybe my intentions aren’t purely platonic,” he cleared his throat, “but I never said I was perfect. I apologize. It was tactless, especially after all you’re going through right now.”

She shot him a forgiving grin. “Okay. I’m sorry too. I admit, you’re pretty good at making me hate you less.”

“I’m relieved.” He released her hand, wanting to try to restore some boundaries they had just taken down. Looking around for something to change the subject, the clock saved him. “It’s almost lunch time. How about I go on a food run? What are you hungry for?”

She blinked, checked the clock, then yawned. “Yeah. Let’s actually get out of here. I need to stretch my legs. They’ll page me if they need us, though I doubt they will. Oh, and can you give me a ride after work? Buddy?”

Her suddenly sunny disposition made him now nervous, wondering if this was another trap. “Sure.”

His pager had gone off at an inconvenient time. He and Matthews had just returned to the station to book Jonas Singer. While the man’s fingerprints were being retaken, Hoffman excused himself to head to the nearest phone. As he rounded the corner, he recognized the familiar fluffy red curls walking beside a taller figure.

Will was being guided down the stairs, Peter Strahm holding her elbow as he aided her. He ground his teeth and ripped the phone off the receiver, punching in the number.

The man picked up promptly. “Get to my place now.” The dial tone followed.

Not wanting to anger Rosello any more, he made his way straight to his estate.

Pulling up, it looked like a fucking family reunion was taking place. He parked his Crown Vic at the nearest space while suited men walked around with bandoliers and belts of armaments, jaws throbbing from chewing tobacco. They looked ready to bite heads off.

The front doors were wide open, mud being tracked all over the imported carpets and polished wooden floors.

“Markie-boy, get your ass in here,” Rosello came in, draped in a giant teflon suit of armor, cigar hanging out the corner of his mouth. A tommy gun was snug in the man’s off hand as he scratched the stubble on his double chin.

“Yes, sir?” It was always safe to be respectful. Especially when the man had a gun in his hand.

“A couple of your boys are getting in the way.”

“Where? I can try to get them to stand down,”

“Don’t bother, the guys they’re currently after are chump change. Your boys can keep ‘em for all I care. Though I want my no good piece of shit cousin’s boys kept alive. For now. Give ‘em a call.” Rosello chin-jerked to the nearest phone.

Hoffman went to call it in. The operator, familiar with his calls, relayed in a bored tone, “The action’s just about over, they managed to get a cease fire. I’ll have a couple of uniforms guard the recently arrested.”

“Good. Make sure there’s eyes on ‘em around the clock. Thanks, Rita.” Hoffman hung up, observing as Rosello barked orders to his goons.

“What do you mean you lost him? Where could that piece of shit fucked off to?”

The phone rang and Hoffman answered it. “Yeah?”

“Tell Toni that I’ll be at the farmhouse. Let’s end this now.” Whoever was on the line hung up.

“The farmhouse,” Hoffman stated to the expecting faces, “They said they wanted to end things now and they’ll be at the farm house.”

“Oh, that’s how he wants to play it? Now that I’ve wiped out all his pawns, he wants to make a last stand? Fine. You’re coming, Markie-boy, time you’ve earned your keep.” Rosello waved as he quickly walked through hallways full of his goons, men preparing for war. Hoffman kept his head level, not wanting to ponder if this was the end. But that damn thought wiggled through. He wondered if he was ever going to see Angelina again. If Will would know he died helping Toni Rosello.

“Catch, big man,” Rosello tossed an AR-15 towards him. Hoffman caught it, warily checking the safety. “Help yourself to what’s in here. We’re leaving in five minutes. FIVE MINUTES YOU FUCKBOYS!” Rosello screamed at the top of his lungs as he lurched out of the room.

It was an armory.

Hoffman would have normally admired and drooled over the various weapons that even MPD didn’t have in their SWAT locker. He recognized an RPG and his giddy, inner child wanted nothing more than to take it off the wall. But it wasn’t too practical.

He put on a bullet proof vest, a fleeting wish for more time to make just one phone call gone as he ran out of time. He gathered ammunition. Practiced reloading the rifle, then made his way to war.

Rosello had him sit in the back of the limo with him and Olaf. Hoffman looked out the window, adrenaline racing through every pore of his body.

“It was my no good piece of shit cousin Mario. Been stealing from the family for years. When I confronted him, he tried to stage a coup. I swear, my Aunt tried to drown him in a well when he was born. That fucker’s an idiot, but one tough sonofabitch. Wouldn’t fucking die. Let’s finish what zietta started. Mario thinks he can try to move in and take my territory? We need to send a message. To him and any other idiots who think they can fuck with me.”

They drove far out of the city until frost covered fields that once held corn spread as far as the eye could see. A fog was moving in, which would complicate things.

The rumble of the tires on gravel made Hoffman brace himself. They were approaching a distant barn and silo, with a separate residence several hundred feet away. Once the vehicle stopped, Rosello flew out of his car, spraying bullets up in the sky.

“MARIO!” Rosello was spewing profanities in Italian, English, and just gurgled sounds that barely sounded like language and more the muscle-jerk rage noises of a feral animal.

Their entourage swarmed behind and Rosello had his army loyally behind him. Olaf and Hoffman followed suit, Hoffman scanning the area for any potential hostiles. The barn silo had no windows, though there were plenty in the other buildings. They were sitting ducks. Stupid, this is stupid.

Out of the barn walked a stocky man, shiny black hair slicked back and pocked skin from a long youth of acne. “What’s up, Two-Ton?” He had a high pitched voice, equally as nasally as his cousin’s.

“Don’t Two-Ton me, you asshole,” Rosello pointed his tommy gun at his cousin.

“Ah!” Mario held his hands up. “Wait! Before you shoot, I recommend looking behind me.”

“I am, don’t see shit in this fog.”

“Oh.” Mario turned around and let out a small laugh. “Damn, this was all a lot cooler in my head.”

“Can I shoot him?” Hoffman asked, breaking protocol. He was tired of this conversation.

“Yeah, do it.”

“I SAID WAIT!” Mario stomped his foot, a sneer on his mouth. “You never listen! There are snipers behind me! And they’ll take you and all your men down. You can kill me, but not before dying yourselves!”

“Doubt snipers can see through this fog,” Hoffman muttered, no longer feeling as afraid for his life as he thought.

Toni snickered. “Oh, cousin, you idiot.” And then the first bullet was shot.

Hoffman wasn’t sure who shot first but the first splatter of blood on his cheek made him go straight for Rosello, tackling him down to the ground. He just reacted.

As soon as he pulled the mob boss to the dirt, he realized he had made a terrible error.

He had just ‘rescued’ his slavemaster.

But now, his ears were ringing and the muffled pounding of rapid shots being fired made him crawl towards the nearest vehicle for cover. He wasn’t going back for Rosello. He needed to just survive.

The white mist everywhere made things hard to pick out. But Hoffman was already on his feet, squatting and ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

He… may have been shooting at allies. He couldn’t be too sure. It was either them or him. He chose them.

Anyone who came across his line of fire, he let them have a taste of lead. One after the other.
Blood sprayed whenever he made his mark. And he kept shooting until his gun was empty, which he then rapidly reloaded with another magazine until those, too, were out. He felt a sharp sting in his upper arm. One bullet got him right in the vest and punched through his sternum with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He had to lean against the cold steel of the car to remember to breathe.

Eventually, the gunfire had ceased.

There was little beyond a couple of death rattles, moans, and the faint high pitched ring in his ear when he finally felt brave enough to stand. The sun was setting and the darkness seeped in the air fast. But the fog had begun to clear, allowing the distant barn’s lights to illuminate the carnage.

Bodies were strewn, each with their own personal halo of ink on the gravel.

Hoffman took careful steps forward, sweeping the area.

“Markie-boy,” Rosello called behind him and he swung around with his rifle pointed. He was empty, though, having been out for a while. “Easy, boy,” Rosello held a hand up but another hand held a pistol trained at him. “You did good. Take a breath.”

Hoffman kept his weapon trained for a moment before lowering it.

“You surprised me today, Markie-boy,” Rosello walked up with a pleased smile. “Consider your test of loyalty proven. Your baby sister? She’s part of the family now. She’s now under my protection.”

Hoffman blinked, nodded. Inside, in the recesses of his skull, his brain screamed and howled until a dull migraine began to claw at his temples. He turned so Rosello wouldn’t see his eyelid begin to twitch.

He stopped his car, a decent parking spot right outside his building. Things are looking up, he sarcastically thought. Getting out of the car, he noticed he was being watched. Across the street, he recognized Will and her new pal as they looked over. She waved with a lukewarm smile, getting out of the passenger side of the car. Strahm had reached out, his hand grabbing her arm to tell her something before she left.

He didn’t need to see this shit right now. He turned to get out of the cold and into the lobby of his apartment building. He tried not to think about how chummy those two were getting. He just touches her like he knows her. Like there’s something there. He was too tired and ready to just start punching walls.

He checked the mail, noting that Ange had sent him an early Christmas card. He smirked. Even though they saw each other regularly, she always went the extra step and sent him letters. It made getting all the junk mail bearable.

The door opened again, cool air wafting through. He kept his back to her, pretending the latest pamphlet on local produce was the most fascinating read of his day.

“Hey,” she breathlessly greeted, the sensation of her closeness making it hard to not look at her.

“What do you need?” He gave her a side glance, frustrated he had forgotten how beaten up she looked. This made him soften to her. “You okay?”

“Yeah. I just. I want to check in. See how you’re doing.”

That’s rich. He would have been insulted if it had been any other day, her feeling compelled to check on his state as though he was some vulnerable pet. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

She let out a small laugh. “Okay, okay, yeah.” She leaned against the counter. “Well, maybe I just miss you. And I wanted to apologize this morning.” She smiled, looking like an innocent angel. “And about the whole Frank thing.” She was chewing her lip, clearly pained to continue, “I… think you’re right.” She winced up at him. “Maybe you could find him. But,” she held a finger up, “No funny business. Promise me.”

He blinked at her. “What?” He wasn’t sure if he heard her right. His eardrums were still sensitive from all the gunfire. One of the fellow apartment residents walked by, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

She blinked, now concerned at the public space. “Can we go up to your room? It’s cold here. And I think I could really use a drink right now.”

He knew she was stalling but he nodded, leading the way to the elevator. She was slow but he spent the extra seconds at her slower pace to get his story straight. His arm was bleeding and needed to be tended to. His chest was bruised to hell. And if he had heard right, he was now going to have to somehow conclude Frank Griffin’s case. He was thrilled at her finally trusting him. But concerned at how he was going to fix the mess he had made.

Once in his apartment, he noticed Will was looking around as though it was her first time. “Nothing’s changed,” she murmured as she collapsed into her usual spot on his couch.

“Whiskey?” He was already taking one of the bottles off the top of the fridge and preparing their drinks.

“Yes,” she sighed as she pulled the velcro off her walking boot. She propped her leg onto a pillow and leaned back, as though she owned the place.

He hesitated pouring into her glass. “Aren’t you on some painkillers?”

“One drink won’t kill me. And if I get groggy, I can just crash here. Unless you’re planning on having company?” There was a mild challenge there and he smirked at how obvious she was.

“Just another date with a tall, busty blonde.”

“Oh, then don’t let me get in the way. Pretend I’m not here,” she turned to face him, tying her hair up into a bun. “You haven’t taken your jacket off yet.”

He looked down at his black coat. “I’ll get it off in a bit.”

“You usually throw your coat off as soon as you’re home.” She raised an eyebrow.

“You’re reading too much into this. You learn that trick from your new fed buddy?” He rounded to the couch with the drinks, not wanting to raise any alarms. His plan was to act natural and she’d be none the wiser. “Here. I’m going to take a shower.” He handed her the drink and turned to leave.

Her hand shot out, cool on his warm wrist. She gripped and pulled gently. “You have dirt under your nails, like you were clawing the ground.”

He pulled but she put her drink down and tugged at him to sit beside her. He could have resisted. He outweighed and out-powered her. But the concern in her face pulled at him, eyes making him feel hypnotized.

He was fucking exhausted. He sighed and sat down, ready for her freakout.

“You’re bleeding!” She was already unzipping and opening up his jacket, noting the bullet proof vest. “I knew you looked huskier than usual.” His raised eyebrow made her shrug. “Either you gained weight since this morning or you were suited up. What happened?” She went to put on her boot but he stopped her.

“Relax. It’s fine. Just a nick. Nothing serious.”

“Were you involved with that turf war?” She was immediately scared, pale and panicked, trying to put her walking boot back on. “Where’s your first aid kit?”

“I’ll tell you what happened, if you promise to not move. I’ll get the first aid kid. Just. Stop freaking out like my mother.” He got up and went to retrieve the kit, exasperated by her behavior but starting to just accept that this was the price of being partners with her. Returning, she sat upright, as though ready to leap up at him.

“Fuck. Relax.” He tossed the kit onto the cushion and took his jacket off, slowly. His chest felt as though he had been horsekicked. He normally wore dark shirts to hide the blood, but this time, he had opted for a lighter blue. Now, it was ruined. He unbuttoned the shirt, wiping up dried blood flakes and clot that was still running down his arm.

“Yeah, relax, as you’re actively bleeding on your carpet.” She gestured for him to sit and he complied, half enjoying her crooning. He retrieved his drink and took a long sip, feeling the edge evaporate as her cool hands and a damp alcohol wipe brushed against his skin. The sting was obnoxious but he barely flinched.

“This is deep, Mark,” she looked at him with concern. “I think you should get stitches.”

“There's a needle and thread. Save me the trip.”

She laughed. “Seriously?”

“If you want to know what happened,” he knew urgent care meant the doctor would need to know what happened. Bullet grazes meant an official report. More paperwork to shred. If she wouldn’t do it, he planned to as soon as she left.

“I do,” she shook her head. “Fine.” She dug through his kit, sanitizing her hands and needle. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

“You couldn’t hurt me, Will, even if you tried,” he smirked at her. Her face made him want to snicker, she looked confused.

“Any head injuries?”

“No. I’m just giving you a hard time.” He hissed when he felt her use the needle on him. “Fine. You can hurt.”

“Don’t you forget it,” she grumbled as she connected the first stitch of skin together. “So tell me. What happened?”

“Rosello’s cousin. Tried to become the new kingpin. Then they decided to have a game of sudden death out in the farmlands. I had to come along.” He paused when he realized she was crying. “Hey, it’s fine.”

“No. You could have died, Mark,” she blinked and kept sewing, each new stitch a sharp jolt up his arm. “You should have told me.”

“Didn’t have a lot of time. Got the call and it was minutes after.” She didn’t respond, instead finishing up the stitch work and tying the knot. Once done, she went to put the supplies away and wiped her eyes. “Hey,” he reached forward, “I’m here. Don’t cry.”

She punched him gently in the chest. “You asshole.”

He let out a rattled gasp and clutched his chest. She flinched. “Oh my God!” She leveraged herself over him to see his chest. “I didn’t know! I’m sorry!”

He clutched his eyes tight. “It’s. Fine.”

He heard her shuffle and limp towards the kitchen. After the sound of the freezer door opening and the rattle of ice, a numbing cold touched his chest and the pain was taken away by the distracting cold. She had put peas on his chest, wrapped in a towel.

She dug through her bag. “Hey. Take some of my pills. It’ll help.”

“Thanks, Mother Theresa,” he smirked but took the painkillers happily with a whiskey chaser. He lazily rested his head into the backseat cushion, looking up at her. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Oh,” she wrung her hand. “Just. Forget it. You’ve got a lot on your plate.”

“No. Tell me.” He took her hand and pulled her back to the couch. “You want me to find Frank?”

“So you did hear me,” she sighed. “Yes. Just. Please be by the book on this one.”

He studied her carefully, pressing the ice bag against his chest.. “What changed your mind?”

She avoided his gaze. “I want the divorce finalized. The sooner we find him, the sooner it can get done. Also, I realized I need to trust people more. Especially you. Because I know you’re a good man who deserves a fair chance.”

He studied her and wondered what she meant by that. Hell, saving Rosello sure didn’t feel like something a good man would do. He rested his eyes, shutting them to let his mind wander.

After a few minutes, he opened them and turned to Will. She had her hand on her chin, leaned against the couch with her eyes wandering over him. Once they locked eye contact, she looked away, now blushing. He looked down, noting his chest was clothed with just a thin singlet. She was checking me out. A knowing smile just barely broke over his expression.

“Shut up,” she hissed, crossing her arms.

“I didn’t say anything,” he sat up, taking in her defensive stance. “Pretty inappropriate, Maddox. What would Grissom say?”

“I said shut up,” her cheeks were as red as her hair. It was cute. He let out a laugh and she shot him a dirty stare. Fuck it. I almost died today. He leaned over her, letting the ice pack fall to the floor.

“What - what are you doing?” She was stuttering, trapped behind the arm rest as she looked up at him. “You should take it easy, you’re injured.”

“So are you.” His hand made its way to her cheek, pulling her face closer to his. The faded blemishes, he wanted to kiss better. He chose to start straight for the kill.

He pushed his mouth onto hers, half open and hungry, letting all of the painful wanting to simply have for just a moment. She inhaled sharply but didn’t pull away. She leaned into him, rotated her head for a better angle and deepened the kiss. Her tongue was playful, exploring him with as much fervor as he. This was an interesting revelation, something he hadn’t been sure was wishful thinking or if she, too, had been attracted to him.

Her fingertips dug into his shoulders and he pulled her spine into his to feel her breasts press against his chest. It half-hurt from the gunshot bruise but shot sporadic energy from his head down to his groin and he growled deeply at being reminded of all the places he had to see and never touch. She tasted of mint and cherry chapstick and as he continued feeling her lips against his, he let his hands wander down her back. He wanted to feel her bare skin but the damn shirt was in the way.

Once he found his way to her belt, he let his hands wander down to her buttocks but she flinched and pushed away. “Wait,” she was breathless and flushed, pupils dilated. “This is too fast.”

“We can go slow,” he whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. She leaned into his mouth for a moment, moaning before shaking her head. “No, let’s stop.”

He complied, though begrudgingly. “Why?” After a painful silence, he pressed on. “Is it the fed?” As soon as the words came out, he realized he had royally fucked up.

“What is that supposed to mean?” She pushed, now on his chest and he hissed and backed away obediently. “Has it occurred to you that it’s about Frank still being out there? And not some random FBI Agent I happen to work with?” She got to her feet, gathering her things.

Hoffman’s head was spinning, the sensation of her lips no longer against his like a painful withdrawal. But a comforting thought helped make it more bearable. She wasn’t interested in Strahm. That was something.

“Maybe,” she continued with a shrill voice, “it’s because you’re still working for an unstable serial killer who has it in for me? And us - doing anything - will just make him come after you? Rosello’s already putting you in situations that risk your life. And if he hurts you because of me,” she choked and shook her head. “I won’t let that happen. I refuse.”

“Hey.” He reached over and put his hands on her trembling shoulders. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He tried to hug her but she pulled away.

“No, not until Rosello is out of the picture.” She wiped more tears and left. “I’m sorry, Mark. I care about you. I really do.”

And she left.

Hoffman stood there, watching the door for a few moments before taking his empty glass and returning to the kitchen. He poured himself another drink and stared sullenly at it. He took it like a shot, letting the heat warm through his chest.

And then he slammed the tumbler onto the ground with all his strength, shattering the glass.

Chapter Text

Angelina was rushing an order of salmon filet to cater for the annual city charity gala hosted by the most elite and influential socialites around. She turned to her saucier, making sure the honeyed lemon sauce had the right color. “Did you add the rosemary yet?”

“Two more minutes. Just want to thicken it a bit more.” The man was whisking away while she took a spoon to taste.

She nodded, “Great, this needs to be ready to go in five.”

“Will do.”

The day had been the typical level of fast-paced and fiery. Various dishes of roast beef, rice pilaf, and seasoned quinoa were gathered, carefully packaged, and sent off to the dining hall. Though the kitchen and venue were foreign to her, Angelia adapted and had the carts loaded and the bussers swiftly bringing the fresh food off to feed the hungry patrons.

Angelina stepped out of the sweltering kitchen, wiping sweat off her brow, being stopped by a short blonde in a long muted green frock. “The champagne station needs some attention.”

“Right away Dr. Tuck,” Angelina went to retrieve several bottles of champagne and followed the woman who moved like a cheetah in her high heels, clicking her way across the polished wooden floors with echoing prowess.

“Jill. Please. And thanks so much for this,” Jill spun her head around with a sparkling smile, “I know how booked you get this time of the year.”

“Anything for a good cause,” Angelina was balancing five pricey bottles while eyeballing crystal flutes neatly lined up. “Besides, if it wasn’t for the Kramer Foundation, I would never have afforded college.”

Jill nodded with that perfectly political grin. “Ah, I never knew you were a beneficiary. The Foundation is more John’s work. I just help with event planning.”

“No need to be so humble,” A whispery voice sounded behind Angelina. Whirling around, she was face-to-face with an older man with sharp features and a cool stare. His smile cracked his intimidating presence. “Ah, thank you,” he held out his hand and Angelina handed him a bottle. He placed them on the table and added, “It warms my heart. Seeing such potential and promise begin to succeed. I remember you, Angelina.”

“Oh, wow!” Her face burned. “Thank you, I didn’t know I left such an impression.”

“Such a tragedy, about your parents. Good people. How is your brother?”

“He’s doing well. He’s a detective with the police department.”

“A respectable role. A protector of the people. You must be proud of him.”

She blinked, feeling as though he was intending to sound ironic. He had a funny way of talking. “Yes, well, he does his best.” She must have been imagining it.

“Now, John,” Jill put a hand on his arm. “Stop being so intense. It’s a party. You’ll need to lighten up if you’re going to attract any new investors.”

“That, my dear, should not be hard.” John kissed Jill on the crown of her head. “These housing developments would do so much for the city, they would only say no if there was some serious absence in morality with them.”

Angelina couldn’t help but notice the pitying look Jill gave her husband. It was so quick and so fleeting as she murmured, “But it wouldn’t hurt to remind them there’s money to be made as well.”

“Ah, Jill, your cynicism always amazes me, considering your line of work.” John explained with a toothy beam, “She operates the Homeward Bound Clinic, you see. And if I recall,” his eyes wandered the grand hall of colorful chandeliers and sconces, “we met at an event similar to this one. Only Jill was the one requesting funding from me.”

“Oh, right,” Angelina nodded, not sure what clinic he was referring to but too embarrassed to ask. These two are trying for the Nobel Peace Prize.

“I can’t believe it’s only been a year,” Kramer softly cooed to Jill. “It feels like I’ve been your husband my whole life.”

“Oh, you,” Jill swatted at him and giggled. The newlyweds fawned over each other while Angelina awkwardly went to leave the two lovebirds to their flirting while she went to continue setting up for the gala.

I hope Peter and I look that cute, she surmised, wistfully looking back at them before returning to work.

“Please,” Frank Griffin was on his knees, the chains rattling on his ankle as he stared up piteously. “I promise, I won’t say your name. I’ll make up a story. I’ll leave town. I’ll do anything. Just let me go. Please.”

“Your call, Markie-boy,” Rosello called out behind Hoffman, blowing smoke over his shoulder. “You gonna risk Red finding out how you’re treating her worse half?”

The man was a hollow shell of his former self. Shivering, with a thick greasy beard growing in, the guy was wasting away in Rosello’s basement. Though the punk deserved exactly what he got, seeing him so pitiful was hard to stomach.

“I’ll figure something out.” Hoffman clenched his jaw. There was no point in regretting actions done. He just needed to find a way to make this problem go away. But he was late for work. It would have to wait another time. “Give me a few days. I’ll get him out of your hair.” He turned to the mob boss who puffed thoughtfully on his cigar. “Anything else?”

“Those feds. I want a name.”

“I’ve got one. Peter Strahm.” Fuck it. If Rosello could make the prick disappear, it would be doing him a favor at this point.

Rosello nodded. “Confirms it. They’re bringing in some bigshot profiler. I guess I should be honored.”

Hoffman chose not to respond, instead, gripping his wrist and waiting with forced patience. “You’ll need to avoid the spotlight for a while. The department’s on edge. They’re out for blood.”

“They’re always eager but they got nothing. They’ll get nothing, so long as you keep doing your job.”

“Speaking of.” He turned, “I need to go. I’m late.”

“Oh, while you’re there, look into Mickey Lounds.”

“What about him?” Hoffman tried to recall the face to the name but came up blank.

“One of my sweepers. Was picked up last night. He knows a little too much and if that dream team finds out it’s going to give me a headache. Find a way to drop the charges on him. Or kill him. Just get him out of your guys’ custody. Especially out of reach of any of those fucks in my personal task force.”

“Interesting options.” Hoffman cast one more glance in Frank’s direction. “But maybe we can kill two birds with one stone. If I needed a place to hide a body long term, you know a place no one would look?”

She was starting to lose track of time, being stuck in that godforsaken building for weeks now. Rituals helped her stay somewhat sane. She’d brew coffee. Tidied up her workspace. Checked in with Tapp. And then proceeded to pace the hallways.

She was now in the pacing phase of her morning routine.

When Allison turned the corner out onto the detective floor and saw Eric Matthews and Daniel Rigg whispering like they were up to no good, she had paused to consider interjecting herself between them.

Lately, Eric had been getting reckless. And his association with Rigg could only end with IA turning their magnifying glass to closely examine Eric’s tendency to punch first and ask questions never.

But she remembered why she hadn’t spoken to her partner lately and the still sharp sting in her chest reminded her she wasn’t ready to make peace. And so she turned around and decided to take the long detour around the station, her vision glazed.

“Hey Ally,” A familiar woman’s voice broke her out of her haze. She turned to see her roommate smile back at her, worry forming on her knit eyebrow. “Bad day?”

“Yeah,” she didn’t particularly feel generous with the information but thankful Will picked up her hints effortlessly. They stood off to the side, Will leaning against a crutch. She, too, had developed a habit of wandering the empty hallways and offices once there was no more paperwork to process.

“You busy? Angie said she wanted to talk about the wedding over lunch today. Plus, we need to get with the other bridesmaids to plan the bridal shower this week.”

“Oh, swamped.” She crossed her arms and let out a harsh laugh. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Will let out a huff. “I seriously am losing my mind here.”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sing approached the two of them with a frown, “But Will, we need you to come with us.”

“Sure, what’s up?” Will looked thrilled at the distraction.

But Kerry noticed how wide Sing’s eyes were, a disturbing look shined in them. She felt her throat constrict. “Need me to come along?” She softly asked Sing while gently placing her hand on Will’s arm.

“...Yeah.” Sing quickly glanced from Will back to Kerry. “Probably a good idea.”

Will was quicker on the uptake, tense and quiet as he lead them down to the basement. Through the heavy metal doors. Their shoes clicked on the dusty concrete and the air chilled.

The morgue. Shit. It had to be about Frank. There was no other reason.

Will kept her head held high, following Sing through the heavy metal doors. The clicking of their shoes echoed off the concrete walls and the air went cold. There was that faint smell of decay, sharp acid, and mildew.

The final double doors swung open. Tapp and the coroner stood waiting for them. Dr. Adam Heffner, their forensic pathologist, stood behind the metal slab with stoic countenance. A body bag rested, zipped, and disturbingly small for what Kerry assumed contained the remains of Frank Griffin.

“Is it him?” Will croaked, hands clasped together.

“Dental records were just confirmed.” Tapp held out the file which Will took half-heartedly. She flipped through the x-rays, shaking her head.

“So… this is it?” Her eyes were shining. “This is him?”

“Yes.” Sing cleared his throat. “We’re sorry for your loss, Will.”

“I want to see him,” Will whispered, clutching the folder to her chest.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. Show me.”

Heffner proceeded to pull the black zipper down, revealing more black underneath.

Kerry clenched her fist when the charred skull revealed itself. He had been burned. Badly.

This already looked suspicious. Sneaking a glance at Will’s expression, she observed how Will had squeezed her eyes shut. Her jaw muscle twitched and her shoulders trembled.

“What happened?” Will sniffed and wiped at her eyes. “Was it an accident?”

“Doesn’t seem likely,” Tapp approached the body. “We’ll need to call in for a forensic anthropologist but Heffner suspects, based on the little tissue remaining, that the vic was restrained for several weeks.”

“There were also premortem fractures in the right tibia and fibula as well as several ribs and phalanges.” Heffner hovered his gloved hand over the right leg, up the torso, and then to both hands. “Indications of healing occurred in the phalanges, not properly set.”

“So he was in pain.” Will shook her head and went to collapse into the nearby stool. Kerry went closer to her to help her keep her balance. She was rubbing her temple before pawing through the file again, reading through the report. Her voice went incredulous and high-pitched. “Hoffman brought him in?”

“Holy shit,” Kerry gaped before going to read over Will’s shoulder with her. She scanned the important details. A farmer called in a strange bonfire on his land. This was days ago.

What looked especially disturbing were the circumstances on how Hoffman happened to just obtain Will’s husband, deceased. It was one hell of a coincidence. He was brought over by another department due to their being short-staffed. Grissom had signed off on it.

This stank of Rosello and Kerry already suspected Hoffman was likely part of the reason Frank was currently burnt toast on the gurney. But Hoffman wasn’t a killer. An asshole with impulse control, sure. But not a murderer. Or at least... not a murderer that would pull an idiot move like this.

“I told him not to kill him. I trusted him.”

Kerry blinked. “Hoffman?”

“I trusted him!” Will started to cry, shoulders violently shaking as she covered her face.

“Hoffman and Matthews are currently interrogating the suspect responsible. Some guy named Lounds.” Sing, of all people, was coming to Hoffman’s defense. “Let’s not jump to conclusions, at least until the case is closed. Evidence says Hoffman didn’t kill the guy.”

“Though this Lounds guy is getting shipped off to the next county, considering the murder was supposedly committed outside the city. Which is convenient,” Tapp had crossed his arms and shook his head. “I had a feeling this would happen after we uncovered Lounds has some dealings with Rosello.”

“So it was Rosello who did this?” Will’s tears slowed but she was still furious. “Not Hoffman?”

“Hoffman has an alibi,” Sing was grimacing, “But it would not be surprising to hear Rosello’s involved. Considering how he feels about… well, you. We need Strahm to verify if this would be characteristic of Rosello’s profile. I don't recall any of his past victims' having partners taken out like this.”

“Location and time of death occurred thirty miles outside of the city. We got the call a few hours ago. We’re expected to mail off the perp in the next twenty-four hours.” Heffner had his back to the detectives, putting his tools away as he droned on the facts.

“Touchy bastards,” Tapp was clearly displeased, shaking his head. “They could have at least given us a week before taking our latest bird.”

“Boys?” Kerry snapped her fingers and gestured to Will who was quietly wiping tears and staring down at the floor.

“Maddox,” Tapp’s tone softened, “How about you take the rest of the week off? Take as much time as you need. Get some rest. Kerry, you make sure she gets home all right.”

For once, Will didn’t argue. Kerry took Will by the arm and helped her leave the morgue.

Getting her to the car would have been a lot easier if Hoffman and Matthews hadn’t been standing at the top of the stairs. Great. More drama.

“Will,” Matthews spoke first, a toothpick rolling between his lips, “so you’ve heard. Sorry it had to end up this way for you.”

Will merely nodded, avoiding their eyes. Her face was swollen and pink from crying.

She was taking it as well as he expected. A part of him had hoped she would have been glad. Hell, just relieved would have satisfied him. But there was only remorse and pain where she stood and this made him despise Frank Griffin all over again.

He had to remind himself that she had married this man and, though he never deserved it, she had loved him. And she loved hard and heavy. He needed to respect this and let her grieve for the loss of her chains.

What mattered was that she was finally free to move on. If he had been a better man, he would have felt some sense of guilt.

But he didn't.

“Hey, Ally,” Matthews took the toothpick out of his mouth, “Why not let Hoffman take Will home? I could use your help with something.”

Kerry threw a fiery stare in her partner’s direction. “Oh, now you want my help? Have some fucking sense, Eric.”

“I don’t care,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I can go home on my own.”

“I think it’s best you’re not alone right now. I’ll take you home,” Kerry rubbed Will’s back, lovingly.

“Come on, Ally, let Hoffman buy the kid some ice cream or something.”

“Ice cream?” Kerry hissed, “You’re such a bastard, Matthews.” Her eyes flashed over to Hoffman. “I’m assuming this is just some ploy to swoop in on her now that she’s all broken-hearted? That’s tacky, even for you.”

That's rich, coming from you.

“Ally!” It was Will, despite her broken heart, who reached over to Kerry and calmed the situation down. Always the peacekeeper at the expense of herself. “It’s all right. I’ll be fine. I promise. Thank you,” Will gave her a hug, comforting though she was the one who needed comfort. My selfless angel. “I’ll go with Mark. We’ve got plenty to talk about.”

When she turned to him his sense of pride in her withered slightly. The way she stared up at him, he suddenly felt like a bug about to get stabbed with a needle and analyzed. Then again, angels are demons.

She didn’t argue when he reached the driver’s side first. He pulled out of the lot in silence, expecting her to be quiet, as she typically was when she was deeply troubled. But she didn’t stonewall him. “Tell me. Did Rosello kill Frank?”

He gave her a sidelong glance, remembering not to grip the steering wheel too tightly. “It’s a possibility.”

“Mark. Did you have anything to do with this?”

They had stopped at a red light. He took the opportunity to turn to her, taking her hand and squeezing it firmly. He looked into those amber irises. “I did not kill Frank.” A horn honked behind them and he flipped the light switch to turn on his light bar.

There was a pregnant pause as she searched his face. He made a point to keep his poker face as still as possible. Don't falter. Don't flinch. She sighed in relief, sinking into her seat. “I believe you. But… you didn’t answer my question. Do you know who killed him?”

“I don’t.” He let go of her hand to continue driving. “Hey. Don’t stress about this. Leave his murder to the detectives assigned to the case. Just -,” he suppressed a sneer and maintained an expressionless face, “mourn your husband. Move on. If you need me, I'm here." He cleared his throat, adding with risk to his health, "I’m not trying to be insensitive but he was a real bastard who didn’t treat you right. And now he’s finally gone.”

“How can you say that-,”

“Spare me, Wilhelmina. You always try to see the good in people but there are some people who just aren’t good. Frank was one of them. You’re better off now that he’s gone. And I’m not saying this because I’m trying to be self-serving, though it is in my benefit, but seeing you give that piece of shit everything only for him to just use and abuse you like he did - I’m glad he’s gone. I don’t want to see you wasting any more of your life worrying about his memory. You deserve so much better than that.”

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but hearing Will wail and seeing her in full-blown ugly-cry mode made him grimace and park the car over to the nearest curb. He didn’t get it but clearly that had not been the right thing to say. But still. She was literally healing from the bastard breaking her bones. Frank had driven her to jump out of a five-story window because the alternative was so much worse.

“Will,” he put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to hurt you.” He awkwardly shuffled across the bench seat to put an arm around her, hoping his previous experience comforting Angelina would be of some use. He tapped her back in a 'there, there' motion.

She didn’t pull away, which was promising. “I know. I know he was a real bastard. But he was mine." He stiffened at this. "He was my everything. He was my home. You didn’t know him, not like I did. He wasn’t always this way,” she held up her broken wrist, “he was once kind and loving. And I always hoped I’d get him back. I always held out that there was a chance he’d come back to me. That he'd change back. But now,” she broke again in a fit of sobs, “that’s never going to happen.”

“I see.” He didn’t know what to say to console her. He resumed awkwardly patting her back. “Even though he’s gone. You have the memories. Of the good times.” He felt his words were hollow but he had to try something. It was like chewing sawdust but he kept going. “I didn’t know the guy that well but it was clear he had issues. Maybe he was lost for a while before this happened. I’m sure Frank’s in a better place, now.” He clenched his teeth at that. He wasn’t sure exactly if Will was a religious person or not, but the very idea made him wonder if he had spoken the truth inadvertently. If there's an afterlife, the bastard's going to hell for sure.

Will sniffled and buried her face into his chest, her shoulders rising and falling under his hand. He rested his chin on the crown of her head. A part of him wondered if she would ever cry for him the way she cried for the man that hurt her.

“You’re so damn forgiving,” he muttered as he pushed his mouth against her hair, wanting to simply steal her sorrow away, as the sweet smell of her shampoo filled his nose.

He couldn’t fully enjoy the moment, though, as the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He lifted his face and swept the area, trying to see something out of the ordinary in the late afternoon. The car’s windows were fogging but he thought he recognized a car several yards behind his, parked with a silhouette in the driver’s seat.

Rosello’s goons. He pulled Will tighter to him, the need to protect rushing through him. He should have noticed. But he had gotten lazy, thinking he had finally convinced Rosello he could be trusted. So he had let his guard down.

There was no denying it, now. Frank Griffin was finally out of the picture, but Will wouldn’t be safe until this new threat was neutralized.

He needed to find a way to get rid of Toni Rosello.

Daniel Rigg had a love-hate relationship with the rumor mill that blew through the department minutes after some big juicy rumor reared its ugly head.

After he punched out that piece of shit at the school, he had personally experienced the hammer strike of the whispers. The stares. The sudden cold shoulder. But there were also a few who smacked him on the back and whispered, “Atta boy,” in the locker room where no one else could hear their unpopular opinions.

But it also let him get the latest update on the people around him. He admitted it. He was a nosy asshole. But he liked knowing the ins and outs of his colleagues. He’d like to think it helped him be a bit more empathetic and understanding when he knew the full story of their situation.

He knew Kerry and Matthews were more than just professional partners, thinking they were so slick with hooking up in broom closets in the station basement.

He knew about Sing’s sick mother, whom he often had to leave work early to run errands for.

He even knew about how that FBI agent, Perez, was making the moves on Kerry. It explained the falling out Matthews was currently experiencing.

And after lurking in the breakroom, he now knew that Maddox’s husband was a toasted marshmallow chilling in a morgue fridge drawer. The latest gossip was that after the big reveal, Hoffman had taken Maddox home. That had been last night. This was what gave him pause when he walked in on Hoffman shredding some documents in the mailroom.

They both stared each other down as the whining of the shredder rang in his ears.

“Need something?” Hoffman continued feeding papers into the blades, drowning the room in more violent motorized screams.

“No - no, just passing through.” He went to the many cubby holes of letters, his holding a single envelope. He snuck another glance over, curious as to what the guy was getting rid of. There was plenty being said about how Mark Hoffman conducted business, though the whispers were more hushed and those who muttered any hearsay would often pause to look around, to make sure they weren’t caught.

“How’s SWAT training?” Hoffman appeared done with his destruction, leisurely checking for any postage in his slot. He stood only inches from him, the smell of his aftershave hitting him hard.

“Great,” Rigg beamed back. Regardless of what most people thought of the guy, Mark Hoffman was one of the good ones. “Scheduled to graduate next month.”

“Good.” Hoffman smiled back. “And how’s Tracy?”

“She’s been good. Excited about Angelina’s wedding.”

Hoffman nodded. “Yeah, can’t believe it’s coming up. Angie’s been running around getting things ready.”

“Yeah. The bridesmaids are all throwing a party for her.”

“You going to that?”

“I’m just giving Tracy a ride. Maybe helping deliver some decorations. Being in a training status has given me some more free time. It’s been good for us.”

“Glad to hear it. If you can spare some of that free time,” Hoffman’s voice had gone quiet, “I need a favor.”

“Yeah? Name it.” Rigg looked around real quick, leaning in.

“Can you keep an eye on them, Angie and Will? Maybe park outside the venue for the bridal shower.”

“What's the trouble?”

Hoffman seemed hesitant to explain. “Toni Rosello has his sights on Will and I can’t be around her all the time. Especially right now. Ange should have a pair of our guys on her but Will needs some looking after. She’d never admit it, though. Especially with her current condition.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Rigg gave a sympathetic smile. Dead husband and still broken up from his beat down. Yeah, I bet. “She’s too proud.”

Hoffman nodded. “Whenever you can, check in on her?”

“Sure thing. I’m usually landlocked except for field exercise. I see Maddox around, mostly pacing.”

“Good. If anything strange goes on, keep me posted. Especially if she’s hanging around people that might push her to play hero. Especially Tapp and Sing.”

“Yeah. Will do.” Rigg suspected Hoffman was hinting at someone else, a faint idea of a certain federal agent crossing his mind. "I'll let you know if anyone starts overstepping their bounds."

"Good."

Chapter Text

“I dreamed of Frank. We were on our honeymoon, taking a walk on the beach. But when I turned around, he was far away. In the water. I called out to him but he was so far away. He was drowning. I tried to go to him but the waves kept pushing me back. When I woke up, I reached over to feel for him. And then I remembered.” Will sighed through blurry vision as she swiped at the nearby tissue box to dab the new tears that seemed to continuously appear at the corner of her eyes.

“That must have been hard,” Peter Strahm leaned into her, elbows on his thighs. “How often have you been dreaming of him?”

“Almost every night since he died.” She looked out the window of his office, the distant sky dark and stormy. “I know I should move on. I need to. But every time I close my eyes, I see him.”

“You can’t force yourself to just forget the man you spent years with. No matter what you think you should be doing, you can’t deny your feelings. The sooner you accept them the sooner you can confront your pain and heal from it.”

"It's been months since I decided to leave Frank."

"He only died weeks ago, you only being allowed to put him to rest recently. It's understandable to have unresolved pain. It could take years to move on from the separation. Don't have expectations. Just take things one day at a time."

She nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” She sniffled and blew her nose. “Thanks for seeing me. I know it was short notice.”

“Any time. I appreciate you coming to me with this. I assure you, it’s no inconvenience.” Strahm smile warmly. “As you know, work’s been slow.”

“Right? It’s so frustrating. Work helped me not think about life going to shit. But all this waiting around has been driving me up the wall.”

“This is not necessarily a bad thing. Try to take this time to work on yourself. Maybe take some leave. After the funeral.”

She tried to smile back but it felt forced. “Yeah. Maybe I should.”

“It’s tomorrow?”

“Yes.” She swallowed and shuttered, “Our relatives are flying in from California. I - I haven’t told his parents too many details. I wasn’t sure how to. They only know he was murdered. But they think it was quick and painless.”

"Gentle lies are a mercy. When the crime goes to trial, they can learn the sad truth."

"If it goes to trial."

Strahm nodded in sympathy. "I’d be happy to accompany you, if it would make it easier.”

“I may just take you up on that offer.” She nodded. “If it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

“Thank you. You’ve been so helpful.” She felt a twinge of guilt, turning to this man she had only known for a few months for consolation and comfort instead of her closest friends. But Peter Strahm had never judged her. Never expressed any strong opinion on what she should or should not do.

Kerry, despite her good intentions, was clearly glad that Frank was gone. It had been obvious in how she grimaced whenever Will wanted to talk about him.

And Hoffman. Hoffman was so much worse when it came to listening about her ruminating about her late husband.

Peter Strahm had been the only person in her life that actually listened and made her feel a little better after every conversation. That was something she needed.

But this was something she wouldn’t brag about, especially not to her partner. It was clear he didn’t like Peter Strahm and she didn’t want any problems over this.

“Has your friends and family been there for you? I’m not trying to push you out, but I figured you’d find more friendly support with familiar faces.”

“Well, my only family is my dad and brother. Dad’s… not able to help right now. Bram is flying in, though. But he’s my younger brother. Usually,” she felt the faintest smile crack across her cheek for the first time in days, “I’m the one that helps him out.”

Strahm nodded, always the active listener, “You’re only human, Will. Got to let the people around you help out once in a while.” He had leaned in closer to her, putting a hand gently over her clasped fingers.

She blinked up at him, feeling her cheeks flush warm from the proximity between their faces. She pulled her hands from his, her skin tingling from his touch. “I need to head out.” She jumped to her feet, forcing Strahm to lean back into his chair as she rose from the couch. “I’ll see you at work?”

He nodded, appearing unphased by her fluster. “Tomorrow. I’ll come by your place in the morning, before the funeral.”

“Okay,” she felt rushed and eager to leave. She couldn’t get out of the door fast enough, limping to the elevator to then catch her breath. Maybe she misjudged Peter Strahm after all.

“Ally!” Matthews grabbed her arm, his cigarette falling out of his mouth. “Can you just - wait one minute so I can explain?”

“I’m sure you’ll need more than a minute.” She hissed icily. They were outside, the sun had long set and the street lights were not on yet.

“So what’s it going to be? You just going to hate me until the end of time?” He had hoped she would have gotten over it by then. It had been over a month now but it only seemed to snowball into one hell of an avalanche.

He’d never seen Ally so angry. And with him, nonetheless.

“Eric, I know what the risks are with this job. You have no right to get in my way.”

“I do.” Eric kept his grip on her arm, missing her touch. “I do have a right to protect the woman I love.”

“Oh, fuck off, Eric,” her voice cracked. “You don’t. You only love yourself.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Tell that to Jane and Daniel. To me.”

“You can love more than one person, Ally. I’m sure you know that.” Eric looked into her eyes, daring her to deny it. “I know about you and Perez. And I know I have no right on being jealous about that. I'm not doing this to spite you for finding comfort elsewhere. Though, I admit, it's really hot." He dodged a slap from her, limboing backward quick, and added, "But when it comes to your safety, I will do everything I can to keep you out of harm’s way. Whether you like it or not.” He squeezed her arm tighter.

She tried to wrench her arm away but he held on. She bared her teeth in a snarl. “Asshole.”

He smirked and gave her a kiss, which she proceeded to return with a backhanded slap across his cheek. She hit her mark this time. He finally released her, touching the sting with newfound respect. “Does this mean we’re forgiven?”

“Not even close,” Kerry snapped. “The only way you’re going to make this up is if you get Will and me back in the field. Or I’ll tell Jane what we've done.”

He felt his jaw drop open. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I? Jane’s going to the bridal shower. And she’ll be at the bachelorette party.” Rage and intent were all that he saw when he studied her.

“You’re not a petty bitch, Ally.”

“Don’t make me a petty bitch, Eric,” she jabbed a finger into his chest. “And next time, ask before you go and try to bench me in my career. Or this,” she pointed at herself and him, “will never happen again.”

“You’re not thinking clearly.”

“Don’t be condescending. I know exactly what I’m doing. I always have, even when I fucked you the first time and every time after. But now, you’ve overstepped your bounds. You’re coming after the one thing I have. Literally, the only thing that’s actually mine. You fuck with my career again, I will end you.” He didn’t believe her. He couldn’t believe her.

And yet, there they were, at a bridge that was already showing signs of burning. But he wasn’t ready to let her go. Despite her skepticism, he did love her. They had survived worse together. She was his partner.

He studied her face, searching for a sign as to where everything went wrong. Ally, never one to be much of a crier, had the faintest signs of it in her eyes. Though her face was straight and her expression cool, he could feel the pain there. This was a cry for help. He needed to take heed.

“All right. I’ll listen. I’m sorry.” He hated apologizing. But she wouldn’t back down. And he just wanted her to stop hating him. “I’ll talk to Tapp. I’ll get you both out there.” He bit his lip. “I - I just don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“That’s your problem,” she left him, the heels of her shoes echoing behind her.

Alone, Eric quietly took out his pack of cigarettes from his inside jacket pocket. He put a fresh one in his mouth, lit it, and took a long drag. One step at a time, he forced himself to take a walk down the block.

His mind was reeling. His heart was pounding in his ear. He needed to hit something. He wanted to scream.

“Spare change?” A croak called from his side. He jumped and turned to see a filthy bum who reached a dirt-caked hand onto his suit, gripping the fabric. He could see the grease stains that would never get out now. “You have any change, mister?”

He blinked, wondering what happened next. His fist throbbed. He was hunched over a piss-covered corner, looking down at the mangled and bloody face of some bearded old man who was moaning and wheezing underneath him.

Fuck. His fist was trembling and his head was pounding.

The pitiful moans of the man filled his mind.

Eric Matthews walked as fast as he could away from the scene. Soon, his swift stride broke into a brisk sprint as he ran. He ran until he physically couldn’t any longer, collapsing in the street, panting and coughing.

It began to snow.

It was a clear day. The sun helped warm the patrons draped in black, surrounded by white and soothing-colored flowers. Sing was surprised by how many people had come to Frank Griffin’s funeral.

It seemed, despite all the terrible stories, the man had apparently mattered enough to people that they came from across the country just to see him put in the ground. He noticed the lack of tears, though, and wondered if it was another reason beyond love that brought the majority of attendees to the event. Only Will and what appeared to be Frank’s mother were weeping and holding each other throughout the day.

The closed casket during the wake had attracted curious murmurs. Almost everyone who knew Will Maddox had attended and many unfamiliar faces more.

One notable absentee was Mark Hoffman, which didn’t surprise Sing at all. Hoffman had made it clear he never cared for the man. What surprised Sing was seeing Peter Strahm present as Will’s shadow, a hand on her shoulder, and stepping in to exchange words with those that offered the usual words of comfort to the surviving family. Odd.

Allison Kerry and Eric Matthews had stayed back, looking out from afar. It looked like the two of them had made their peace. It was a relief, considering the awkward conversations Sing tried to have involving the two of them.

Tapp elbowed Sing, prompting him to casually scan the area. In the distance, leaning against a black sedan, looked like Daniel Rigg. He wondered what he was doing there, not aware that the rookie had any interactions with Frank or Will for that matter.

“He’s close to Hoffman,” Tapp muttered and that explained everything.

The ceremony ended with the lowering of the casket and bagpipes bellowing Amazing Grace. Will and Mrs. Griffin continued to weep and upon completion of the ballad, the crowd dispersed.

Bram Maddox, Will’s younger brother, came up to take Will back to the car. Mr. Griffin appeared to pull Mrs. Griffin away from Will, taking the grieving mother away. There seemed to be no love lost between Mr. Griffin and Will, a notable squint and frown tossed over from Bram.

“Go talk to Rigg, Sing,” Tapp, always the vigilant one with his mind on the task at hand, added, “I’ll walk around. See if there’s anything interesting going on.”

By interesting, he meant Rosello related. Sing nodded, already dreading the awkward conversation they would likely have. He barely spoke to Daniel Rigg, not particularly impressed with the guy’s hot-headed impulses. He's like a baby Hoffman, and the thought made him shudder. Cautiously, he approached with a disarming grin, walking around the tombstones.

Rigg nodded back, arms folded across his broad chest. “‘Sup, Sing.”

“Hey, Rigg. Didn’t know you were acquainted with Frank Griffin.”

“I wasn’t. Just here for Maddox.”

“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. You want to catch her before she drives off?” Sing looked over his shoulder, noting the idling car and two siblings through the glare of the windshield.

Rigg’s head shook quickly. “No. Best to let her be. I’m just making sure she’s safe.”

Sing noticed Rigg didn’t have his badge in view, though his gun was attached to his hip. “Off-duty?”

Rigg swallowed and looked away. “Yeah.” He wouldn’t volunteer any further information but Sing could connect the dots.

“I’m surprised I haven’t seen Hoffman around.” Sing leaned lazily against the car beside Rigg. “You talk to him lately?”

Rigg gave him a sidelong glance, the silence revealing everything.

The two of them stood at a verbal standoff until the last of the procession dispersed, red taillights shrinking in the distance. “Well,” Sing pushed off the car, “send Rosello my regards.”

“Fuck you,” Rigg spat as Sing walked away. He didn’t bother to look back.

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Her brother’s in town. Looks like he’s still in college. And her in-laws didn’t stick around, they left pretty quick.” Rigg took a swig of his beer. “Oh, and she’s been heading uptown to talk to those agents. I notice she'd grab a bite to eat with the guy. And get this-Strahm-he was also at the funeral.”

Hoffman didn’t care for the sympathy Rigg was giving him, opting to stare at the TV over the shelves of liquor and letting the bartender refresh his glass of scotch. “You know what for?”

“Looked like he was being moral support or whatever you call it. Seemed PG, though I wouldn’t put it past the bastard to try to move in on the grieving widow. Never saw Maddox so upset.”

Hoffman shook his head. She’ll get over it. But this Strahm guy just kept appearing and invading his territory. He’d need to keep tabs on the asshole. On the bright side, tailing the fed wouldn’t step on Rosello’s toes. If anything, it would be the perfect cover, especially now that he was back on the mobster's shitlist.

Speaking of. “I’ve got to go.” He threw some cash on the bar and gripped his comrade’s shoulder. “Good work.”

“Yeah,” Rigg returned the contact, squeezing his fingers briefly before releasing, “Anytime, Hoffman.”

The night air felt damp, surprisingly warm for the time of year. He drove with the windows down, smelling rain in the air as he mentally prepared for his meeting with Toni Rosello. Images of his stalker from last week flooded his vision and the faintest grip of fear squeezed his heart when he thought of what would happen with Will if he slipped up that night.

There was no room for error. Absolutely none.

The estate, with its tall bricks and dead ivy, towered over him like a guillotine. Men with rifles across their chests nodded in his direction as he passed the gate and various checkpoints. He pulled onto the large gravel road, parking close to the front steps.

Olaf was waiting for him, opening the front doors and standing with hands clasped behind him. Hoffman half-expected the ogre to be hiding a weapon but walked by him calmly, barely paying the man any mind.

Show no fear. Show no weakness.

The smell of cigar smoke was a familiar stench and once Hoffman reached Rosello’s office there was the usual gray haze that stung his eyes. “Mr. Rosello.”

“Markie-boy,” Flicking ash in a crystal tray, Rosello gestured to the seat across from his desk.

The sudden clang and the piping of a cuckoo clock forced Hoffman to turn his head. “That’s new.”

“A gift from Mario’s brother. Zietta didn’t take it very well, the death of her youngest son and all. But Mario’s brother, Lorenzo, is happy as pie. But now I’ve got to be on my best behavior. Drives me crazy but at some point, the relatives are coming in and got to show off the gifts. You know how it is.”

He nodded, though he had no fucking idea what the hell he was going on about. He clasped his hands together, intertwining his fingers as he patiently stared at the mob boss to get to the point.

Rosello had a twinkling in his eye and a sly pull of the cheek. “Tell me, Markie-boy, what’s your deal with Red? I’ve been trying to figure it out for a while.”

“Didn’t know it was that important to you,” Hoffman lied, “We’re partners.”

“Haven’t been working cases together in a while.”

“That’s because of this arrangement, as you’re aware.”

Rosello nodded, “I get you boys in blue sure have a hard-on for your ‘partners’,” he fingered quotation marks, “but let’s be honest. You and her are more than that.”

Hoffman resisted the urge to clear his throat. “We’re close.”

“As close as you are with your sister?”

The room became a void. He finally cleared his throat. “You mentioned that you would keep my sister out of this. After what happened with Mario.”

“Oh, I haven’t forgotten,” Rosello scratched his jowl, thoughtful. “You see, every so often, I like you, Markie. You do what you’re told. You’ve got talents. But you’re one bull-headed prick at times. I know you’re just waiting for your chance to end me like Julius Caesar.” The shark-like dullness returned to his black eyes. “So I need some incentive to keep you behaved. You understand.”

Hoffman squeezed his teeth together, slowly. “Are you going back on your word, Mr. Rosello?” He spoke carefully but couldn’t help let the growing rage seep into his words.

“No, not at all. But I’m simply warning you that my offer for immunity only extends to just one person. I’m giving you a chance to change your mind, that is, if you’re particularly attached to Red. You see,” he let out an almost shy giggle, “now that she’s available due to the tragic loss of her late husband,” he snickered as if they shared an inside joke, “I intend to make my move.”

A migraine was starting to puncture through Hoffman’s temples. “You can’t just kill her.” He meant it as a command but it came out like a plea. He hated how his vocal cords failed him.

“Kill her? Oh no,” Rosello roared in laughter, “I don’t plan on hurting a hair on her pretty little head. You see, it’s time I’ve settled down. That whole fiasco with Mario has angered some of my elders, and now,” he waved his cigar back and forth, scattering ember and dust around his desk, “I’m in the doghouse, you see? Zietta says it’s because I haven’t been married yet and -,”

“You expect Will Maddox to marry you?” He would have laughed if he had been a weaker man.

“Perhaps. I admit, she’s a looker. Wouldn’t mind waking up to that every morning. Tell me, she good in the sack?”

He rose to his feet before he could stop himself, breathing hard. He stopped himself from lunging across the desk but remained standing.

“So there it is,” Rosello nodded, satisfied, and a gun was pulled from under the desk. “There’s the truth. Sit down, boy.”

Hoffman ran his fingers through his hair and adjusted his suit jacket before returning to his seat. He felt his neck throb in rhythm with his racing heart.

“I’m sure you know I’ve been having you followed, Markie-boy. But I kept my word. Angelina has been undisturbed since you saved my life. And I am grateful for that. So, make your choice. Your sister or your partner. But not both. Whoever you choose, I’ll be just a bad dream to them. But the other, I intend to give my undivided attention.”

“You really expect me to let you just make another victim out of either of them?”

Rosello shrugged. “That’s their problem. I usually don’t - end - my romantic relationships unless it’s well deserved. And they’re both adults. They’ll know what they’re getting into.”

“Neither would ever seriously date you. Never.”

“I can be quite persuasive.” Rosello smiled but kept the gun trained on Hoffman. “You know, I already know who you’re going to let me have. Because your kid sister? Not my type. Too soft. Too weak.”

“Don’t talk about her. You have no right.”

“The guy with the gun has any right they want.” A blast exploded making Hoffman jump and his ears rang that high-pitched hum he knew would eventually just not go away. A steaming hole by his left foot made him almost lose his bladder control.

“You’re nuts.”

“Uh, doi?” Rosello’s hyena giggles began. “But it’s your fault, making all this fun for me. You should see the look on your face, you’re scared shitless!” The man started howling and Hoffman had to just sit there. “So. Back to business. Will or Angie. Who’s getting immunity?” He cocked the gun and retrained it back to Hoffman.

He looked down at his hands. Will or Angie? Their faces alternated in his mind. But it was a no-brainer. “My sister. I still want you to stay away from her.”

“Family first, eh? I respect that.”

“You hypocritical little shit.” The door opened behind them and Rosello looked visibly startled. “Zietta! I thought you weren’t arriving until tomorrow.”

“Toni,” An older woman drawled out, sounding mocking and disdainful, “I decided it was best to arrive as early as possible to fix all the damage you’ve done. It’s clear I am too late, again. Is this how we treat our guests? Pointing and shooting guns like a lunatic?”

Hoffman turned to face the intruder, seeing a short woman with salt and pepper hair and the same dead shark eyes as Rosello. “You must be the man that saved my nephew’s life and helped kill my son.” All he could do was watch as she walked across the room and stood beside Rosello behind his desk. She held her hand out and with a childish pout, Toni Rosello surrendered the gun. “You’ll have to forgive my nephew. He was kicked in the head by a horse when he was a toddler.”

“I’m right here, zietta.”

“And you will keep your mouth shut,” the woman whirled and looked down at him, her voice a polar vortex. “Remember that your father has given me complete guardianship over your business and wellbeing and you will behave yourself if you value what little freedom you have left.” Toni Rosello stared down at the desk, looking furious.

“If I’ve overstayed my welcome, I’ll take my leave,” Hoffman wanted nothing more than to get away from whatever freakshow this was but the woman raised a hand.

“No, Mr. Hoffman, you will stay. As one of Toni’s people, you will answer to me as well. And you will be happy to know that I am a much more reasonable employer.” She opened the chamber of the gun and let the bullets fall to the floor, completely disassembling the weapon. She dropped the pieces on the table with ease. “I will keep my nephew in line. And so long as you and your people serve my family well, no harm will fall upon them.”

Optimism was blossoming in his chest, relieving. “Will Maddox is off-limits as well as my sister.”

“And what incentive are you offering us to make this deal?”

He tried to think. “I will continue to work for you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You believe you can just walk away?”

“I believe no matter what I do, I’m screwed either way. The only reason I’m dealing with you people is to protect those I care for. But you bringing them into your shit loses any motivation I have to do a good job by you.”

She nodded. “My nephew had only good things to say about you.”

It was his turn to be skeptical. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. It seems you’re the sole reason he has been avoiding conviction and prison for many years.”

He closed his eyes and took a slow breath. “I see.”

“I understand your reservations on surrendering someone you know personally to an oaf like my Toni here,” she put a hand on the back of the big man’s shoulders, rubbing it almost lovingly, “but I assure you that he will not be treating her like… the others. You have my word.”

“Not to be disrespectful, but your word means nothing to me.”

She finally smiled and she would have been almost pretty if they had been talking about something a little more mundane. “Toni agreed to settle down so long as he can have one thing. And his father was never one to refuse to spoil his son. Toni wants to marry this - what’s her name?”

“Wilhelmina Maddox,” Toni grinned like a kid on Santa's lap while keeping his eyes trained on Hoffman.

She nodded. “Yes, this Wilhelmina.”

“I’m having a hard time understanding - why do you care? Toni killed your son. Kind of strange playing matchmaker.”

The woman rounded the desk and stood beside Hoffman, cocking her head to the side. “You don’t understand why?” She put a hand on his chin and the other on his cheek, running her dry cold hands over his stubble.

“Care to explain?”

“Toni killed Mario, my youngest. And Mario, though I loved him, was a liability to the family business. For the good of the family, his death did not hurt us. In fact, it aided us.” She sniffled and there was the faintest glimmer of a tear running down her cheek. “But blood for blood. I demanded it and Don Rosello promised he would compensate me justly.” She knelt down and her fingernails began digging into the meaty flesh of Hoffman’s neck. He suppressed the urge to choke. “I want a son in exchange for losing Mario. And I want those responsible to lose someone they love. To give pain and to receive solace. For Toni, it was hard to come up with his punishment. He is incapable of loving anyone beyond himself. But this business will be enough. And, one day, a piece of him, his own flesh and blood, will be mine. A child to replace my Mario. And for you?”

Hoffman’s eyes widened as she moved closer, her nose grazing his. “I didn’t kill Mario,”he whispered.

“Yet you aided the man that did. Your hands are covered in Mario’s blood. I blame you. So I want someone you love taken away from you. I want their blood to become my blood. Toni tells me you only love two people. And you have put your shield over your sister. Which means that the other will be my prize.”

“Sorry, Markie-boy,” Toni Rosello shrugged as if he merely stepped on his shoe. “But whatever orders the big man gives, I’ve got to follow. I need to find a pretty bride. Have some kids. Leave my zietta to deal with the business in this city until I fall back in good graces with Papa. Those are the rules.”

The room was beginning to spin. He felt dizzy and sick. “Jesus.”

“You understand? Good.” Zietta Rosello released her grip on Hoffman’s neck. “Do not get in our way, if you want your precious Angelina untouched.” She sighed. “Perhaps, allowing this rabid dog off his leash for too long was partially our fault. But that will not absolve you of your part.”

He just had to work for this family of psychopaths. Hoffman buried his hands in his face, finally overwhelmed by the sheer inability to change this situation. He had tried to keep his head above the water. To keep Angelina safe. It had been simple back then. But he went and got himself attached to someone else and now it was Will’s turn to play lamb to the slaughter.

But Will’s a survivor. He lifted his head, carefully examining the vacant faces of the Rosello relatives. Will wouldn’t just let any of this go down. No, she’d find a way to put these bastards away. He hated to admit it, but Toni Rosello had been right: Angelina was too meek and submissive. She couldn’t take care of herself, not entirely. She needed his protection and he'd happily give it forever. But Will? He had faith that if anyone could take down these psychopaths, it would be her. He trusted her.

“I understand.” He suppressed a cruel smile. “I won’t stop you going after Will Maddox.”

Chapter Text

She had felt strange, coming to this forgotten corner of the city. She knew she was being followed, even stopped to wave towards Daniel Rigg’s car as she got out and made her way into the apartment building.

Sing informed her the week prior about her new shadow. He meant to warn her, as if she needed to be afraid for her safety. She only felt annoyed at Hoffman for being an idiot and not just coming to her directly.

She no longer felt resentful when something new occurred with Hoffman’s dealings with Toni Rosello. It didn’t solve anything. Instead, she simply knew that this was a sign that things had taken a downturn and she needed to maintain vigilance.

Her cast was taken off days ago and she was still getting used to her restored freedom. She needed to take it slow, the doctor stressed, but soon she’d be able to go on her jogs and return to her self-defense sessions. She would get her strength back if she just took it slow and easy.

It was the hardest part, for her, to wait.

She opted for the stairs, glad her pace was at least twice the speed it had been while she was hobbled. Taking on two stairs at a time, she raced the floors until she reached the level.

David Tapp had begrudgingly given her this address, after pestering and rationalizing this was crucial to learning more about Hoffman. She had to insist this would possibly provide a better insight into his relationship with Toni Rosello. Really, it was Sing who compelled the old man to surrender.

”I seriously doubt Knox is going to get his panties in a bunch if you send Maddox his way. Guy’s always bored and happy for company.”

She knocked on the door, hard. The paint was peeling and the 1 and 3 were missing on the 313B.

“I’m coming,” a gruff voice barked, muffled by the distance and walls. She heard the distinct sound of a shotgun being cocked and she jumped back with her hands held up.

“It’s Will Maddox, Mr. Vernon. I’m just dropping by.” She spoke loud and clear, her nerves now frayed.

“...Is that so? Is Mark with you?”

“No. No one is with me. David gave me your address.”

“Interesting.” The door cracked and a glint of an eyeball in the shadows greeted her. “You look better than the first time I saw you.”

She gave him a humored grin. “Yeah. I was a little banged up.”

He let out a chuckle before coughing, closed the door to undo the chain. She heard the rattle and click of several bolts and finally, he opened the door. “Come on, girl. Unless you’re here to take me out. Then do it quick and put me out of my misery.”

She followed him into his domain, the back of his wheelchair rolling down the hallway. She closed the door and locked up for him.

The place looked worn and dirty. Trash bags lined the walls, ready to be taken out. There was a faint smell of old beer, cigarettes, and rotting garbage. It gave her the sudden urge to begin cleaning.

“I’d offer you a drink but you seem the kind of cop that only does so off duty.”

She entered the kitchen to see him opening his fridge, grumbling to himself at the poor selection.

“Thank you, but I shouldn’t be long. Mind if I have a seat?”

“Don’t need to ask. I know I come off like a cranky old coot but it’s nice to see a friendly face. But I’m guessing you’re not here to just have a pleasant chat? Is Mark dead?”

“No. He’s not.”

“Good. That’s a comfort.” He took out a forty and drank straight from the bottle. Will noticed some of the brown liquid dribbled down his beard. She kept a straight face. “Well, spit it out, young lady.”

“You’re close with Mark.”

“So is his sister.”

“No, not really. Not in the way I mean. You were his partner.”

“And so are you.”

“You worked with him much longer than I.” She kept her political smile but remained stern. “I want to understand something and I hope you can help me.”

“Which is?”

“I want to understand his motives better.”

Vernon Knox let out a throaty laugh. “Oh dear lord.”

“I don’t fully understand how he got so tangled up with Toni Rosello. I was hoping you’d shed some light. I want all the information possible, especially now that things are getting personal.”

“Usually, a girl just directly demands her lover to talk about their feelings.”

“We’re not lovers.”

“Mm-hmm,” Knox swished some alcohol before swallowing it like mouthwash. “I'm not much of a matchmaker here. But I know Mark is terrible at opening up. Most of us are. It’s easier that way. What’s this got to do with Rosello?”

“I think the only way to take Toni Rosello down is to set myself up for bait. What will Hoffman do if he finds out?”

Knox didn’t blink. “Stop you.”

“How?” She crossed her legs and rested her arms on the table, biting her lip.

“Depends on how you set yourself up. You gonna doll yourself up and just parade down the Crossroads?”

“No, but close to it. Rosello has been sending inquiries as to whether or not I will go on a date with him.” She pulled at her fingers, fidgeting. “I think the best course of action is to honeypot him.”

“The bastard does love the thrill of the chase. But as soon as you bore him, it’s lights out.” He took another swig. “You got a death wish, don’t ya?”

“I think we all have some self-destructive tendencies,” she nodded towards his drink. “It’s how they recruit.”

He snickered. “The boy won’t like it. But I’m sure you knew that already. And a fair warning. Rosello is an ass. He’d probably parade you around for Mark to see, to get a rise out of him. You’re not going to be able to keep this a secret.”

She nodded, “I figured as much. What can I do to convince him to not interfere?”

Knox took out a cigarette and lit it. “On a good day, you can try to explain it to him. But if he’s having a bad day, he may just shoot the bastard on one of your little dates.”

“Joy.”

“You should let him.”

“Yeah, that’s not happening.”

Knox coughed in surprise. “You should. Let him take out one evil sonofabitch. It’ll do the world a big favor.”

“There’s intel that other Rosello family associates are here in the city. I doubt Mark can shoot all of them.”

“You underestimate my boy.”

She noticed the endearment in his voice and the emotion in his trembling hands. “I don’t want Mark to be put in prison just to be free of the Rosellos.”

“Well aren’t you just Joan of Arc?” Knox let out a low laugh. “This whole mess is making me think about how it all started. The boy won’t like me telling you, that’s for sure.” He watched her warily. “But I trust you’re discreet. Sometimes, we need to do what we must for the people we love, right dear?” She opened her mouth to deny but he held his hand up. “You’re almost as bad as he is. Almost. If you didn’t care about him, you wouldn’t be here, now would you?” He scratched his jaw, the sound like sandpaper.

“What exactly got Hoffman pulled into Rosello’s inner circle?” Will ignored the heat of her face and cleared her throat.

“He lost his damn self-control, that’s what. We were on patrol. Typical business. And I got the order from the higher levels. It was time to bring him face-to-face with the bastard. Rosello was holed up in some strip joint that day. We ended up having to sit through while he smacked around some stripper named Angel. And you can guess how that would trigger your partner.”

Will bit the inside of her cheek at the thought. “I’m assuming he reacted poorly.”

“You think he has poor impulse control now? Well, imagine that boy in his early twenties. It had only been a year since his parents died and he was particularly overprotective of his sister. Not that he wasn’t already.”

“What exactly did he do?”

“He tried to throw a punch and deck the prick. And that was all it took.”

“So it’s safe to assume that no matter how we break it to him, he’s going to not take this well.”
“When you tell him the news, if he behaves like a damn fool then send him my way. I’ll straighten him out.” He sighed. “If you were a man, he’d probably not be so damn reckless.”

“Yeah, but we wouldn’t be here talking about seducing Toni Rosello if I was a man.”

“True. Still, you be careful missy. I like you. Don’t let that piece of shit kill you.”

“I won’t. Thanks for seeing me. Would you like me to take some of these trash bags off your hands?”

“Bless you, darling.”

The sound of the shower lulled her awake. She got up and stretched, surprised she had slept through the night. It had been a long time since she spent a night with no dreams to remember.

Going out to the kitchen, she saw her younger brother, Bram Maddox, making coffee. He had grown out his brown hair to his shoulders, the flyaways making him look like a teenaged rock star. He turned and smiled. “‘Morning.”

“Good morning,” she went to retrieve a mug. “Still want to stay here?”

“Yeah. I don’t need to crash your friend’s bridal shower. Besides, we’ve been doing stuff every day since I got here. I need to just sit around and do nothing for a day.”

She nodded, putting a loving hand on his shoulder. “You’ve been such a wonderful help. Thank you.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” he forced a grin. “But one of these days we need to sit down and have a talk about Dad.”

She went to pour coffee, hoping he’d change the subject. Instead, there was a period of silence that cornered her. “Fine. We can talk about it now.”

Bram looked taken aback. “Oh. Okay. Well, I was thinking of Dad and myself moving here.”

It was her turn to look concerned. “What about school? You need to graduate.”

“Okay. Then after that.”

She nodded, “Good.” She lowered her eyes before adding, “Of course you can move here if that’s what you want.”

“I just think Dad would like-”

“Dad’s in a coma, Bram. For years. I don’t think Dad has any preference if he’s in San Diego or here.”

“You’re not wrong. But don’t you miss him?”

“Of course I miss him.” Will looked upon her brother with newfound sorrow. He should be worrying about girls and grades. Not this. “But visiting… an empty shell is not the same.”

Bram bit his lip. “He could wake up one day.”

“Oh, Bram.”

“I smell coffee!” Allison popped in with a towel wrapped in her hair. “Can we keep him, Will? I love how he’s always got the kitchen up and running by the time I get up.” She ruffled his hair before pouring herself a cup.

Bram gave a flutter of his eyebrows and a grimaced smile before retreating into the living room to watch some TV.

Will sighed in relief, glad for the reprieve. “What time are we leaving for Angie’s?”

Muted greens and silver streamers decorated Angelina and Peter Acomb’s residence. Angelina was weary from all the preparations and planning of her special day but she kept pushing forward. It would all be worth it. Totally.

She sometimes thought it would have been better to just elope.

Already, Tracy Rigg, Jane Matthews, and Rachel Acomb had arrived. Her future mother-in-law, Sarah, was helping prep the snacks in the kitchen. Angelina wasn’t quite ready to join in the festivities as most of the other guests but once the doorbell rang and the high-pitched screams of joy made the presence of Will and Ally known, she was eager to get out and let her hair down for a few hours.

“Oh, Angie,” Sarah appeared with a tray of mojitos. “You seriously need to take a seat and prop your feet. You’ve been working too hard.”

“You’re so sweet, Mom,” Angie grinned at the woman who beamed back. It was a perfect day for a party. The sun shined through her apartment windows and upbeat trip-hop played on the speakers.

“Go, have fun. I’ll finish up here.” Angelina found herself shooed out of her own kitchen but relieved that a competent chef was taking the reins.

“Angie,” Ally pulled her into a great tight hug. “Five more months!”

She smiled ruefully, both excited and dreading the many more tasks that needed to get done before the wedding.

“Uh-oh,” Will snapped her fingers in front of her eyes. “Come back to us Ange. Don’t worry about the wedding. That’s why we’re here.”

“Yeah,” Ally took Angelina by the wrist and pulled her to the living room. “Time to play, ‘Who Can Make The Best Cocktail’!”

After several drinks and various bridal-themed games such as Telephone Wedding Toast and Tie The Knot, it was time to open presents.

Tracy had crocheted her a beautiful merino wool cardigan. Jane gifted various cooking utensils. “You can never have too many spatulas,” Jane nodded intensely, a seasoned fighter in the kitchen. Ally and Will had made a coupon book, complete with ‘Get Out Of Jail’ cards and ‘No Questions Asked Favors’ which made the group laugh at the idea.

“Maybe you’ll need to bury a body,” Jane quipped. The idea was ludicrous and hilarious. And, of course, all cards held checks to help pay for the wedding. Angelina brushed tears from her eyes, overwhelmed by the generosity.

“Thanks so much, everyone. You’re all the best.” Many hugs were shared and sentiments were expressed.

Well past sunset, though it was just before five o’clock, the party began to disperse.

Saying their goodbyes, Will leaned in close and whispered, “if you need anything, just ask.”

And with the final guest gone, Angelina began to clean up.

Though she had fun, she just wanted the wedding to happen. She shut her eyes and reminded herself to be patient. All good things come to those who wait.

“Walk? Are you sure?” Ally was hovering at her car door, eager to get out of the cold but not quite enough to get in. “It’s freezing!”

“Doctor’s orders. I need to keep moving on the leg and I haven’t had a chance to do my daily walk. I’ll be fine. I’m sure Daniel Rigg is somewhere around here.”

“He left with Tracy.”

“I’m packing.” When Ally didn’t budge, Will rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, not you too. I’ll be fine.”

Ally pouted. “Fine. Page me in an hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’m sending the works and tearing this city apart.”

“Won’t have to come to that.” Will waved and began the three-mile journey to her apartment. Despite the cold, her pace helped her warm-up. She was enjoying studying the architecture of the buildings, always envious of Angelina’s neighborhood.

She heard the idle hum of an engine as a car slowly rolled beside her. “Rigg, go home,” she turned to give the SWAT newbie a piece of her mind. When she realized it was a black limo and the window lowered to reveal the most dangerous man in her city, she immediately rested her hand on her weapon.

“Easy, Red. Easy. I’m not here for anything bad. Just checking in.” Toni Rosello smiled pleasantly. “You need a ride?”

“No, thank you.” She proceeded to continue her walk, ignoring the car as it followed her.

“It’s a cold snap right now. You don’t want to catch pneumonia.”

“Better than getting in that car with you,” she snapped, continuing to walk faster.

“You hurt me, Red. Why can’t we be friends?”

The way he said it made her stop and laugh. Like a kid on the playground. “How often has that worked for you?”

“More times than you’d think.” Rosello grinned back. “I got the go-ahead from your old partner and wanted to let you know.”

“The go-ahead on what?”

“On taking you out for the night of your life.”

She felt a wave of confusion. “Hoffman?”

“You have any other old partners?”

She approached the limo door and turned her head to hear better. “What exactly did he say?”

“Come in and find out.” The door opened but she didn’t get in.

“I need to walk for my injury. You’re welcome to join me.” She didn’t expect him to accept but if he was intending to pursue her she wanted it on her terms. And around plenty of bystanders that could intervene or at least witness if he tried to pull anything.

When Toni Rosello heaved out of his seat and joined her on the sidewalk, she felt a spark of fear at his proximity. “Lead the way, Red.”

She was on high alert but resumed walking, stopping at an intersection for the green light.

“I wanted to apologize for your loss. It must be hard, losing your husband.”

This brought a fresh pain down her throat but she swallowed it away. “That’s kind of you to say.” She warily kept glancing over at Rosello, the man a notable height and mass difference from her. “But aren’t you responsible for what happened?”

“Let the courts decide that. I haven’t bailed out the guy who did it. Isn’t that something?”

“He was your guy, though.” She bit her lip, remembering this man’s reputation for explosions and spontaneous violence with back-talking. The light turned green and they continued. She noticed Rosello was wheezing, clearly not used to covering much ground on foot. She slowed down for him. This is my chance. She remembered herself and what needed to be done. For Hoffman. For the good of the general public. “But thank you. For not simply covering for Mickey Lounds.”

“I may be a monster, but with you, I’d like to not be.” This tenderness felt like a foreign thorn in a shoe and as fake as poisoned honey.

But she pushed it down. “You’re surprisingly smooth when you want to be.” She gave a small smile, not too enthusiastic but enough of a bone to toss that he jumped for it.

“If you’re curious as to how smooth I can be, then consider an evening with me.”

“It wouldn’t be appropriate,” she looked away as though considering it. He wasn’t an idiot. He would know her intention. “Besides, what makes you think I’d accept out of authentic interest?”

“Because I know you’re authentically interested in Markie-boy.”

She returned to frowning, ready for his worst. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “Don’t deny it. But that’s fine. See, I own him. And you want to set him free. The way I see it, you could take his place one day. Once you show me you’re willing to stick around once I let him loose.”

She raised an eyebrow. “What would it take for you to simply forget about Mark Hoffman?”

“Your undying devotion and loyalty.”

She snorted. “That’s hard to prove.”

“I bet you could pull it off. And to me, that’s enough.”

“You don’t have a good track record with women. Especially women that look like me.”

“Ah, well,” now Rosello looked bashful, as if he was recalling an embarrassing memory, “you see, I’m being taken into an early retirement from all that.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“Believe it, honey. Here’s one feather for your cap. Tell your boys in brass that Don Rosello has dethroned me. My purpose now is to find a pretty little redhead and settle down.”

“And I’m the lucky girl? Swell.”

Rosello laughed, hyena giggles that made a nearby walker turn their head in concern. “See, this is why I like you. You’re a little firecracker.”

They continued their walk. “I’m assuming you already know where I live?” Any desire to separate and diverge her route to avoid him seemed a vain point.

“Obviously.”

She shook her head. She was wary of rejecting him but he had finally conceded to walking quietly next to her. So far, he had been on his best behavior. “So what’s your pitch?”

“Dinner. Followed by the opera. And then an early evening, where you are returned safe at your home. No strings attached. You may even keep your gun on you the entire evening. Oh, but you will be searched for a wire. Especially if we’re to have an open and honest conversation. And none of your task force escorting us. I want some privacy.”

“Hm. That’s surprisingly fair. But it’s still putting me in danger.”

“Then perhaps you’d consider a chaperone?” There was a smirk on the man’s face.

“Who did you have in mind?” She already knew. Knox had anticipated this.

“Markie-boy, of course.”

She swallowed, imagining all the ways the night could go wrong. Most of them involved Hoffman losing control and then proceeding to get harmed by Rosello or one of his likely bodyguards that would be nearby.

But this was what needed to be done. She needed Rosello’s trust. “Fine.”

“Splendid!” Rosello declared breathlessly as he snapped his fingers and the limo pulled up beside them. “Enjoy the rest of your walk, Red. I’ll pick you up this Saturday at 5.” And the man drove off.

“You went and put yourself in danger as well as jeopardized this operation without consulting me first!” Tapp was angrier than he had seen in a long time. And it was the first time Matthews had seen Tapp angry at anyone besides him.

Mad Max stood head downcast and with her hands at her hips while she got reamed by the old man, spittle flying out of his mouth as he got up to her face and bellowed like a drill instructor in boot camp. The rest of the task force was spread throughout the room. Matt Gibson kept stealing glances over at the spectacle before shyly looking down at his coffee. Peter Strahm and Lindsay Perez seemed to silently communicate with each other with passive glances and folded arms.

Matthews exhaled some smoke and crossed his arms to enjoy the show. If only I had some popcorn.

Ally elbowed him sharply and he jumped. Looking over, she gave a stern, ‘You better intervene and fix this’ glower, making him moan in disdain.

“I have a mind to have you taken off the force and have Grissom consider suspending you without pay!”

“David,” Matthews grumbled as he approached the man.

“You compromised the integrity of this investigation and clearly have no respect for the hard work your colleagues have put into his case.”

“David,” Matthews raised his voice and put a hand on the man’s back with a smarting smack. “Give the kid a break.”

Tapp spun around with renewed fury and directed it in his direction. “Oh? I’m surprised you, of all people, think I should be giving Maddox here a break.”

“I think she made the right call.” Matthews stood toe-to-toe with Tapp, the two men glaring at each other as though sizing each other for a fight.

“She should have run it by you first,” Sing joined in, adding, “but it’s not like she planned for Rosello to just pull up to her and ask her out. We should take advantage of this opportunity. We’ve got no leads. We’ve got nothing new except this.”

“It’s not just about catching the bad guy, Sing,” Tapp lectured, “The safety of our peers needs to be protected.”

“And it will be,” Kerry stood up. “We have prepared for almost a year now. We’ll be cautious. But I think it’s time to let us use the little advantages we have over this guy.”

“Which is, what, exactly?” Tapp snapped.

“His obsession with Maddox,” Peter Strahm threw in. “It’s clear he has developed a fixation on her and we have a more concise profile. He’s desperate for a maternal figure that holds authority over him that resembles his mother. Which, Will here, has full capability of emulating.”

Tapp looked around at the room, searching for anyone on his side of the argument. Matthews felt for the guy. It sucked when it felt like the whole world was against him.

“If Will is aware of the risks and still wants to put herself out there to catch the guy, I think we should let her,” Perez softly muttered before looking away from Tapp’s furious stare.

“Well I don’t. There has to be a better way. Will could die.” Gibson’s cheeks turned pink when the entire room turned to glare at him. “Just saying.”

“So that’s one no. And you, Fisk?” Tapp looked over to Fisk who had been quiet in the corner. Fisk’s shoulders slumped. “If anything happened to Will, it would be a sad day.” Tapp nodded vigorously, eager for him to continue. “But we all signed up for this knowing the risks. We come to work every morning with the possibility we won’t go home. But if we don’t take those risks, there will be more Rosellos out there to hurt innocent people. More people will die if we don’t do whatever is necessary to stop the bad guys. That’s my two cents.” Fisk folded his arms and looked away.

Tapp let out a deep growl but bowed his head. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, Maddox. But mark me, girl, you will follow my orders and will not disobey them. Or you’re off. Do you hear me?”

“Yes, I do.” Maddox looked thrilled.

Matthews took another drag of his cigarette, going to sit back with Kerry. “You happy?” He whispered into her ear.

“Very. Thank you.” Ally reached a hand and squeezed his forearm, the touch loving. He blinked, feeling a smile crack his mouth. At least this all finally blew over.

Chapter Text

He wondered where his morning went wrong.

He had rolled out of bed. Shaved. Changed. And decided a good detour to his favorite cafe was just the treat he needed.

How the hell did that lead to him behind the counter trying to calm the shrieking barista with purple hair as some wingnut shot rounds in the air. Idiot’s already down one magazine. He wondered how much ammunition the fuck carried. It sounded like a lot.

Another problem was that an officer was currently clutching a bullet hole in his chest, trying not to die as he grew paler. Hoffman had shoved as many towels into and onto the puncture, pushing the packing down with as much pressure as the rookie could handle. “Am I going to die?” The guy asked with shaking fingers. “I feel cold.”

“You’re not going to die,” he growled before turning to the college kid with the colorful hair. “Hey. Come here and hold this down. Don’t let him bleed out.” The woman was crying but thankfully crawled over to hold the crimson-stained rags.

Hoffman didn’t recognize the downed officer. He barely looked out of high school. The boy’s face was contorted with terrible pain and absolute terror. Hoffman forced himself to compartmentalize. He needed to get these people out of here.

To complicate things, the guy had another hostage. A kid. Little girl was crying for her Dad.

This was not the kind of morning Hoffman had been ready for. He was just sad he didn’t get at least one sip of his espresso that now puddled on the floor a few feet away. Not that he wasn't wide awake now from sheer adrenaline alone. He took in a deep breath and waited for the man to reload.

Distant sirens sounded, a godsend chorus. He just needed to buy more time and keep everyone else alive.

He rose from behind the counter and pointed the weapon directly at the man. “Let’s calm down.”

The guy brought way too much firepower for the situation, his fumbling with his giant gun and his poor coordination gave Hoffman, the more experienced gunfighter, a chance to grab the upper hand. With a frustrated snarl, the perpetrator threw down his semiautomatic and proceeded to pull a knife and press it to the kid’s neck. The girl looked no older than kindergarten.

“You don’t want to hurt her. Let’s talk this through.”

“Back off!” The man screamed. “This is my daughter and I’m taking her with me.”

Of course she is. Hoffman looked at the girl and the corpse at her feet. The woman had a similar hair color to the kid but was very much dead. “Let me guess. Bad divorce?”

“She took everything. I’m just taking back what’s mine.” The man’s eyes were wild and his lips trembled, looking all around for boogeymen and danger.

“What’s your name?” Hoffman was never good at hostage situations, wishing Will was there to smooth this mess over.

“Nick.”

“Well, Nick, why don’t you let your kid go? She’s scared.”

“Because that bitch brainwashed her. Told her I was no good.” He was breathless but squeezed his grip tighter on her. “I’m not gonna let her get taken from me.”

“What’s her name?”

“Suzy. Her name is Suzy.”

“Nick, if we can get through this with no more deaths, I’ll personally make sure you and Suzy don’t get separated.”

The little girl hiccuped, tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn’t look particularly interested in being stuck with a father who would put a knife to her neck and kill her mother. But he had to say something to get the bastard to let her go. Just outside the coffee shop, the screeching of tires and the shouts of men filled the air.

Nick swore, spinning his head around and backing up with Suzy in tow. “I know I’ve gone too far. I just lost it. She was moving to Canada. She was going to take Suzy!” The man was shaking.

“Well, it looks like there’s a change of plans.” Hoffman kept looking down his sights.

The man’s eyes shined and he let out a hysterical laugh. “Yeah. There is.”

“But let’s try to think about Suzy. Don’t you think you’re scaring her?”

“She just doesn’t know me anymore. But she will.” The girl whimpered, which merely earned herself a sharp jerk from Nick who had grabbed the side of her collar and shook her around.

“Shut up! I’m not going to hurt you!”

“Nick, how about you cool it with being so rough with her. You’re only making things worse. I’m sure she loves you. Don’t you, Suzy?”

The girl shook her head quickly and Hoffman would have laughed if the situation was not so dire. The father grabbed her by the hair and jerked her small head back, her neck exposed even more.

Anger flared up and out of him. He clicked the safety off and had his finger caressing the trigger. “Cool it, Nick. What you're showing her right now isn’t any good. It doesn’t look like she’s understanding the situation. How old is she?”

“Six.”

“Imagine how confusing this whole situation is for a six-year-old?”

The man snapped, “This whole situation is confusing for anyone!”

Well, he’s right on that. Hoffman backpedaled, “I’m a cop. I can make sure this whole mess gets taken care of.”

The man blinked. “Cops are liars.”

“Not all of them,” Hoffman lied, “But if you go through with this and hurt Suzy? There won’t be anything I can do. And you don’t want to look back on this day, regretting you did anything different yeah?”

The man bowed his head, sobbing. “It’s too late.”

Hoffman had lost him. This guy wasn’t going to be rationalized with and he wasn’t going to bother trying anymore. It was going to waste time and end up with another dead kid. He had to come up with a Plan B and fast. One of his guys was bleeding out and needed an ambulance pronto. Searching around, he noticed the man was standing on what looked like a mix of coffee, creamer, and blood.

What he needed was to get that sharpened steel away from the girl’s throat. He, having the gun trained on the man’s head, would be able to make the shot but didn’t want the kid to end up with a scar or worse, bleed out before the paramedics made it.

He needed to distract the guy somehow. Or at least get a clean shot of the back of his brain stem. If he hit the spot just right, the guy would die standing, with no muscle spasms to make him do any more damage.

“COME OUT WITH YOUR HANDS UP,” The amplified voice of what Hoffman assumed was Detective Willis, called out behind him from the street.

Nick shook his head. “I’m not coming out. You. Tell them I want a car and all of those fucks to back up a block.”

Hoffman nodded. “Sure. But I want to talk to Suzy.”

“Fuck off.”

“Suzy?” Hoffman was starting to doubt this guy would actually slit his kid’s throat but he remained delicate with the situation. “You ever go on the swings?”

The girl nodded, confusion eclipsing her fear.

“If you hear a large bang, I want you to pretend you’re trying to make the swing go forward. Kick with both legs. You got me?”

“What - what the fuck are you talking about?” Nick’s voice became shrill.

“It’s all right,” he pretended to talk to someone behind him. “I’ve got this under control.”

The man spun around, pulling Suzy with him.

Hoffman only had a handful of seconds with a clear view of Nick’s back.

He made the shot.

An explosion of blood and brains flew outward and what was left of the man slumped to the side.

A little girl’s screams were drowned out by the sound of the sirens of backup. But screams were good. Screams meant her throat wasn’t cut.

Hoffman rushed towards her, picking up her tiny form and pulling her away from the man, pulling her face to his chest to block the sight of gore. She doesn’t need to see any of that.

When David Tapp was examining the blueprints to the Rosello Estate, a ruckus outside made him pause from his study. He wondered what those rookies were doing that got them so excited but his curiosity got the best of him. He went out to investigate.

It looked like a good ol’ party that he wasn’t invited to. He recognized Matthews and Kerry as they talked with smiles on their faces among the throngs of uniforms and detectives.

Mark Hoffman was getting pats on the back and smiles from faces belonging to conscientious objectors to the Mark Hoffman Fan Club.

Sing was on the outskirts of the crowd, arms folded as he leaned against a desk.

“What’d I miss,” Tapp asked, looking on as Matthews came over and threw an arm around Hoffman’s shoulders, pulling him into a chokehold as the two began horsing around like they were ten years younger.

“Hostage situation. No dead cops, though plenty of dead civilians. Saved a little girl. It’s a news circus right now but he made all of us look real good. You should see Grissom, he’s practically skipping. There’s even talk about Hoffman getting a promotion.”

“It’s bullshit,” Gibson called out, joining their conversation. He stared glumly at the celebration. “Hoffman probably shot first.”

“How’s that IA investigation going?” Sing, too, kept his eyes trained on Hoffman with skepticism.

“Apparently, the IA found nothing wrong with Hoffman’s performance. In fact, there’s Brookers over there.” Gibson nodded towards the head of Internal Affairs, who seemed ready to kiss Mark Hoffman, though instead gave him a one-armed hug.

“It’s how it is,” Tapp grumbled.

Will Maddox came up, all smiles and starry-eyed. They all watched as she shamelessly threw her arms around Hoffman and planted a kiss on his neck with the erupted “oohs” from the onlookers.

“It’s wrong,” Gibson shook his head, voice thick with emotion. “IA ain’t doing their job.”

“Sorry,” Sing shared sympathy, though Tapp knew he had been warned. “Maybe next time.”

“People like Hoffman can’t be allowed to get away with this. It’s not right.”

“Well, you can always try to transfer to IA. Sounds like that’s more your speed,” Sing smirked.

“Yeah. You know, maybe I will.”

Tapp and Sing exchanged glances. “How about wait until Rosello’s put away, rookie,” Tapp decided now was the time to get back to work. He had seen enough.

Detective Sergeant Hoffman had a nice ring to it.

“You did good, Hoffman. Damn good.” Grissom was beaming, a rare sight in his presence. He opened his cigar case. “Want to celebrate?” He went to pick up one of the hand rolled logs but Hoffman shook his head.

“Not a smoker.” He kept his face smooth and friendly but just the idea of the smell made him want to punch the wall. He was sick of cigars and the smell of them.

“Well, feel free to take the rest of the day off. Tell your sister about your new promotion. We’ll have a ceremony Friday.”

“Thank you, sir,” he felt like it was a dream. He never thought he’d finally make the next rank. Not after everything he had done.

“We’re thinking of putting you up in one of the offices upstairs.” Grissom rubbed his nose with a sobered frown. “Once all this Rosello business gets sorted, that is.”

“I understand.” Hoffman looked down at the shiny temp badge, the brass all glossy and new. A spur of guilt burrowing into his chest.

“Maybe you and Maddox can share the eastside room. She’s up for promotion as well.” Hoffman felt Grissom’s eyes on him, dissecting him.

He kept his face blank but he knew what this sudden fascination was about. She just had to go and kiss me in front of the entire department. He tried to feel nothing but indignation yet his ears heated up as he recalled how thrilling it was, feeling her soft lips on his skin. The act had staked its claim for all to see. Everyone now knew that she and him were something - whatever something was - and sent a clear message.

She was his.

Hell, if all he had to do was rescue kids from estranged fathers to get some more of that attention, he’d start camping out in front of a divorce attorney’s office.

“Hoffman? You deaf?”

He blinked. “That’ll be fine. We’re used to sharing space.”

Knowing amusement twinkled behind thick spectacles. “Funny. A couple years ago, you’d be bitching about how you don’t share with anyone.” After some silence, Grissom shrugged. “Well, how about you figure out a way out of this mess you’re in soon. That way we can all move on and get some control on the city again. Maybe this new year we’ll finally not look like a gang of idiots.”

“I’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Need anything else?” Dismissing himself, he left the office to suddenly get blindsided by a sharp jab in his left arm. He turned and looked down at the freckled cheeks surrounded by red curls. “What?”

“So? What’s the news?” She was vibrating with excited energy and she practically jumped when she saw the brass shining back at her. “You got it! Oh! Congrats!” She pushed him again, the sudden physical contact shocking him to move slightly.

“You’re going to give me a bruise.”

“If you think I’m the one that’s going to bruise, you have another thing coming.” She shook her head. “Hopefully your chest’s healed up before you wear it.”

“Doubt anyone’s going to try to smack the badge into me. I never got that sort of treatment before.” He knew she was referring to an old tradition where the badge would be hit against the wearer upon their first few days of being promoted. It just wasn’t something they did at the Metropolitan Police Department. “And you’ve already used up all your punches.”

She playfully pouted, folding her arms. “Well at least let me buy you dinner.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What’s changed? I thought we needed to keep our distance.” As he spoke he looked behind her, noticing two men from Narcotics glancing their way before turning their heads sharply.

She followed his gaze. “I’ll tell you over dinner.”

“That sounds ominous.”

She squinted up at him. “Well, I know you’re not going to like it. But I’m hoping you’ll be bought off with food and drink.”

“What’s my limit?”

“None.”

“Now I know I’m not going to like it.” He folded his arms. “What is it?”

She sighed and tried to pull his forearms back down. “Just - let’s go. Name your place. Somewhere quiet will probably be best though.”

“And what if we’re followed?”

“It’s not like anything I’ll tell you will be new to Rosello.”

“Goddamn it.”

He opted for Angie’s restaurant. Normally too pricey for his tastes, he figured whatever bad news Will was about to throw at him, it couldn’t be the end of the world if he was eating his sister’s cooking.

Will and him sat at a table by the wall, far from the windows but with a decent vantage point. The cost of the beer alone made him want to weep for the common folk. But hell, she said no limit, so he opted for some top shelf scotch. She didn’t even raise an eyebrow.

Her lack of jibe or complaint at his drink choice was what set him off the edge. Heart pounding, he pulled at the bread they were served with and peered over at Will as she leisurely perused the menu. “What do you recommend?” She was stalling.

“I don’t eat here. I’m not sure. Ange usually keeps things simple at home. I’ve never seen these words in my life.”

“I think raclette is a cheese?” Her eyes scanned the menu before darting back up to meet his with nervous energy.

He could be patient when he wanted to. But after his first drink, he finally caved. “Just tell me.”

She sighed and put the menu down. She folded her hands in her lap. “I’m going on a date with Toni Rosello.”

“What?” He must have misheard her. He took a healthy gulp of the filtered water. “Say that again.”

She bit her lip. “This Saturday, I have a date with Toni Rosello.”

He blinked, slowly inhaled, and contemplated what she was saying. “What did he do?”

“He just asked me.”

“And if you had said no, what would he have done?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. He didn’t exactly threaten me. He just asked. But he did suggest he’d consider leaving you be if I do.”

“I know you’re not that gullible. And you just accepted?” He was incredulous. “What’re you thinking you’re going to get from him? A signed confession if you sit on his lap for a few minutes?”

“No. I don’t. But I need to get close to him. But it’s not all bad. You’re going to be there.”

He was taken aback. “Rosello’s idea, I take it.” The idea of having to watch the two of them in a romantic setting was enough to make him map out where the nearest gallon of bleach was.

“Yes, but it makes sense. You can be my extra protection.” She breathlessly added, “We can take him down together.”

He rubbed his temple, a headache rampaging in his skull. “For fuck’s sake, Maddox.”

“Feel free to order the lobster.” Will turned to the approaching waiter and took the glass of wine, sighing into it as she took a healthy sip. “And name your demands. I’ll make all of this up to you.”

He never felt more defeated in his life. “What do I have to do to make sure you don’t go through with this?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

He ground his teeth. “Wilhelmina.”

Her eyes curved into pained crescents at the sound of her full name. “No. This is not part of that discussion. Okay? I’m tired, Mark. I’m tired of seeing you like this. I want the Mark Hoffman of today. The man who goes and makes the right call and saves lives. Not this side of you that the devil is forcing you to be.” She put her glass down and took his hand, her grip tight and cool. “I love you.”

The world felt slow all of a sudden. He wasn’t sure he heard her correctly. “What?”

“I. Love. You. Okay? As soon as all of this is over, I want us to go back to being partners. Solving crimes. Cleaning up the city. And we can be. Once you’re free.”

He felt like he was dreaming. It must have been a dream. “...as friends? Or more?”

She shook her head, pretty and serious. “I don’t know. But that’s not the point. I’m telling you. The last time, at your place,” she looked briefly away before returning his eye contact, “I was scared about how you made me feel. But I’ve thought about it. And everything that’s come to this - I don’t want it to be for nothing. You’re… you’re someone I don’t want to lose. I’m tired of losing the men in my life.” Her eyes were brimming but she pressed on. “Let me save you. And after, we can figure the rest out from there.”

It wasn’t a marriage proposal. But it practically felt like one. He flustered. “I…” He wasn’t a man of many words but she had frozen the few he had in his mouth.

The waiter arrived to take their orders. He stumbled through, not caring or even remembering what he had asked for. He just wanted the guy to go away so they could continue this talk.

The three words rang in his ear and he could have played it on loop forever.

I love you.

It had been a very long time since he heard someone besides Angie say that to him.

Finally, they were alone again. “You’re not just saying this to get me to go along with your plan, are you?” Please don’t be cruel to me, Will.

Now, she looked thoughtful, as though seriously considering him. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t know what to believe.” He shook his head. “You confuse me, Will.”

“Well, stay alive long enough to not be confused anymore.” She pulled his hand to her and kissed it, smiling that dazzling smile and it felt like the world had stood still. “And trust me on this. I’ll get you out. Just be on your best behavior-,”

“OH MY GOD!” The two of them jumped and turned to see Angelina in a chef’s coat and hat with her hands on her cheeks, beaming down at them. “Mark! Will! How long?!” She was red-faced and squealing, making him wince.

“Calm down, Ange,” he tried to soften the disruption but she continued pining.

“I knew it. I just knew you two would get together. I’ve got to tell Pete, we have a betting pool going.” Angelina leaned down and put her arm around him and pulled him into a hug. “And you two decided to finally tell me! This is just perfect for the wedding! Now you two can dance together as a real couple and it’s going to just be so cute! The pictures!”

He took a deep breath, keeping his cool for his sister’s sake. Maybe choosing her restaurant wasn’t the best venue for this situation, if he was going to keep his work-life separate from his personal life. But looking at Will, he knew that ship had sailed, been lit on fire, and sunk to the bottom long before that day.

Chapter Text

Kerry helped her attach a thigh holster under her skirt, the velcro scratching her skin. She couldn’t help her twitching fingers as she adjusted the straps to her dress. “I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I don’t blame you,” Ally pulled at the hem of her dress to help conceal the bulge of the weapon. “I’m not sure how thorough they’ll be with their search. You sure you don’t want to risk a wire? In case…”

In case things go wrong and there’ll at least be some evidence as to what went down. “Yeah, I’m sure. Remember, I’m armed. We’ll be in public. And there’s Hoffman.”

“Yeah.” Ally tried to smile but couldn’t quite get there. “Will,” she took her wrist and gave her a squeeze. “Be careful out there.”

Will nodded and left the locker room. Normally, during an undercover sting like this, the guys would whistle and throw some playful remarks, for irony’s sake, at seeing one of their own in a ridiculous costume. She stepped out, hooker heels tall and her red dress tight. Everyone stood around with arms folded and stiff frowns painted on.

Tapp looked her up and down, nodding in begrudging approval. “You’ll need a coat. It’s cold out there.”

Perez provided something long and warm, the thick black wool covering her calves.

Peter Strahm approached with his arms folded, eyebrows furrowed. “Remember. Appeal to his ego when he begins showing hostile behavior. But maintain a distance to keep him interested. And even though we won’t have it on record, try to get as much intel as you can.”

She nodded and he put a hand on her shoulder. “Stay on your toes.”

Kerry drove her back to their apartment, now with the task force in separate vehicles and positioned at every corner of the block. She had been running on non stop adrenaline rushes since the day began, her knee bouncing as she sat in the car seat. The various tips of her colleagues echoed in her mind.

”Keep him in your view.”

“Stay on his good side.”

“Don’t show fear.”

Was this it? She tried not to think about it, but the harsh fact that she could die that night was like a terrible fog swallowing her up. It wasn’t an ideal way to go, by any means. She wanted Rosello behind bars and many others like him before she finally kicked the bucket.

“We’ll get him, Ally. I’m not sure about tonight. But I’ll figure something out.” Her friend didn't reply and instead, put on the radio. The traffic report droned on.
Once they reached their destination, she got out of the car. No sooner had she stepped out than the familiar black limo pulled up behind their car, the driver fast with patting her down and opening the back door for her. He let her keep her all weapons, from the guns attached to her thigh to the one in her purse. Even the mace was allowed to stay. Will waved a farewell to her roommate who nodded back with as much a brave face as she could muster.

She slid in, her partner on the driver’s side of the bench seat. Mark looked straight ahead, barely acknowledging her entrance. They were immersed in a typically luxurious interior. Leather seats, a small television, and a minibar greeted her. The smell of car leather, cigar smoke, and cologne wafted through.

Sitting across from her, the great round blob of a creature, grinned back at her. “‘Evening, Red.” She couldn't tell when his pupils ended and his irises began. He either was high or just a soulless beast. She knew it was the latter.

She smiled back at the grease slicked hair and freshly shaven face. “Mr. Rosello.”

“Please. Call me Toni when we’re out here like this.” His eyes glittered and invaded her space with hunger. “You look nice. Real nice.”

“You clean up rather well yourself,” she spoke, though he always leaned towards formal attire whenever she came across him.

Her eyes scanned the area and landed on Mark. “Did I miss any interesting conversation?” She was noticing how white his knuckles were, held in his lap. He was dressed in a dinner jacket, looking ready to eat a bear.

Rosello smirked. “Oh, don’t worry. He hasn’t given me grief for tonight. Which means you’ve either told him in advance or I’m in real trouble.”

“Guess you’ll have to wait and find out which it is,” she felt uncertain if she was making the right impression, so she opted to take her coat off. “It’s a bit warm in here,” she fanned herself, though she wasn’t remotely sweating.

Black beady eyes swept from her neck to her exposed shoulders, making her internalize the shiver that almost broke through. She kept her red lips upturned and batted her lashes a bit, hoping she could sell the night on mostly her physical appeal alone. It was a lot easier to sit back and look pretty than pull the guy’s interest with her wit. She wanted to hold back, in case she really needed it to keep Hoffman from going off the deep end. He had shifted in his seat, suddenly fascinated by something out the window, jaw muscles twitching.

The mobster didn’t offer to reduce the heat, confirming that he was enjoying the wholesome peepshow she was giving him. Looking out her window, she admired the passing city lights and gardens, noting they were heading towards the upper crust of the city that was way outside her literal paygrade.

Despite her nerves earlier, seeing the many people out and about as well as the very public venue he was taking her to, helped. A little.

“Relax, Red,” Rosello had proceeded to pour her a drink. “Here, this should calm your nerves.”

She had carefully observed him pour the drink and waited for him to pour himself one. Before he took a sip of his she calmly demanded, “Let’s switch drinks.”

Amused, Rosello complied, but upon exchanging crystal tumblers his fingers grazed hers. She couldn’t help but narrow her eyes at the obvious intentional contact but all that was returned to her were dancing eyebrows as he heartily emptied his glass. “Shouldn’t you offer Hoffman one?”

“Oh, I’m sure your bodyguard should stay sober tonight. Don’t want to make you feel like I’m taking advantage.”

Conversation felt stunted and awkward until they finally pulled up to their next destination. The chauffeur had proceeded to hold the door open for all three of them, Will returning into the warmth of her coat while shivering and gravitating towards Hoffman’s direction.

“Shall we?” Rosello had held out his arm, patiently waiting for her. She nodded and took the thick and mushy elbow, keeping her eyes cheery and her mouth upturned.
He guided her through the doors, pulling her into a dark room with smells of exotic spices and rich meats. Despite them, her stomach felt like a bee was buzzing inside.

The sudden loss of light made her on high alert, blinking quickly to adjust to the loss of visibility.

The host greeted them with a wide smile and led them to their dining area, in a private room far from the majority of the patrons.

Hoffman, who had only been a shadow in the corner of her eye, had fallen back. She whirled to catch him standing at the archway that separated the external room, hand gripping his wrist in front of him.

He seemed to intensely admire the golden sconces. Violently.

“It’s nice to have some privacy, don’t it? Makes things more intimate.” Rosello's voice pulled at her face like a slimy verbal tentacle.

“I like how quiet it is. Makes it easier to talk.” She flashed her teeth and let him hold her seat for her at the large square table. Seats adjacent to them remained empty. He sat across from her, snapping his fingers for the waiters to arrive to pour their drinks.

“Exactly. Let's get to know each other better.”

She had taken a shaky drink of her water, the ice rattling against the glass. Shit. She felt his eyes capture the tremor with disdain. Strahm's warning echoed in her memory. Don't show fear. “What's there to get? You seem the kind of man who does their research. Thoroughly.” 

He giggled, the hyena pleased. “You know what they say.”

“And what’s that?”

“You’ll never know a person until you climb into their skin and walk.” The hyena bark came out as he howled at his own joke.

She leaned into her backrest, sighing. If there is a God, give me strength. “I’ll spare you the trouble. Under all this skin we’re the same.”

The beady black eyes narrowed. “Oh, we’re quite different, Red. Don’t try to flatter yourself.”

Empathy not working. Abort. “Have I done something to offend you tonight, Toni?”

“Not particularly. But I appreciate honesty in a relationship. I’m aware that you don’t find yourself quite on the same level of perspective as I am.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

The server arrived to pour the wine and she took the glass. Rosello held his glass up. “In time. A toast. To the future. To us.”

She drank, not sure what exactly he was alluding to then continued their train of thought. “If, by perspective, you mean how we value human life, then perhaps that’s where we diverge.”

“Diverge. Cute. But that would suggest we were once walking the same path. I never knew we overlapped. But I appreciate you trying to ‘connect’ with me, Red. Is that what that federal shrink told you to try on me?”

Her eyes widened briefly but she regained her composure. “I’m just making an effort here. Go easy on me. Isn’t this a date?” She leaned forward, his eyes falling down to her chest and she smiled with newfound fire. Gotcha.

“It takes two to tango, Red. I’ll play nice if you will.” He brought a hand up to brush a stray curl from her forehead. She kept her face still despite the urge to flinch.

Hoffman, in her line of sight, was a boulder at the archway. He seemed to tighten the grip of his wrist in front of him, thick lips pulled back in the faintest snarl. He stared at the two of them with venom.

"Toni," she lowered her voice and studied the mobster's face. She could see the pores on his nose and the yellowing cracks of his teeth. "Why me?"

The shark looked like he was about to dine on a sushi buffet. "You're brave. Cute. I like that in a woman."

If it had been anyone else to compliment her, she would have been touched. But coming from him, it had been akin to being told she was a doll in the toy store he had to have because they had the fiercest outfit. He was collecting her. Like all the other victims.

"I'm flattered. I didn't know you'd have a soft spot," she reached and put a hand over the predator's wrist. She always wondered how the beautiful trophy wife could lean into flirting with someone way below their league. It surprised her to find it was quite easy.

"By the end of tonight, I'll show you a couple of other spots you didn't know I'd have."

She forcefully restrained her spine from shuttering in repulsive terror. "Let’s start slow. Dine me first."

"After dinner, that's fair. Can't make a life-changing decision on an empty stomach my zietta always says."

She opened her mouth to ask what he meant about life-changing but the first course had arrived. Olives, cured meats, cheeses, and spreads were placed before them. The shark began to feed with greedy gobbling while she cautiously picked at the meal.

She occasionally stole glances at her partner who had remained as stoic and motionless as a gargoyle petrified in his rage.

Her wine glass had not been permitted to be empty as the diligent servers kept pouring her fresh glasses so she began nursing with false sips while Rosello continued to consume like a black hole trying to prove its supremacy.

"I like this, Red. Sitting here, you by my side. I can see this happening for a good long while."

She kept smiling but hoped her silence was seen as a respectful gesture and not her struggling to continue the charade. She felt tired.

"What would you say, imagining us having meals like this more often."

"So far, I'm open to the idea." She was floundering with faint ideas of how to tow the conversation onto him incriminating himself. And then it struck her. "I don't know how realistic it would be, though."

"Why not?"

"Our businesses clash."

"Ah, good point. Well, you know my ways of making your business go away."

"I'm not dirty, Rosello."

"Not yet. But I'll get you on my level soon enough. I've got what you want." Rosello looked over at Hoffman with a sneer. "And you've already proved you'll walk through the mud for this oaf."

"He's not an oaf," she snapped before she could pull the words back into her mouth. She bit her lip but the damage had been dealt.

The shark was on high alert, watching her with reproach. "What is he, then?"

“My partner.”

Rosello swiped his arm across the table, throwing the plates and cutlery onto the floor. The shattering of ceramic made her wince. “Aaank. Wrong, Red. He’s more than that. At least, nowadays he is.” The barrel of a Smith and Wesson stared back at her, Rosello pulling the hammer back with his thumb.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Will forced her voice to remain calm but it felt as though a fist was around her throat and it was beginning to squeeze tight.

“Tired of you not being completely honest, Red.”

“About what?”

“You. And him.” Rosello kept his eyes trained on her, looking at ease. “Have the decency of being forthright with me here. I ain’t a dummy. So don’t try to give me those sweet little lies by omission you seem real fond of trying.”

Her wrists were resting on the corner of the table. She slowly reached for her surviving wine glass and took a long, healthy drink. Finally, she declared, “you’re insane.”

Rosello giggled. “Finally. If this is what it takes to make you candid, then this is how it’ll be. And don’t even think about it, Markie-boy,” Rosello pressed the revolver into Will’s temple, the cool metal digging into her skin with a sting. “I want you to slowly walk over here with your gun and put it on the table close to me. You, too, Red. And have a seat, Markie.” Rosello narrowed his eyes, his obsidian irises glinting. “I want to play a game.”

The blood had drained from his face but he maintained his composure. He slowly removed the rounds from his weapon and gave it to Rosello. In pieces, so he wouldn't easily use it on them.

He had a few backups on him. One on his ankle. Another attached around his shoulders. The one at his hip had to be sacrificed but he was bulky enough and his suit was draped to hopefully let Rosello not pay attention to the remainder.

He was counting on the bastard having a freakout. The lines of coke he had snorted before Will had arrived tipped him off that this was going to be one hell of a night. This sudden shift to violent chaos brought a serene calmness over him, a soothing break from having to stomach watching the bastard touch her. But only for a moment.

Rosello pointing a gun to Will's head was only a slight improvement to him drooling over her tits.

She had taken out her small pistol and placed it on the table, pushed to Rosello’s side. In her small red dress, she looked vulnerable and shaken. The yellow mood lighting of the restaurant made her look jaundiced. Hell, this was the most scared he had ever seen her. He wanted to tell her everything was going to be alright.

“What kind of game?” Will’s voice had gone low and gentle, as though soothing a child in a tantrum.

“Truth or Dare?”

“How old are you? Twelve?” Hoffman jeered, no longer holding himself back. Rosello’s eyes snapped to him and with one swift movement, he backhanded Will across the cheek with his gun. Hoffman jumped to his feet and Rosello shot a round in the air before returning it to Will’s head. The restaurant’s ambiance had shattered with the screams of nearby patrons. A waiter had been entering the room to provide their next course but had quickly turned around and walked away as if he had forgotten something. Coward. Hoffman couldn’t blame him but he only hoped backup would arrive sooner than later.

“You’re pushing, Markie. And now you’ve gotten her hurt.”

Will spat blood, her cheek swelling asymmetrically. “I’m fine,” she snapped with renewed fury, her words already muffled with pain. “Don’t worry.”

“You both should worry. This version of T and D is going to be judged by yours truly. I’m going to ask Truths I know for a fact are true or false and the dares, you just gotta do. Pretty straightforward, even Markie-boy can't fuck it up. Now. Let’s start. Markie. Truth or Dare. If you don’t follow the rules, I’ll blast her to pieces. One ear at a time. And keep your hands on the table. Both of you.”

The weight of the situation began to press its leaden foot deep into his chest. He curled his hands into fists as they rested on the tabletop, some spilled food sticking to his skin.

Truth would have been his first choice, had it not been for all the dirt Rosello had on him. “Dare.”

Rosello let out a triumphant laugh. “I dare you. To deck Will. Like you mean it.”

“No,” he growled but Rosello shook his head with euphoric glee.

“I have the power. It’s either a fist to her face or a bullet. Your choice, but I believe she’d heal from the fist.”

“It’s fine,” Will looked up at him. “Won’t be the first time I took a punch.”

“And don’t hold back. I’ll know.”

Hoffman shook his head again. “No. I’ll take Truth.”

“No takebacks, Markie-boy. That wasn’t part of the rules. Now, on your feet.”

“I could kill her,” Hoffman muttered, hoping with foolish desperation that Rosello would stop this to protect her. “I could seriously hurt her.”
“I gave you a choice. You chose this. You have on the count of three. One.”

Hoffman got to his feet, looking down at Will whose eyes had gotten wide. Her chest was rising and falling rapidly.

“Two.”

He threw his fist back and sent it towards her, aiming for the hardest part of the skull. Her forehead. Every moment felt as though it had slowed down, despite his desire to have gotten it done and over with. His knuckles dug into the skin of her forehead and pain shot up his wrist. He had tried to minimize the damage by striking her with as open of a fist as he could sneak by, the pain shooting up his arm and his fingers. Fuck.

She had not escaped unscathed. Her head flung back and she fell out of her chair, delirious. “Fuck,” she groaned to his relief. She'd be fine.

“Damn, Red. I guess this explains how you stuck around with Griffin for so long. You sure can take a punch. Sit down, Markie.”

Hoffman collapsed into his chair, looking at the floor with only contempt grinding in his teeth. He felt like a fucking monster.

“Now,” the persistent snapping of fingers forced him to look at their torturer who seemed bored. “I need you both attentive, otherwise the game will get boring. Come on, Red. Back in your chair, now.”

She was struggling to pull herself up, the straps to her dress falling down and revealing bruising skin and scrapes on her chin. “Sorry, Toni,” she spat again, her teeth as bright scarlet as her smudged lipstick. Her nose was bleeding and dripping liquid crimson onto the pale skin of her chest and dress. Hell, her eyes looked like they're bleeding. She locked eyes with Hoffman and but he had to look away. He felt nothing but disgust for himself. “Good call getting Hoffman to throw the punch. You’d never be able to hit me like that.”

Rosello’s giddy gasps in between the background noise of people fleeing the scene in shuffling panicked footsteps filled their pause as Will coughed and wiped at her nose. “You,” Rosello was wheezing, “are one fun broad.”

“I’ve got nothing to lose, now. So my turn. I choose Truth.”

“Oh, no fun. Fine.” Rosello pulled the gun away to scratch his head with the barrel. Hoffman cursed himself for not immediately tackling the man as he swiftly trained it onto Hoffman now. “Fine. Are you wearing a wire?”

“No.”

Rosello squawked the cheap imitation of a buzzer. “That’s a lie.”

“No it’s not!” She jumped to her feet, patting herself down. “You had me searched. No wire.”

“Well, I was implying underwire.” Rosello put his finger on the trigger. Hoffman shut his eyes tightly, embracing the darkness.

“Stop! I’m not wearing that either.”

“You going to prove it?”

A small, disbelieving laugh from her. A delay. “Is this your way of getting me to take my clothes off?” Despite it all, she sounded incredulous. The sound of a zipper forced Hoffman to open his eyes.

What the fuck.

She had taken her dress off and let it fall to her ankles with a plop. Had the circumstances been different, he would have thought he’d won the lottery. But it was some warped, drug-induced nightmare. She turned in a circle, draped in revealing, but practical, underwear and his most hated enemy eyefucked her as she showcased her anatomy. “See?” She went to retrieve her flimsy clothes. “No wires. Not even with the bra.”

“Oh, don’t put it all away, honey,” Rosello whined as she put her clothes back on. “Fine. Hoffman gets to survive round one. Damn.” Rosello pulled the gun back to Will. “Truth or Dare.”

“Truth.” Hoffman needed another chance to take out Rosello. A shift in attention. Something. But the man was hyperfocused. The blob was clenching his teeth, rolling on the high of being God to them. And he was raising his magnifying glass over the ants to watch them burn.

Triumph. It radiated off the mobster and Hoffman already knew what the question would be. “Who killed Frank Griffin?”

The air felt cold and thin.

Hoffman swallowed and avoided Will’s face. “No one.”

“Liar.” Rosello got to his feet and shifted over to Will, grabbing a fistful of her curls and pressing the gun to her temple. “Now you’re going to watch as Will bleeds out a new hole.”

“It’s the truth.” Hoffman didn’t back down and Rosello, for once, looked less hyper and more fascinated.

“I ordered you to kill Griffin. You said you did it.”

“I don’t follow all your orders. And I was lying then.”

“Then where is he?”

“Not the game.”

“I decide what is the game,” Rosello’s fingers were running up Will’s cheeks, thumb brushing over her lip.

“Then what are the new rules?”

Rosello looked torn as he looked down at Will who was gripping his wrist to try to lighten the tension in her hair connected to his fist. “What about me?" She was furious, teeth bared with fresh anger. "Don’t I get my turn in the original game? Come on, Toni. Ask me. Truth or Dare. Didn’t you have a master plan all this drama? Don’t let Markie-boy ruin the fun.”

Hoffman narrowed his eyes to Will, not liking how she was hijacking his attention. The heavy man leaned over her, breathing rapidly. While he was focused on her, Hoffman went to reach for his ankle holster. Rosello snapped to look at him and he froze. “Hands on the table, Markie-boy. And Red. Thanks for reminding me.” He released her hair and walked over to Hoffman, gun pressed to his heart. “Truth or Dare, Red.”

“Dare.” She got to her feet, kicking her heels off. There was a feral energy in the way she bared her shoulders. She looked as though she was planning on doing something impulsive. Drastic. 

It was time they did something drastic. But the gun was pressed into him and he had no vest. Nothing to stop that caliber from punching a hole right through him.

“I dare you,” Rosello dug into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He tossed it onto the table. “To marry me.”

She smirked in disbelief then gently unfolded the document. “How can this legally stand?”

“Never underestimate the magic of lawyers. The Rosello family just needs your signature. What’ll it be, Red? Your hand in marriage and I’ll let your partner go. Hell, I’ll give him and his sister and future brother-in-law immunity. After all, he’s going to get his heart broken no matter what you choose.”

Will bit her lip as she studied the paperwork. “Will,” Hoffman growled. Honeyed amber illuminated him, a look of calm clarity reflected through the bloody face. He pleaded with her. “Don’t.”

“Not much of a choice, Mark,” she sighed. “You got a pen?”

“Sure,” Rosello went to retrieve one but paused. “Give me a sec.” He turned to look down at his pantlegs while digging one hand through the various pockets and Hoffman went for the opportunity.

He didn’t think too much on whether he’d live through it. But he damn well wasn’t going to let Will sign that paper.

The sound of the gun going off and the worst pain in his chest struck through him like lightning. He felt wet. He felt cold. He remembered to pull out the gun in his ankle holster and he raised it up to Rosello, who had been dancing in circles searching for his lost pistol.

He lined his sight but the sound of a loud pop confused him. He hadn’t fired yet. But his vision was blurry. His arms were so heavy. He couldn’t breathe.

“Mark!” Fire, red and warm, touched his face and pressed into his chest with searing pressure. He let out a low groan, wondering why it hurt so much. “Hold on. You’re going to be okay.”

Sure he was. He wasn’t worried. Every time he blinked the blurry world got darker. He wasn't scared, not when she was there with him. Safe.

Chapter Text

Angelina Acomb

When she got the phone call, it had played out exactly as she had always feared. Ally had called to give her the worst news. 

Mark was taken to the ICU, having been shot. By Toni Rosello.

She couldn’t think straight as she tried to choose a sweater to put on. She needed to get ready to leave. Ally and Eric were going to be there any minute. She shouldn’t be struggling to choose something to wear. Just choose one!

She realized she was crying and wiped at her cheeks.

Somehow, she had gotten to the floor. There was a dust bunny under her bed. Her knees throbbed. Her ears were ringing.

And the tears just kept pouring. 

Warm hands on her shoulders and arms engulfed her. She recognized the smell of fresh laundry and Peter’s body wash. “Ange. It’s going to be alright. Let me help you. Come on.”

She didn’t remember much beyond the apartment.

Darkness. Movement. Lights.

It was beginning to rain. The cold didn’t bother her. But the splash of raindrops jolted her awake.

She was walking to the hospital, the white building and the familiar red cross a beacon that wrenched her back to reality. 

The smell of rubbing alcohol was like a sharp sting in her brain.

Will was there, an oversized blazer around her shoulders. Her dress was red. The dark fabric looked off. Wet. But not with rain.

There was blood on her knees. Blood stained her dress. And the suit jacket, despite the stains, was familiar.

She had bought it for him last Christmas. Tears made her vision blurry, once again. She wondered if it was Mark’s blood.

“Angie,” Will turned and threw her arms around her neck, pulling her in a trembling hug. “He’s in surgery right now.” Will smelled of copper and gunpowder and the ivory soap her brother had used since they were kids. She pulled her close, shutting her eyes tight and holding on for dear life.

“Please tell me he’ll live,” she whispered, praying to God and anyone that would listen. “Please. No matter what, don't let Mark die.”

No one responded.

David Tapp

David Tapp shook his head as Toni Rosello’s face disappeared behind the zipper of the oversized black body bag. It was one of their largest ones, XXXL, and the fucker barely fit. 

He watched the coroners try to hold the seams together as they pushed the bulk down to pull the zipper up. Tapp wished the warm and fuzzy feelings of finally catching the bad guy would sink in.

But it didn’t.

It just didn’t feel right, the way it all ended.

And he had a creeping feeling in his gut, like a rot with roots. It was spreading inside, an itching burn that promised that this wasn’t the last of their problems.

This city seemed to love attracting criminals of a whole new magnitude of pain in the ass.

Sing appeared by his side. “Looks like there’s already violence on 9th and Cicero. Rosello’s main stomping grounds are going through territory grabs from his underlings. Sounds like Zietta Rosello is trying to keep things under control and failing.”

Tapp nodded, not surprised. “How’s Hoffman?”

Sing raised an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look good. Matthews and Kerry are at ICU with Maddox. He’s in surgery.”

Tapp sighed. "And the wire?"

"It gave us enough. He gave a whole monolog to Hoffman right before Maddox showed up. Good ol' Toni didn't expect a thing. He just had to run his mouth, admitting to all sorts of convictable offenses. We got him and enough dirt to keep the Rosellos at bay."

Tapp nodded. “Good. Let’s get this all wrapped up so we can tell Grissom to put out the news that this city is finally free of Toni Rosello.”

“Detectives,” Lindsey Perez greeted as she and Peter Strahm arrived on the scene. “Before we fly back to Washington, we wanted to thank you for your work.”

“We’ll be sure to send copies of all records and evidence to the Bureau.”

“Good. We hope Hoffman pulls through,” Strahm forced a grimace, clearly trying to show sympathy. “I admit, I was surprised he put himself out there. If it wasn’t for him, we’d probably still be standing around with our thumbs up our asses.”

“And Maddox dead,” Sing muttered under his breath. 

Tapp shook hands with the feds and watched them leave. He had a feeling it was going to be the last time he’d see those two kids. Which was a shame. They were damn good cops.

“Strahm,” Sing had slunk to talk to him in a softer voice. He heard bits and pieces, Maddox’ name being dropped. He wasn’t sure what about, though he had an inkling that Strahm and Maddox had a thing at some point. 

Sounded like Strahm intended to part without saying goodbye.

It was how life was, sometimes.

Tapp remembered when Tiffany would get mad when he had to drop whatever he was doing and report straight to work. It was part of why she had left him, the constant moving. For people like them, romance always took backseat.

Besides. Tapp, though he often tried to keep his nose out of everyone’s business couldn’t help but smile. If Hoffman pulled through, looked like Maddox would finally be off the market. This was good. It meant most of the thirsty clowns would stop getting so distracted whenever she walked by.

After she left Frank, productivity had noticeably slowed.

He sighed, the reality of the end of the task force sinking in. He’d have to go back on generic cases. The typical braindead assignments. He almost wished another thrilling case would show up sooner than later. Otherwise, it was going to get boring fast.

Daniel Rigg

Daniel Rigg had been amongst the many boys in blue who heard the news. A dark cloud had set over the station. All, even those who had dismissed Mark Hoffman as a no-good sellout, had become grim with guilt as one of their own was holding on by a thread.

He wanted to go straight to the hospital. But Grissom had ordered all hands to remain on station. He had to go patrol. There was a call of a robbery and it was his turf. So he went to investigate.

Despite all the chaos from the sting operation, it had been a slow couple of weeks. There hadn’t been too much to do beyond patrolling and checking in with the news. 

It was raining. Cold. He internally groaned, knowing the robbery had taken place at a park. When he arrived to back up the officer on the scene, he recognized one of the suspects currently handcuffed and sitting on a curb. A skinny man with a weasley face. Beside him was an emaciated young woman who looked more dead than alive, her eyes blackened sockets.

“Cecil Adams,” Rigg shook his head in disapproval. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Fuck off, pig,” Cecil snapped. “I ain’t saying nothing.”

“No need,” the officer on the scene turned. “It seemed these two had a brilliant idea of distracting tourists and lifting their valuables off them. When one of them fought back, it got violent.”

“Charges?”

“For this one,” the officer nodded down to Cecil, “Assault, robbery, conspiracy to commit a robbery. And this one,” the woman was gestured next, “aiding and abetting, robbery, and conspiracy.”

Rigg nodded. “All right. I’ll take them in. Hey,” Rigg squatted down to the woman, her hair stringy. She shied from him. “What’s your name?”

She was trembling. He assumed she was a junkie, desperately in need of a fix.

“Amanda.”

“Okay, Amanda. A word of advice. Keep clear of this guy.” He looked over at Cecil. “He’s nothing but trouble.”

She said nothing, only stared at him with an intensity that made his blood cold. 

Shit. She’s not gonna listen to me. He sighed and straightened up, preparing to take them back to the station.

Chapter Text

Mark Hoffman

He was floating. Flying. He was in the air. The world was gray. And misty. He thought he heard a noise in the distance but it was gone before he could pause to listen. Everything hurt. 

He felt as though he was on a spinning top, being pulled apart at the limbs. Stretched like a rubber band as he rotated. And then the pain exploded, in his chest. 

It was hard to breathe.

He heard a high pitched beep. Consistent.

He heard crying. Angie? 

And a voice. Not Ange. He knew that voice.

“He’s stable,” a male voice came in, clear. “The anesthesia should wear out soon.”

“That’s a relief. Is there any lasting damage?”

“No. Not after a few months of taking it easy. He needs to be placed on limited duty.”

“Don’t worry, he will.”

“Promise me, Will, when he wakes up, you’ll make sure he doesn’t try to play hero.” It was Angie. She sounded scared. Angry. Both.

“I promise, Ange.” 

Will.

He wanted to say her name but when he tried to move his mouth he felt as though his lips were taped shut. 

He tried to move. His arms were filled with lead. 

Everything was heavy. 

He opened his eyes.

“He’s awake!” 

He saw his sister. His partner. His future brother. His coworkers. 

“Mark,” Will, her face bruised, tears streaming down her cheeks, leaned against the bed and touched his hand. 

“Thank God,” Angie was also weeping, eyes red and swollen. There was a heated fury in how her lips trembled, as if he had done something wrong. Peter held her with a relieved smile. 

“Fuck,” he growled, figuring out how to use his mouth. “I feel like I’ve been pushed through a cheese grater.”

Will laughed and swiftly broke down into another string of tears. She wiped her face furiously. “You saved my life.”

“Couldn’t let you marry that prick.”

His sister had a slight waver of confusion before she shook it away. “You both are going to be the death of me.”

“We got ‘em, Ange. He’s not going to bother us anymore.”

Ange inhaled sharply, letting out a low chuckle. “You did it. I knew it.” She sat on the edge of the hospital bed, sniffling. “I hate hospitals.”

“I know, Ange.” He took a slow breath, the action making his tight chest burn. “You can go home.”

“I’m not leaving you.”

“How long have you all been here?”

“Your surgery took six hours.”

The doctor cleared his throat. “You’re lucky you survived. Very lucky. Two bullets went through soft tissue. One had penetrated your liver. The other, a portion of your small bowel. You’ll be off your feet for at least a week. Then, the next few months you’ll need to take it easy. And I would wait three weeks before consuming alcohol.” The doctor stared down at him, as if he knew of Hoffman’s drinking habits, before turning to the other cops. “I know you guys like to be all macho, but make sure he stays out of the action. He’ll be catching bullets in no time so long as he rests when he needs to.”

Angelina made a shocked noise while Matthews chuckled.

Hoffman let everyone talk. He leaned back into his pillows, watching them.

Matthews went on the phone, casting a glance in his direction every so often as he paced on the other side of the room. His hand was on his hip and he was biting his lip. He did that whenever he craved a cigarette. 

Peter and the girls were off to the side, listening to the final words of the doctor. Kerry was pulling at her necklace. Angie linked her arm around Peter’s, resting her head against his shoulder. She looked tired. Worn.

He winced from the throbbing in his chest. He blamed guilt. Ange shouldn’t be worrying about him. She had her wedding to plan. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Will, always in control, concluded the discussion.

“I assure you, he’s out of the woods. It’s late. You should all go home. Get some sleep.”

“We will,” Peter forced a smile and looked down at his fiance, who shook her head.

“No. I’ll stay.”

“No,” Mark cleared his throat. “Ange, you must be exhausted. Go get some sleep. I’ll be fine. Visit me in a few hours.”

“I’ll stay with him,” Will suggested. “I’ll keep him company.” Angie pursed her lip but when she locked eyes with Mark he gave her one of his looks. She blinked and nodded, understanding. 

“All right.”

Matthews yawned. “Sounds like a plan. Hoffman, you’re a tough bastard. See ya.” 

The room cleared out, Angie quickly returning to his bedside to give him a gentle hug and a kiss on his temple. “Love you.”

“Love you, sis.”

The group left, leaving Will behind.

He turned his head, smirking at her. “You owe me. Big.”

She let out a surprised scoff, hugging herself and nodding. “Yeah.” Her voice was a tired whisper, throaty. “I sure do.”

“Come here.” He held a hand out, wondering why she was so far away.

She walked to him, her heels clicking sharply, drowning out the beeps of his heart rate monitor. 

Still dressed for Rosello, now looking as though she had escaped a zombie apocalypse, she still looked so damn beautiful. 

She stood next to him, her thigh just out of reach. Her cheek was still swollen. “How’s your face?”

She looked away. “Intact. You sure can throw a mean punch.” 

“Hey.” He looked up at her, wanting to touch her. “Come closer.”

She smiled nervously. “What are you planning?”

“Come here and see.”

She did.

He took her hand and squeezed it, surprised to feel it cold. “It’s over.”

“Yeah. It is.” Her eyes were shining and she cleared her throat. “You’re free.”

“Thanks to you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You were the one who knocked Rosello down. Taking bullet s for me.”

“I wouldn’t have had the chance, if it weren’t for you, putting yourself out there. Willing to let that bastard toy with you. I’m grateful. I want you to know that.”

She bit her lip. “So,” she smiled. “We can go back to the way things were? Before?”

“I don’t want that.”

She flinched, hurt. “I see.” He shook his head, frustrated at being misunderstood.

“I want more.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want us to be together.”

She blinked. “Mark, I think you’re pretty drugged up on painkillers right now. I don’t think… you’re not thinking clearly.”

“Maybe.” He felt himself grin up at her. Maybe that’s why the room feels fuzzy. “But I want you, Will.”

She looked surprised. Lost. Uncertain.

He didn’t want her to feel those things. 

But regardless, she sure looked pretty with her eyes so wide. Afraid.

Was it fucked up to find her attractive when she looked so scared?

Yeah, probably.

He sunk back into his pillows, dizzy. “I think I need to sleep.”

“Good idea. I’m going home to take a shower and will be right back. We’ll play some cards.”

“Bring some whiskey.”

“No.”

He chuckled, weakly, as he felt himself drift away.

Will Maddox

The flash of the camera gave her a headache. She hadn’t slept much lately. It was Hoffman's first day out of the hospital, the same hospital she had practically lived in for the past week, trading off with Angelina in shifts. Not that she was complaining.

The cameras were only flashing because of good things this time. 

So she smiled as an applause thundered in her ears.

The uniform’s collar was tight and felt as though she was being choked. She cleared her throat and kept showing teeth as the reporters looked on with approving faces. It was a rare experience. Normally, when the media was around, it was a witch hunt for the scape goat to blame for some fuck up that MPD had failed to sweep under the rug. 

They stood behind Grissom, who was leaning against the center podium of the press conference room and speaking into the mic.

“I am proud of the men and women who came together to take down one of the most evil organized crime leaders of our time. And it is with pride that I promote Officers Mark Hoffman and Wilhelmina Maddox to the rank of Detective Sergeant.”

Another flash and a roar of applause. 

In the crowd, Will recognized Angie and Peter, both grinning widely and waving up at them. She watched Hoffman in the corner of her eye, who also was grinning widely.

A pang of worry struck her. She wondered if he was tired from standing for too long. 

Grissom and the city commissioner presented their placards, showcasing their titles with golden starred badges glistening in the fluorescent lights. 

Hoffman and Maddox took their prizes, shaking hands with their supervisors for a job well done. Maddox let out a sigh of relief when the ceremony had concluded.

“Mark! Will!” Angelina approached them, dressed in a pink paisley dress, beaming like a sunrise. Mark approached her, all jolly and joyous, holding out his award to her. She looked at it briefly before holding her arms out to pull him into a deep embrace.

“I’m so proud of you,” she kissed his cheek before turning to Will to hug her as well.

Will had never seen Mark so expressively happy before. Never, in the years she had known him. She knew he had all but given up on any hopes of ranking up until this case. 

Despite the odds, he overcame such a terrible obstacle. Pride swelled in her chest, knowing he would go forth from that day and never tarnish his hands again. He had changed since she met him. He was more in control. More careful.

He had learned his lesson with letting a mad man take control over his life.

Even if something else came up, she was confident that, together, they would beat whatever came their way.

She would help keep him on the straight and narrow. He would watch her back.

She would keep her partner out of trouble. This, she silently swore to herself.

“Congrats, Will,” Sing walked up and shook her hand. “How does it feel, Sarge?”

“About the same,” she shrugged. “It just hasn’t sunk in yet.”

“Oh, once everyone comes at you for your signature, it will.” Sing laughed at his own joke, waving in the distance. Tapp and Gibson were still seated in the audience, speaking amongst each other. Tapp gave a nod and a smile to Will. Gibson was glaring in Hoffman’s direction, a sullen look shown.

“About time,” Vernon Knox wheeled up to them, looking surprisingly clean shaven and showered, smirking up at Mark and Angelina. “Proud of you.”

Will decided to let the old partners have their moment and she left the room. Her thoughts were on her father and a tremor in her chest made her wonder if she should have invited Bram. But the guilt of knowing that Bram was currently back in San Diego, caring for their father, shoved that thought into a box far in the back of her mind.

She decided to explore her new workspace to keep her mind off of her personal life.

She walked through the rookie pit, climbing the stairs and going down the corridor where small but private offices were nestled along narrow walls. She stopped when she reached an office. Grissom had immediately reassigned her and Hoffman to this new room.

The door still required their nameplates as an identifier. The frosted glass hid its interior.

She opened the door and walked in, noting the two small desks and sparse decor. 

It would be strange, sharing this room with him. It felt intimate. Private. A piece of this building that was all theirs and theirs alone.

She decided to grab the desk closest to the door. She figured Hoffman wouldn’t want to be the very first person seen when someone entered. She smirked at this, tossing her hat onto the tabletop and taking a seat behind her new desk.

The door opened and Hoffman came in, raising an eyebrow before closing the door. “So these are the new digs?”

“Yep.” She spun on her swivel chair, grinning. “Congratulations, Mark.”

“Congratulations.”

They stood in silence, looking at each other, as though frozen in a trance.

A knock on the door made them both turn. 

“Hey, congrats, ladies,” Matthews strode in with a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“I’ve got to say, I’m going to miss seeing you guys every morning. Don’t forget to come down and visit us lowly folk every so often.” 

Allison Kerry came in, a thumb in her belt. “By the way,” she lowered her voice and whispered to Will, “Just a fair warning. Gibson was running his mouth again. I heard he’s switched to IA and he’s out for blood. Hoffman’s, to be specific.”

Will nodded. “Thanks.” She had a bad feeling about Gibson. She really needed to clear things up with him.

Chapter Text

Matthew Gibson

He was happy for Will. 

Really.

But when he saw her and Hoffman leave together, he felt a stir in his gut.

“Someone’s got to stand up to that prick,” he muttered.

“Now, Gibson,” Tapp turned to him with a bemused smile. “Today’s a happy day. None of our boys died. Rosello’s gone. Just enjoy it.”

“Aren’t you mad?” Gibson rounded to the veteran cop. “You, of all people, know what Hoffman did. What he’ll keep doing.”

The image of the junkie that had taken his gun filled his vision. The guy’s chest, exploding as Hoffman shot him in the back. The spray of hot blood on his face. The taste of metal and gunpowder. It haunted him.

It had been cold blooded. 

Cruel.

It had been wrong.

“Now, Gibs, I know you’re all excited with your new assignment with IA. But remember what happened last time? You need to have hard evidence before bringing down a superior. Especially now that the precinct sees Mark Hoffman as the hero that took bullets to save our golden girl? I bet you ain’t gonna find a single cop here who’ll say boo to Mark Hoffman now. Now, you’re a nice kid. I may even agree with you on a lot. But I also know to be smart about it. Pick your battles. Let it go.”

Gibson clenched his jaw. Tapp must not have been that clean. 

This entire department was dirty.

He’d clean it up.

He swore it. Even if it killed him, he’d be sure the bad guys would face justice.

He got to his feet and almost collided into Detective Kerry.

“Easy there, hon, where’s the fire?”

He grumbled and walked away, shoving his hands into his pockets.

How could Will stand being partners with that creep?

He went to blow off steam. Poured some coffee. Chewed on a toothpick. 

But his feet somehow carried him away from the Cop Pit and to the higherup’s level. He knew where Hoffman’s new office would be. And he wanted to give the guy a piece of his mind.

He knocked the on frame. Hard.

The door opened.

It was Hoffman.

He looked past him, searching for Will.

She wasn’t there.

“Looking for Maddox?”

“Uh,” he looked up at Hoffman, suddenly remembering that he was noticeably larger than he. “No. I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Gibson squirmed, suddenly feeling warm. “I’m out of Homicide. I’m now in IA.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He rubbed his nose. Fuck it. “About what happened at the Crossroads. You killed that man. It was wrong. And you may now have this entire department around your finger but I want you to know,” he paused, “that I know what you are. What you’re capable of. And I’m going to keep a close eye on you. If you step out of line. If you start slipping. I’ll be there and I’ll bring you in.”

Hoffman’s face had gone blank. His lips curled into a sneer. “Oh, will you?”

“Yeah.” Gibson cleared his throat. “And Maddox. She’s a good person. I won’t let you,” he rubbed the back of his neck and looked away, “corrupt her. Someone’s got to protect her from you. You got me? I’ve got my eye on you, Hoffman.”

“I’m shaking like a leaf. I didn’t know Maddox needed you to be her knight in shining armor. I’m sure she’ll find that cute. But let’s get things straight.” He took a step towards Gibson and they were chest-to-chest. “She’s my partner. If there’s any protecting her to be done, I’ll be the one to keep her safe. Not some loudmouth rookie who’s still waiting for his balls to drop. So here’s a tip. Back the fuck off. ”

They glared hatefully at each other.

“Hey, what’s going on here?”

It was Will, holding two cups of coffee with concern knitting her eyebrows.

“Gibson was just saying congratulations. He’s leaving now.”

“Okay?” She smiled but her eyes still sparked with awareness. “Oh, Matt, I heard you’re now in IA. Glad to hear it. I’m sure you’ll do great there.”

He felt his cheeks flush. Hoffman was staring down at him, waiting. “Thanks, Will.”

He couldn’t help it. I’m a fucking coward.

He walked away.

Allison Kerry

“But we had to get back to Virginia. You know you’ll always hold a special place in my heart, Ally. But long distance just won’t work. We good?” 

Allison tossed her hair over her shoulder, squeezing the receiver tightly. “Yeah. We’re good.” She refused to believe her heart was breaking. No, she had Eric. 

She didn’t need Linds. It had been a fling. Just a fling.

“As soon as I can, I’ll find another reason to get back up there. Maybe we can pick up where we’re leaving off, you know?” Lindsey’s voice was playful but laced with concern. “I’m not the only one with regret here. Strahm feels terrible about how things just ended. He didn’t even say goodbye. How has Will taken it?”

Kerry sighed into the payphone, still looking at the convenience store entrance for Eric to come out. It was just like Lindsey, to try to deflect with gossip. “Well, Will doesn’t seem too concerned. I wasn’t even sure they were an item.”

“So here’s the thing. I heard they were seeing each other, but purely in a professional setting. Which is weird, isn’t it?”

“Actually, it sounds like what’s expected of adults to do.”

“Ouch. That’s fair.”

Allison kept looking over her shoulder. She felt like she was about to be caught cheating - which was ridiculous, considering she wasn’t the one married and with a child - and wanted to get off the phone promptly.

She wasn’t too torn up about Lindsey. She and Eric had just spent the morning getting reacquainted with each other’s anatomies. She had almost forgotten how to use his equipment. Working with Lindsey, and getting ‘reacquainted’ with her old college roommate, had been the longest period of time being with one person exclusively. Well, the closest thing to exclusivity for her. Technically, she had still been fucking around with Eric behind Jane’s back.

Long term relationships weren’t a thing in her line of work. 

She knew that.

So why did her chest sting so goddamn much? 

“Ally, I’ve got to go. See you later.”

“Yeah. Bye, hon.” She hung up and got into the car, biting the inside of her cheek.

Eric finally returned with some chips and a soda, a tense look on his face. He opened the door and threw in his purchase. “I’ve got a page. It’ll be a minute.”

He slammed the door, angry. 

She already knew it had been Jane. 

Lately, it seemed his wife had been needier than usual. It had set him on edge.

This had made their latest trysts more intense, as if he was trying to fuck his way out of his marriage.

Which, technically, he was.

She watched him in the phone booth, the yellowing glass distorting his face. But his arms said it all. His body language started defensive. Then openly hostile. She watched as he took the receiver and slammed it against the glass, hard.

She leaped out of the car as he continued using the plastic phone as a hammer, cracking into yellowing glass, lines spiderwebbed around his impact.

“HEY! Easy there, big guy!” Allison opened the booth door and released the pandora box of Eric Matthews’ vulgar vocabulary.

“You fucking bitch! You think you can take my kid away?!”

“ERIC!” She put a hand on his shoulder and he flinched.

She had seen Eric furious before.

But this time, she wasn’t sure if she should risk trying to cool him down. 

He stormed out and kicked a can. He was unbridled, enraged violence in the form of flailing punches and a snarl. 

She watched as he tired himself out, nervous when a couple of bystanders stopped to observe his tantrum.

He collapsed to the ground, pinching his nose and breathing heavily.

Allison slowly approached his back. “Eric. Let’s go. I’m driving.”

Eric complied, not brushing the gravel off his clothes and slumping into the passenger seat. She started the car and drove off, her heart racing.

“What happened?”

“She’s leaving me.”

Allison swallowed. “She knows.”

“She found one of your bras when doing the laundry. I thought it was one of hers. I just threw it in the hamper this morning.”

She bit her tongue, withholding any admonishments. She would have called him a dumbass, if she had not been as equally responsible.

“I’m sorry.”

Matthews was staring out the window. “Now what am I going to do?”

She didn’t know.

Chapter Text

Mark Hoffman

He didn’t know the details on why Kerry asked him to take Matthews on a case. But judging by how quiet and depressed the guy was, he had a few ideas. Guess the cat’s out of the bag.

“Hey, Hoffman.” McCallister greeted them as they made their way to the parking lot. Roger McCallister worked in Narcotics and, back when Hoffman and Matthews had been partnered as rookies, had been a friend. But once Hoffman ended up cornered to being Rosello’s gofer, McCallister had treated him as if invisible for years. Now, the stout redhead was beaming up at him as if he was Santa Claus. “At some point, I’d like to pick your brain on this case I’m having a hard time on.”

“Sure, I’ll come by.” Hoffman was enjoying this newfound attention. Now, people came to him for help. They trusted him, eager for his advice on how to handle a particular murder investigation or approach an interrogation. 

Matthews seemed on autopilot, grumbling to himself that he needed to buy a new lighter on the way out to the scene. He had buzzed his hair. Hoffman never pointed it out, knowing it was a way to cope with the rapid thinning hairline he was currently experiencing. 

Will walked past the two men, a fat stack of papers in her hands. She beamed at him as she power walked to their office, red curls bouncing.

He never wanted to lose this feeling, this high he was experiencing every time he looked at her.

Angie’s wedding was next week. Rosello was gone. 

Will and him were back to working together. After his day being Matthew’s therapist, that was. 

No problems in my corner.

Life was finally starting to look up.

For Matthews, though, the man had lightning in his eyes and dark clouds over his head. 

“Kerry mentioned a domestic dispute. Uptown.”

“Fine. Stop by the liquor store on the way there.”

Hoffman raised an eyebrow but didn’t refuse.

They stopped along the way, Matthews scowling and going into the store to return with a brown paper bag, a carton of cigarettes, and a new lighter. Hoffman felt himself relax when Matthews shoved the bottle of bourbon in the glove box. That was one complication he didn’t have to deal with.

Hoffman rolled down the windows as Matthews chainsmoked the rest of the journey.

When they arrived at the address, the apartment building looked fairly maintained. One of the higher end properties that must have cost a fortune every month. The front door was propped open by a brick. No doorman to be seen. Matthews sauntered through, Hoffman darting his eyes around.

There had been emergency calls by several neighbors about a violent altercation with the couple. He and Eric were sent to check in on her, after the wife refused to press charges.

Rex and Jane Wilson. The name was familiar. Hoffman wasn’t sure from where.

When they knocked on the door, the door opened and Hoffman knew.

He cursed himself for not remembering soon enough.

“You.” Rex Wilson, the man who filed a complaint with IA for Rigg breaking his jaw, stood and stared half-surprised-half-furious at the two detectives. Though years since the surgeries had taken place to heal his cracked skull, there were still traces of the scars underneath his stubble. “I told you guys last night. We were just having an argument.”

The wife appeared and Rex turned to yell at her. “I’ve got this, Jane.” After the woman fled, Rex turned back, smirking. “Women. Am I right?”

Matthews did not appear amused, instead leaning against the door frame threateningly. “What happened to your hands?” His lip was pulled back in a sneer, rubbing his thumb against the side of his nose. 

The guy looked down at his knuckles, purple and scabbed. “Punched the wall a few times. I told you guys, I didn’t hurt her. She told you.”

“We’ll need to hear it from her.”

The guy wanted to protest but Matthews lurched and grabbed Rex by the collar. “Listen here, you bastard. I’m in a shitty mood. Bring Jane out here or I’m gonna make your face match your hands.”

“Again?! You think you can get away with fucking me over twice?”

“Eric,” Hoffman pulled his friend off the guy. “Calm down,” he growled, despite wanting more than anything to release the dogs on this piece of shit. Hoffman had a special hatred in his heart for wife beaters. 

Matthews cursed and stormed away. 

Hoffman sighed, shaking his head. Maybe it was because the wife’s name was Jane. Matthews needs to take a sabbatical. Before he does something stupid.

“Please,” the woman’s shaky voice had him turn to her. She had her hand on the door knob. “I’m fine. Please go. Please.” She looked terrified, her eyes brimming. 

But there wasn’t anything more he could do, if she insisted there was nothing wrong.

The bruises on her neck and face were red. 

Hoffman’s mind went to Will.

“Fine.” He took out his business card, discreetly pushing it into her hands. The husband was at her back, coolly watching them. “In case something comes up,” he quietly muttered before adding louder, “Appreciate your time.”

She shook her head. “Thank you. Goodbye.” The door closed quickly in his face.

He hated handling domestic abuse cases.

Neither did Matthews, it seemed. The guy was found right outside the front door with his nostrils flared, scratching his head.

“Sorry. I’m on edge.”

Hoffman nodded. “Maybe you should take the rest of the day off.”

Matthews shook his head. “And what, sit in my shitty motel room and count the cracks in the ceiling?”

Hoffman stood in silence. He wasn’t one to pry. If the man wanted to tell him, he would. Otherwise, it wasn’t any of his business.

“Jane’s leaving me. She knows I’ve been cheating. But not who.” Matthews shook his head, looking closer to crying than Hoffman had ever seen. “Fuck. How did it get so fucked?” He looked at his friend, defeat drawn on his frown. “You know what she said?”

“What?”

“That it’s not like Daniel would notice the difference, me not being there ever. That fucking bitch.” He went to light a fresh cigarette and took a low drag, smoke flowing out of his nostrils as he grunted back what sounded like the start of a sob.

“You can crash on my couch if you need.”

Matthews shook his head. “Thanks, Hoffman. Really. But it’s best if I’m on my own. Don’t need to get in your way.”

“Let’s get some grub.”

“Nah. Let’s just head back.”

Not one to argue with a man whose life was falling apart, Hoffman took Matthews back to the station. They went to McCallister’s office, the guy currently glaring at various photographs. 

“Hoffman. Matthews. How you bastards doin’?”

“Cut to the chase, Roger,” Matthews had lit another cigarette. “What’s the deal?”

“Tryin’ to nab this dealer. We know he’s working with the K2K gang. But every time we think we’ve got ‘em he ends up clean. Fucker’s quick. It’s takin’ too long to wait for ‘em to slip up.”

Hoffman reviewed the file, briefly scanning the statements and looking down at the evidence listed. Guy was never found with so much as a joint on him, though he was supposedly slinging heroin.

“Maybe he’s clean,” Hoffman suggested.

McCallister shook his head. “Nah, we had a witness come forward once, but quickly backed out. Must have been silenced. Bribed, likely.”

“You know what you should do?” Matthews leaned forward with a mean smile. “You know this asshole’s guilty. Just take a shortcut.”

Hoffman looked at Eric, wondering if he heard the guy right. He wouldn’t say he was surprised, per se. More impressed by the frankness.

McCallister, clearly, was as well. “You suggestin’ I plant some on him?”

“Save taxpayer money. Put another dealer away. I suggest you administer justice, Roger.”

Hoffman liked how Matthews phrased that. Administering justice. 

Roger McCallister leaned back, scratching his cheek as he pondered this. “I was thinkin’ about it. Never pulled it, though. How do I make sure that this,” he tapped his desk, “doesn’t blow up in my face?”

“It won’t. IA’s a bunch of pussies and idiots. And who are they gonna believe? A no-good piece of shit with a record? Or a man of the law? Especially when we back each other up. Hell, I’ll go to the scene and be your second set of eyes.”

McCallister looked impressed. “All right. At this point, I’ll try anythin’.”

“Prick won’t see it coming,” Matthews smirked while McCallister let out a raucous laugh. 

Will Maddox

“Do you, Angelina Marie Hoffman, take this man to be your lawful wedded husband?”

“I do.”

“And do you, Peter Nicholas Acomb, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do.”

“Then the power invested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

When the bride and groom kissed, Will joined the thunderous applause that broke out. In a sea of green and gold, draped in a satin bridesmaid dress next to Allison Kerry, Will watched as Angelina Hoffman became Angelina Acomb.

She glanced over at Mark, who had the widest smile she had ever seen, as he watched his little sister on her happiest day.

Will loved weddings.

Despite how her marriage went, she remembered hers with fond, if not bittersweet, memories. And this wedding easily ranked her top three. 

She would never forget seeing Mark and Angie walk down the aisle together, her brother looking like he was doing everything he could not to cry.

It was the sweetest moment she had ever seen.

She hoped Angelina pulled through with providing photos of the ceremony. 

The bride and groom walked down the aisle, arm in arm, and the maid-of-honor and best man followed. Finally, Will slid her arm into Mark’s and the two followed the rest of the wedding party out to music and the claps of the audience. 

He felt warm through his suit, their linked walk both awkward and comforting. “It’s going to be okay, Mark,” she teased once they stepped out to the foyer, breaking apart. He gave her a look and she giggled. Behind them, the patrons began filing out of the chapel and made their way towards the dining hall.

It had been a surreal week. The rehearsals and preparations had brought the two of them together in a new light. Instead of solving murders and dealing with concentrated violence, they had been spending a great deal of time simply enjoying each other’s company.

Doing normal, happy things together. 

She liked it and was feeling a gentle sadness sweep over her when it dawned on her that after that weekend, they would be back to work. Exclusively spending time trying to catch criminals. Cling to life in sudden shootouts. Survive the pain.

Despite his recent hospitalization, he stood tall and proud. He seemed fine.

“Hey. Everything’s going to be okay,” Mark returned her previous statement, though not with the same humor as she. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

She fanned herself, not wanting her makeup to run. “Me? No, I’m fine.”

“Right.” He pulled at his bowtie, clearing his throat.

Changing the subject, she held her bouquet for him to hold while she reached up to straighten the silk fabric. “You know, you’re quite dashing in this.”

“It itches,” he grumbled. “You look good too.”

Her cheeks grew warm. “You have a way with words,” she tried to sound sarcastic but fell flat. 

“Hey,” Kerry approached, waving her bundle of flowers towards the line of bridesmaids. “Lovebirds, it’s time.”

The wedding reception was full of MPD and various friends of Angelina and Peter. Will and Mark walked by Matthews, who looked like he was doing everything he could to smile but resulted in him looking constipated. 

Daniel and Tracy Rigg held drinks up when they walked by, the two looking relatively boozed and content. 

“You ready for the dance?” She looked at her partner with a wary grin.

She felt him stiffen against her. “I’ll get by for a couple of seconds.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t expect the cha cha slide.”

“The what?”

“Nevermind.”

They took their seats, assigned to be next to each other. Allison was with her groomsman, the two clearly hitting it off. Mark had thrown back his glass of champagne and was already looking for his next refill.

“Here,” Will slid her flute towards his hands, the man taking it wordlessly. He seemed nervous, a noticeable first for her to see. “I never took you for a guy who had stage fright.”

“I’m not one for the spotlight,” he muttered.

“Lucky for you, this is a once in a lifetime kind of moment.”

“Yeah. I keep telling myself that. If Ange divorces him, I’m not dancing for the next one.”

“You think they’ll split?”

“Nope. Only way they’re splitting up is the whole ‘death do they part’. Ange is stubborn like that.”

Once the bride and groom had their first dance, it was time for the bridesmaids and their groomsmen to join. Will took Mark’s hand and steered him to the floor, turning and letting him take the lead.

His hand rested on her waist, eyes looking down at his feet. He moved with the careful shyness of a scarecrow, as though he was desperately avoiding stepping on her toes. A drop of sweat was running down his temple as his lips pursed.

She tried to go with it but despite the gentle music he barely budged. “Mark.”

He looked up, locking eyes with her.

“Just look at me. Like we practiced. One. Two. Three.” She moved and counted out loud softly, repeating her cadence. He picked it up, finally moving with her, until he seemed to finally go with the flow.

She looked up at him, realizing he was watching her with an intensity that gave her goosebumps. She smiled widely, taking in the steel blue of his eyes.

“I can see the big dipper,” he said.

She blinked. “What? Where?”

His eyes swept across her face. “On your right cheek. Your freckles.”

“Shut up.” She had the urge to smack him and tried to pull away. 

He chuckled and tightened his grip on her, pulling her closer, their chests now touching. “Now, you’re blushing.”

“You’re an ass.” She smelled the amber and cinnamon of his cologne. “But at least you don’t smell like one.”

“Ouch. Do I normally smell like ass?”

“No. You’re fairly clean. For an ass.”

Seconds became minutes, until she realized the rest of the audience had joined. 

“You know, this is nice,” Mark admitted. “Don’t know why I was worried.”

“You just need the right dance partner,” she smiled back. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving. And thirsty.”

“Same. Let’s start with drinks.”

“You’ve read my mind.” The two of them stopped moving, though another second lingered before they let go of each other’s hands. 

The rest of the evening, the two of them hung out by the open bar. Will had nabbed various servings of the food: glazed salmon, prime rib, shrimp, kabobs sliders, and more were available. It was a feast fit for a fine chef’s wedding.

“Angie certainly outdid herself with the food,” Will was in between chewing while Hoffman had already finished two plate fulls and was helping himself to some of her kabobs. 

“She pulled a few favors for catering. She has a lot of friends at work.”

Will nodded, feeling warm and light from the drinking. “Their kids are going to be so cute.”

Hoffman choked on a slider, coughing hard into his napkin. Will smirked as she took another sip of whiskey. “Yeah,” he growled, face purple.

“Sorry about that,” Will finished her drink and waved to the bartender for another, taking a deep breath as she felt her pulse quicken. She had a little too much too early and she needed to sit down.

“Hey. You okay?” Hoffman had a cheek full of meat, chewing. 

“Yeah. Just been a long day.”

“Maddox,” Matthews called out, stumbling over to them. Allison was in tow, cheeks pink and looking glassy eyed. “Get me a drink.”

“Get it yourself, the bartender’s right here.” Will shifted over to make room for their colleagues. Matthew leaned against the bar, clearly decimated with liquor. Kerry rolled her eyes and leaned her head against Will’s shoulder.

“Fun night?”

“Hon, you don’t know the half of it.” Ally was breathless, smelling of wine and lilacs. She was sparkling with gems on her ears and neck, a vision of loveliness in the drunken haze. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Angelina’s voice on the microphone captured everyone’s attention, the bride in her grand white gown was turning to smile at every face in the room. “Thank you all for coming. Peter and I are about to turn in for the night. Please, enjoy your evening. Good night.”

The crowd cheered as the bride and groom made their leave, Will sighing in relief. That meant she could finally go to her hotel room, shower, and pass out in her bed. 

She couldn’t wait.

Matthews protested loudly. “Hey! Where is everyone going? The party’s just started!” 

“Cool it, Matthews,” Hoffman growled with warning, a hand on the guy’s shoulder and a firm frown at the man’s out of focused eyes. The message was clear. Hoffman wouldn’t tolerate anyone ruining his little sister’s event.

“Hey, Eric, let’s take a walk. I know a decent bar down the street.” Kerry took Eric’s arm and pulled him, giving an understanding nod as she took Matthews away before he made a scene.

Will let out a breath, relieved the night ended smoothly. “I think it’s time I turned in.” She turned to him with a tired yawn. “Where’s your room?”

The venue, commonly used to host weddings, was a hotel in the respectable historic district of the city. Thankfully, they hadn’t needed to catch rides back to their apartments. Instead, they had rented rooms that were a simple elevator ride away.

“1403. You?”

“1404.” 

“Guess we’re going in the same direction.”

“Yeah.” She bit her lip, withholding the drunken giggle that threatened to escape. Thankfully, a hiccup masked her sudden moment of vulnerable awkwardness and she led the way to the elevator, trying to push the sudden moody thoughts that began to tickle her. She shivered, until a very warm cloak was draped over her shoulders.

Hoffman had taken his jacket off, his bulk hugged by his shirt. Will avoided looking in his direction while they waited for the elevator to reach their level, eyes glued to the level indicator above the doors. 

They stood in silence, as they often did.

But this time, she struggled to remain cool and collected.

Being drunk didn’t help. Her heels were hurting her feet. She was off balance and this made her feel on edge.

She refused to question why. 

She knew why.

Now that their biggest barrier, Rosello, was gone, all that remained in her keeping a distance was her desperate cling to not risk ruining what they had. Their partnership was intact and functional. They understood each other. They were friends. They had a closeness that she feared intimacy would strip away and make vulnerable. 

It was all so fragile.

“Will.”

“Yeah?”

“The door’s open.”

“Oh.” She walked to the elevator, tripping on the edge of the door.

“Hey!” Hoffman caught her, saving her from face planting. “Easy.”

“Shit,” she cursed and angrily collapsed to the rough carpet of the elevator as the doors slid closed. She began unbuckling and taking off her heels, her toes thanking her for the release. 

“Are you about to get sick on me, kid?”

“Ha!” She looked up at him defiantly. “You know I can hold my liquor.”

“Then why are you on the floor,” he looked down at her, smirking. “You’re acting weird.”

The lines on his face emphasized his cheek bones. His lips looked so kissable at that moment. She shook her head, flustered. “I’m just drunk.”

“I thought you ‘hold your liquor’.”

“I meant I’m not going to puke. But I need to go to sleep.”

“Fair enough.”

The doors finally opened, Hoffman holding his hand out for her to take. She gave him her fingers and he pulled her up with ease.

Grabbing her heels, she walked towards her hotel room, digging in her clutch for her key card. She tapped her card to the door lock, waiting for it to be disengaged. 

A red light indicated it had failed.

She tapped it again.

Still, nothing. 

She tried to open the hotel door, tapping and muttering curses under her breath.

“Problem?”

“Yeah, the key’s not working. Fucking new technology. What was wrong with the standard brass key?” She flipped her hair over her shoulder, embarrassed and frustrated. “Great. Now I’m going to have to go back to the lobby.”

“No. We can call down from my room. They’ll send a guy up to let you in.” Hoffman opened his room door, going inside and holding it open for her to enter.

She hesitated.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She had slept over at his place before. They had shared the same bed, in fact. So why was she suddenly feeling so shy? Wary?

She blamed the alcohol. 

She walked across the threshold and into his room.

The bed was large, king sized. She went to the phone and dialed for the concierge, requesting to be let into her room.

“I apologize, miss, our computer system is having some technical issues and it’s going to take at least an hour or two to fix.”

“Are you serious?”

“I apologize. We can provide complimentary refreshments down here while you wait? Or if you remain in the room you’re in, we’ll happily send it up.”

She looked over at Hoffman and her eyes lit up. “Fine. Please send up a bottle of champagne.”

“Right away. We appreciate your understanding.”

She returned the phone and let out a sigh. “Computer problem. Going to be stuck for at least an hour. So the champagne’s on me.”

“I knew you were good luck to keep around.”

She wrinkled her nose and let out another breath. Her dress was tight around her waist and she wanted nothing more than to take it off. “Hey. You got an extra shirt?”

“Yeah. Need a shower?”

“Badly.”

Hoffman went to his suitcase, digging through the clothes and tossing her an old oversized t-shirt that had been from the police academy. “Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” She went into the bathroom, shut the door, and ran the hot water. As the roar of the shower drowned out the sound of the TV playing outside the door, she looked herself in the mirror. Her eyeshadow had smeared. Her eyeliner was running. She pulled her hair over her shoulder and unclasped the top part of the back of her dress. When she moved to unzip, the zipper wouldn’t budget.

She narrowed her eyes and tried again, with more force. “Are you fucking kidding me?” She murmured as she spent a few minutes struggling to unzip her dress.

She looked at the door, conflicted. 

She could ask him to help her, but this seemed too personal. 

I want us to be together. 

She could simply not take a shower and remain in the dress for another hour.

But she was getting irritable with how constricted she felt.  

She shook her head. She was being ridiculous.

A part of her, the small and uncertain troublemaker that poked its shy head around the corner, was eager and hopeful. Maybe this is it.

A part of her wanted what he wanted.

No one will know. Nobody saw you enter his room.

It could be their little secret.

One final tug. Just to try and get out of this moral predicament.

She pulled as hard as she could down on her zipper while gritting her teeth.

When it didn’t give, she surrendered.

Her heart was exploding in her chest when she opened the bathroom door and let the build up of steam release out into the room. “Mark?”

“Yeah?” He was on the bed, sipping booze from the minibar, his bow tie and shirt long hanging on the nearby loveseat. He looked more relaxed and at home in a plain white tank. His shoes were off. He leaned back against the pillows, not looking at her while he watched a rerun of some old football game.

“Can you help me?” She pressed her lips together, flushed.

Hoffman turned, eyes slightly slanted from curiosity. His lip curled in dark humor. “With what?”

“My zipper.” She held her hair up and turned her back, avoiding looking at his face. She felt his eyes, like hot flames on her skin. She heard the rustle of the bedsheets as he stood up and went to her. The sudden feeling of his knuckles and fingers touching the skin of her back made her flinch and she held back the gasp when she felt the callouses brush over her, fingers digging under the seam as he tried to pull the contraption.

“It’s caught good,” he whispered, voice suddenly thick like honey.

“Yep. You think I’m stuck in this?” She wondered if Angie would forgive her if she took a pair of scissors to it. She had told her to keep it. 

The tide of claustrophobia came in like an icy wave. 

“No. I’ve got it.” She felt a tremor in his hands and the build up of energy as he tried to brute force the metal to give. She bit her lip, pressing her front to her chest, bracing for the zipper to finally slacken.

When she heard the sharp rip of fabric, the silence that followed was deafening. 

The dress was now in tatters, shredded fabric dangling from where she held the front. 

Hot, slow fingers landed on her shoulders. She felt his breath against her ear and the smell of whiskey mixed with spices made her dizzy. “I told you I got it.”

“You ripped it.” She didn’t pull away, her heart racing as she felt his other hand feel her bare back, the tips of his fingers dragging down. Her breath caught in her throat. 

“Oops.” And then she felt his lips against her neck, soft and wet.

She felt a primal desire rise from her lower stomach, making her lose all rational thought as though it had been nothing more than water evaporating off her skin. 

The sound of the water made her think of rain. “I should go take a shower.”

“Yeah?” His voice had gone gruff and short, his hand lowering until it stopped at the waistband of her panties. He continued gently kissing the side of her neck, biting into her skin gently. He squeezed her shoulder firmly. “But you’re not even dirty yet.”

She bit her lip, eyes transfixed on the door and the steam that continued to billow out. Her frozen disposition made him scoff and he lifted his mouth away until she let out a soft moan of protest. She sharply inhaled when his teeth dug deeper into her, shooting jolts of pain that broke the spell. She pulled away, turning to him with fury, pushing him while touching her neck that throbbed with the harsh reminder.

“That hurt.” Her stomach was doing cartwheels. Her breathing was hitched.

That cursed part of her that had remained in the background was now on the tips of its toes, now fully attentive and interested. 

She was losing control.

He had let her push him back towards the bed. He sat onto it, amused, elbows on his thighs as he leaned over and leered at her. “You weren’t complaining just a second ago. But I don’t want this to be one sided.” He reached forward, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her to him. She felt like a fish on the hook, being reeled in against her will. “I don’t want you to treat me like-,” He stopped, knowing better.

She was grateful, understanding him. She wanted him to continue and all it would take is one word. One sign that what she was feeling was real.

Despite the familiar voices warning that this would complicate things, that creature that was taking over, growing and demanding, was slamming the door on all common sense.

“I want this, Mark.” She let go of the front of the dress, allowing her breasts to be exposed. His eyes wandered, hungrily, and she felt as if she was back to being college-aged and inexperienced. 

He had suddenly become savage as he tightened his grip on her arm and pulled her quickly to him. She stopped at the edge of the bed, between his legs, her hands catching herself against him, pressed against his full chest. She could see the five o’clock shadow on his chin. His lashes, brown wings around a blue sky. She missed the feeling of his mouth. She needed to taste him.

She decided to finally give in. She dived off the deep end and landed in his sea.

She kissed him first, hungry and willing. She let go of the fabric to her chest, opting to wrap her arms around his neck as she felt him grab a fistful of her hair to steer her head and push his tongue past her lips. 

She gasped when he spun her around and had her pinned to the bed, pulling from her lips to nip at the nape of her neck. She felt his hands grope and search her as he devoured every inch of her.

It felt wholly familiar, as if returning to a long forgotten house that she once lived in for years. 

He undid his pants, revealing a bulge pressed against his boxers. Grabbing the remaining portions of her dress that still covered her hips, he pulled them off with an almost mad energy, a man in lust and control. 

She sat up, leaning against her elbows, as he returned to kiss her. She noticed she felt clumsy and sloppy, another layer of inebriation making her miss his mouth and instead plant her tongue onto his collar. She tasted salt and soap, her hand lightly raking over his stomach as he let out a soft growl of gratification. The healing scars from the gunshots were still raw and red, breaking through the heat like an ice bath for a split second. She kissed them delicately, not wanting to bring him any more pain but to thank him for his sacrifice to her. 

He had saved her life. 

She let her other hand explore down to his boxers, feeling him thick and hard through the cotton. 

“Fuck, Will,” he was squeezing her shoulder, his grip firm but not overpowering.

She pulled the elastic of his waistband, seeing for the first time him in his full glory, and wanted to reward him with wonders that would keep him up at night from then on with heated nostalgia. He tasted of sweat, his girth burning as she took him in her mouth.

His breathing was ragged as Will moved her head back and forth, feeling him slide past her lips and over her tongue, a surge of triumph at every baritone grunt being forced out of his chest like the strike of a flint over her fuel. 

She pulled back, taking his pillar in her hand, to a protested whine from him. “I love how hard you feel in my mouth, Mark.”

He was panting over her as they shimmied further onto the bed, new lovers with lumbering urgency. “I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on birth control. It’s fine,” her breathing was ragged as well, her legs splayed apart as she felt his firmness press against her and driving her insane. “Please, Mark. I need you.”

He plunged inside of her, his eyes shut tight at savoring the feeling. She arched her back, feeling him fill her to the hilt. Despite how wet and wild she was, the sharpness of being stretched from many months of lone nights brought shockwaves through her spine and she found her nails digging into his back as he gently moved inside her with clenched jaw and restraint. He enveloped her with thankful kisses and increased his speed.

He began pacing his thrusts, the wet smacking sound of their connection adding a teasing tingle through her anatomy and she tossed her head back to cry out in delight. 

This encouraged him to speed up, the feeling of his sweat an additional aphrodisiac as he roughly pushed into her with unhinged power. 

She was building up, about to be overcome, and she whimpered, “I’m so close. Don’t stop.” He ran his thumb over her nub, drawing circles around her clitoris while he slowed down his thrusts and watched her closely. The feeling was too powerful and she had to shut her eyes and simply allow the sensations to shoot through her bones and sing. She felt her limbs jerk like a marionette, Mark pulling the strings with each touch and probe. The growing heat and pressure rose from her groin and up to her crown and then the wave of ecstasy took all the intensity and turned it to sugar in her veins.

Her sudden change in pitch had been his indication to finish, returning to thrusting into her with accelerating pace until he took one final plunge and let out a satisfied bellow as he finished inside of her. He collapsed on top of her, the two of them breathing heavily as a warmth spread inside and down her thighs.

“You…” Hoffman spoke in between pants, voice thick and slow. “...okay?”

She laughed. “I’m great.” She kissed the side of his cheek. 

The phone on the nightstand began to ring.

Chapter Text

Peter Strahm

He looked down at the latest victim, another woman with her sternum broken, her ribs now spread like the doors of a bird cage. As with the M.O. of the killer, her heart was missing.

It had been the thirteenth victim in the past year. Erickson had given him the file as soon as he showed up that Monday, back from the Rosello case. No rest for the wicked , he thought to himself as he looked around him. They were in a tobacco field, the tall and thick leaves of the plants providing significant cover in the southern Virginia farmlands. The body was discovered by the farmer, the man hysterical and in need of immediate counseling and no help to them while he muttered to himself incoherently when questioned.

“All victims had traces of a bioluminescent algae on their skin, suggesting they had been in contact with a large body of salt water. The algae is often found in tropical climates. The coroner explained there was an indication that they were submerged for at least several hours before death, based on the state of their skin and the traces of algae found in various orifices of their body, except above the neck.”

Strahm looked up at his supervisor, Dan Erickson, the man looking grim. “He follows his pattern religiously. Almost as if there’s a ceremony behind the removal of the heart.” Strahm stood up, looking around at the roving hills of red clay and leafy green crops. “Victims have all been found on the east coast. From New York to Miami. He must have a localized location within driving distance. The algae is native to South Australia, so he must have a tank.”

“He?”

“No markers indicate a female serial killer. No accomplices. This man is a loner. A man who has a poor relationship with a woman that fits his victims’ appearance. Early to mid twenties. Caucasian, and likely well educated. I’m assuming the suspect is around the same age and race. He’s not rash, he’s careful. He won’t make mistakes, at least for the time being. He may develop a feeling of invincibility if he’s not caught soon.” Strahm grimaced. “If we’re not fast enough.”

“Tell me what you need to nail this sonofabitch.”

“Perez. And any available agent.” Strahm took out his pen, clicking it as he ran through the logistics. He needed some perspective. “We may need some outside help, too.”

Erickson raised an eyebrow. “We’ve already coordinated with the Richmond PD.”

“They’ll do their best. But I know two cops who would be excellent in this case.”

Erickson shook his head. “Best to keep this down low until we have a better sense of what this guy’s about.”

“Thirteen not enough, Dan?” 

“We can’t afford to throw the nation in a panic. See what you can do with what I can spare. If things get worse, I’ll consider bringing in your hand picked choices.” Erickson wiped sweat off his brow with a handkerchief, shaking his head. “There’s been a recent uptick in violent crime this past year. The media’s gone nuts with it. The higher ups are already on edge and out for blood. It’ll not be a good look if the FBI needs help from some city cops. Otherwise, I’d give the go ahead.”

“Politics,” Strahm scoffed, anger rising up and out of him.

Erickson gave a sympathetic nod. “Always. For now, you’ve at least got Lindsey. You both are excellent at what you do. Have a little more faith in your own kind before running for help.” Erickson walked away to talk to forensics.

Strahm looked back down at the victim, her eyes vacant and glazed. Flies were already buzzing in her mouth. He grit his teeth, wondering how the family would recover. They’d have to inform next of kin as soon as they were done at the crime scene, having identified her immediately. It was going to be a long day.

Angelina Hoffman

She refused to cry.

She threw her arms around Peter one final time before he went to board the plane. “I’ll write to you. Call me whenever you can.”

“Sure thing, babe. Don’t worry, it’s only for a few months.” He hugged her tightly, squeezing her until she couldn’t breathe. “Before you know it, you’ll see me again. With a tan.” He smiled, trying to make her laugh.

“That’s too long,” she whispered, her voice cracking. They had only just been married. He had only just returned from boot camp and he had changed so much since then. He had a hardness in his face she hadn’t seen before. His floppy hair had been shaved completely off. He was firmer and louder. Confident.

And now, he was going to Iraq, only a week after the news of the invasion of Kuwait reached her awareness. This was all happening so fast.

Peter stood before her, in desert camo, a man that had changed before her eyes. She hardly recognized Peter Acomb anymore.

“Last call for Flight A2041,” the feminine voice on the intercom had Peter look back at the gate. “We will be closing the door in five minutes.”

“That’s me,” he grimaced and backed away. “I love you.”

“I love you!” Angelina waved back as Peter Acomb disappeared down the boarding gate. She wiped the corners of her eyes and sniffed, sadness squeezing her heart tightly. A hand touched her shoulder, squeezing it gently. She turned to her brother, who gave a comforting look.

“He’ll be back, Ange.”

She nodded, trying to put on a stiff upper lip. “Yeah.” She went with Mark as he drove her home, the day sunny and warm. She tried to think of tasks to get done. Things to keep her mind busy and distracted. She had work and preparations for her new cafe. She had catering contracts to handle. Another charity function. 

She wanted to go with him, her life here seeming pointless and trivial compared to what he would face.

The radio cracked, Mark’s personal car was equipped with a police scanner. A familiar woman’s voice sounded off. “Hoffman, 10-20.”

“Hoffman,” he responded, “leaving the airport. On the way back.” He had the faintest of smiles on his face.

She studied him. “That was Will.”

He looked over at her before refocusing on the road. “Yeah.”

Though he didn’t make any sudden movements, she could tell he felt cornered. This was a  break from the darkness, a comforting distraction that made her grin. She always suspected those two would hook up. “Do you guys talk on the radio often?”

He didn’t respond but it was clear he knew what she was hinting at. “All the time.”

“Mark,” she turned on him, her smile growing. “I haven’t seen you glowing this bright since - Natasha?”

“Natalie.”

“Right. Oh my God, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Nothing to tell.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you two still working together?”

When he didn’t respond she shook her head. “Won’t you two get in trouble?”

“Lay off,” he griped. “It’s my business, Ange.”

She smirked, folding her arms and turning to pout out the window. “Well, it’s about time. But does this mean you two can’t be partners anymore?”

He remained silent and she realized she was poking at a sore spot. She quickly changed the subject. “I’m thinking of bringing some blueberry muffins to this weekend’s potluck.” She was referring to the MPD picnic, a yearly event hosted in the summer. 

“Yeah, that sounds good.” 

It was clear she wouldn’t hear anything from him where Will was concerned.

She figured she’d get the gossip from Will herself, then.

Eric Matthews

Daniel was now walking. Actually, he was running. Eric watched him as he stomped across the room with high pitched glee. When did he start doing that? 

Jane slid the papers over to him. “Just sign it.” She never looked him in the eye anymore. She kept looking down at her hands, a tan line on her wedding finger along with a fresh manicure made his throat tighten.

“Is that what the alimony is covering?” He nodded at her nails. “And child support?”

“You have no right,” Jane’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I know you and Allison were fucking this whole time. I didn’t want to believe it. But I’m sick. And tired. Of letting you disrespect us. Daniel deserves a father that is here. Who cares about his family. If all you can do is provide financial support, then fine. But don’t you fucking dare lecture me.”

Her words were like the crack of a whip. He gripped his fist under the table. His lungs itched for a cigarette and his blood coursed through his veins like boiling acid. He knew there was truth in her words.

Regret. So much fucking regret.

He hated himself and everything that led to this moment.

So he signed the divorce papers. 

There wasn’t much he could do. Even if he spent the time to get a good lawyer, he was fucked either way. 

He left as soon as he could, walking out to his car. He kicked at a nearby can. Kerry was watching him in the passenger’s seat, exchanging with him a sympathetic frown. Now what? He got into the car, gripping the steering wheel and remembering how to breathe.

“You ready?”

He didn’t look at her. Instead, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and put one between his lips, squinting off in the distance. “Let’s get to work,” he growled, starting the engine.

Steven Sing

He looked down at the pale form of a teenage boy, long left for dead in an alley on 118th Street. He studied the spray painted ‘K2K’ at the scene.

“Looks like Rosello left one hell of a void. It’s a goddamn free for all,” Tapp shook his head, his footsteps crunching gravel against concrete. “Another body found. Apparently the motherfuckin’ yakuza are trying to take over. And taking advantage of the chaos while K2K was busy trying to take a chunk of the pie. The fucking yakuza, here. Those bastards usually keep a low profile.”

“Hate to say it, but it’s culling the herd. So far, no civilians have been killed.”

“You mean found,” Tapp reminded him. Sing begrudgingly nodded. 

“Yeah. Found.” Summer seemed to bring out the worst in the city. Maybe it was the heat. Maybe it was the pollen. Either way, it was hot and humid and fucking miserable underneath the noon sun. Sing wiped at his face, sweat pouring. "Looks like we've got our work cut out for us."

"Just in time for performance review," Tapp joked when the world suddenly slammed into the two of them. Sound had magnified and a blast flicked the two men like ants as a pillar of fire erupted from the ground.

Sing's ears were ringing and the orange light of fire danced in the corners of his eyes. He was on his back. His cheek was wet. And every inch of him felt like he was sunburnt and raw. 

"Sing!" Tapp's voice was croaky as rubble clicked and tumbled nearby. He looked up to see Tapp, eyebrows knit and face terrified. "You're okay, Sing?"

"Yep." His voice was scratched. "Just a Tuesday, Tapp." He let out a low chuckle as he forced himself up.

“At this rate, we’ll need to bring in the motherfuckin’ national guard.”

Sing winced, his ears ringing. “Yeah. I don’t know how much more this city can take before it breaks.”

“She’s already broken, Sing.” Tapp was coughing and brushing the front of his suit, trying to get the dust off of him. It wouldn’t come out. “She’s been broken and we’re all eating what’s left of her.”

Chapter Text

Mark Hoffman

The sun was streaming through the blinds, hitting his eyes and beckoning his consciousness from pleasant dreams. He stirred in his bed, spreading his limbs to stretch when he contacted a familiar mound of warm, soft flesh beside him.

Hello . He smiled as he wrapped his arm around Will, pulling her close into his chest and taking a deep breath of her shampoo. Flowers and candy. He had gotten used to that scent, finding it lingering on his bedsheets and towels these days, a pleasant reminder of the past months of bliss.

He had everything he wanted. All he could ever ask for. 

These months had been paradise.

She was softly snoring as he held her firmly, making him chuckle. 

"...Mhm what?" She awoke with sluggish words and a tired tone, exhausted from the long week. Though his personal life was perfect, work had been hell.

The city was on fire as the latest plague of gang wars ravaged the streets. 

The fucking yakuza was moving in and taking out the smaller factions. All vultures wanted a taste of the carcass left by Rosello's absence. 

Tapp and Sing were currently taking on the chaos westside, after one of K2K's old booby traps detonated in the middle of a crime scene. To complicate things, Kerry and Matthews had been forced to sever their partnership after Matthews' wife had raised hell over their relationship. 

Thoughts like that made Hoffman know he had to be careful. They had to be careful. Even Grissom had taken him aside the day before, right before his weekend.

"Level with me, Hoffman. You and Maddox. I'm not going to hear any problems like with Kerry and Matthews, am I?"

"No, sir. Neither of us are married. And Maddox' psycho ex-husband hasn't been around."

"You know what I mean, smartass. Damnit. I don’t hear any denying of you two screwing. God. Damnit. You just couldn't keep your dick in your pants. Just made my life a hundred times more difficult."

"We still work well. No issues."

"Doesn't fucking matter. It's against the rules. I kept a blind eye for too damn long. Now the commissioner expects me to crack down on interwork relationships. You've only just turned your career around." Grissom had taken his glasses off to rub his eyes. "I'll give you the weekend to break the news to her. Starting Monday, your partnership is done. You're going to be reassigned to take Matthews. Kerry will be with Maddox. And don’t give me that look, Hoffman. It’s for your own good. And hers. What do you think Kerry’s going through right now, dealing with the shit slinging right now? You want Maddox suffering through that too?"

"Morning," Will turned to face him, amber orbs radiating back the sunlight, her cheeks rounded as she grinned. "You look intense. What's up?"

He blinked. He didn't want to ruin this. Telling her now, he knew she wouldn't take it well. Her job was important to her and this uprooting would complicate things. 

He didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to enjoy this for just one more day. He brushed some stray copper curls from her forehead, strands of rose gold in the sun. "Just admiring the view." 

He liked when her cheeks got so pink when she was embarrassed. She covered her face with the blanket and he pulled it away, teasing.

"Stop!" She yowled as he kissed her, tasting her morning breath and loving every moment of it.

They rolled under the covers, the sound of laughter blending with the tremor of traffic and sirens.

Eric Matthews

Being put on patrol was a slap to the face.

After everything he had done. Everything he accomplished. They fucking put him to patrol the streets.

He walked in his wrinkled uniform, lighting his cigarette while pacing. Everywhere he looked, made him want to punch the nearest wall. The homeless bum on the street, shaking his change cup like it was a maraca. The hooker that had winked at him a third time that night. The blatant drug dealer at the corner, unafraid of his police presence - some punk kid. And he was locking eyes with him as if he wanted a fight.

He didn't like the way he looked at him. Like he was unafraid. Like he was better than him.

"Problem?" He approached the man. Looked only in his late teens, early twenties. Hispanic. Scrawny. 

"Nope." The boy sniffed and wiped his nose. The kid spat, the glob of mucus landing just inches from his shoe. “Just minding my business, pig.” 

Matthews was in a bad mood. And this fucker gave him the perfect excuse.

“Turn around. Hands on the wall.”

“Excuse me?” The kid was incredulous. “I don’t have to do nothing’ asshole.”

This made him smile. He had no fucking idea just how wrong he was. He grabbed the guy by the shoulder and forced him to turn around. “Fucking spread ‘em.” 

The kid planted his palms on the bricks while Matthews patted him down. When he found nothing, his heart sped up. He was furious. This shitstain was clean. 

“Yeah? You done fondling my balls, officer?” The kid smirked back. 

Matthews swore he had seen the kid deal just earlier. Maybe he somehow tossed his stash. Yeah. That’s what it was. 

And he was about to just walk, as if he wasn’t guilty. 

He wasn't going to fucking let it happen. He was guilty. He knew it.

"You have the right to remain silent." He smacked cuffs on the kid's wrists and squeezed his bony shoulder tight. He'd figure out the technicalities at the station. There’d be some old coke from the evidence locker. Just enough to keep a conviction. 

"What?!" The boy looked gobsmacked. "I ain't carrying anything."

"Never trust a drug dealer," Matthews twisted the boy around and shoved him towards his car. "All they'll do is lie to save their own skin." I'm just saving time. I'll get everything I deserve back. By cleaning up this shit city so fast it'll make Grissom's head spin.

Wilhelmina Maddox

She stared at her new - no, old - desk, a box holding the few items she had. She had avoided her partner - no, old partner - when he broke the news to her the night before after he had gotten her nice and drunk over an old western.

She hadn't said a word to him since.

"Will." He was leaning against his desk, impatience burning at the edge of his voice. "Nothing's changed."

She bit her lip, holding back a tear. She knew she was being childish. It wasn't just his fault. She had happily tangoed in their mutual fraternization. This was just the consequence. 

She had been furious at him for not telling her sooner. When she stole a glance at Mark, there was no ill intent in the discomfort of his frown. He looked like a wounded puppy dog that wanted her forgiveness. Big blue eyes and a pout.

She couldn't be mad at him forever. She forced a smile. "Yeah. Nothing's changed. Except you're about to have to do all your paperwork now."

Realization shined on his face; hope mixed with the fear. She would roll with it - for his sake - and try to let go of this frustration. She watched as relief relaxed his mouth as he muttered, "Matthews sure as hell won't."

She laughed and went to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck to pull his face down to hers, standing on her tiptoes as she pressed her mouth to his. 

So they weren't partners anymore, in the professional sense. They wouldn't see each other as much at work, but they had long surpassed a working relationship . I've seen every inch of him, far deeper than a professional relationship ever would allow.

She suppressed a sigh, chasing the regret away. Things were good. She wanted to enjoy it. And yet. 

"I know you're still upset." Mark watched her closely, always aware of her mood as if he could read her mind. "Means a lot, you trying to act like it’s not."

"I’m just embarrassed. Getting reassigned partners isn't a good look."

"If anyone judges you for it, and starts running their mouth, I'll take care of it."

She pulled back and tried to smirk. "Still, not exactly my proudest moment. Even if they don't say it to my face, I've got a black eye now."

"Never thought you cared about what other people think. And it’s not like you haven’t shown up to the office with a literal one." His grip on her tightened, his face dark. She felt his hand on her cheek, his thumb just under her left eye, tracing the delicate skin underneath as if wiping away a stray lash. Or a bad memory.

"I don't care. Not what the people think here. But. Just thinking of what my dad would say." She felt her face flush and quickly withdrew. "Anyways, I better head across the hall. Dinner after work?"

He seemed unwilling to let it go but finally nodded. He looked curious and concerned, but knew better than to bring it up. "Yeah."

When she opened the door, Matthews appeared with a sneer as plumes of smoke gusted over her face. She resisted the urge to cough. "Mad Max."

"Eric. Take care of him," she pretended she didn't see that cold fish glaze in his stare as she avoided shoulder grazing him to exit the office. 

"And you do the same for Ally." She jumped when she felt his grip on her arm. "Call us if you need some backup in the future."

"Yeah, will do." She didn't like how wild he looked, as if he had been to the ninth circle of hell and somehow returned to this plane of existence, just for a smoke break.

"Hoffman, got some cases I want to tackle -," Matthews' voice was cut off with the close of the door.

When Will reached the other end of the floor and entered her new office, Allison sat up. "How are you feeling about a trip to Quantico? Linds just called. A serial killer's targeting young women in Virginia and they want us over there. Grissom already gave the green light. Once travel's set, we can go first thing next Monday."

She blinked, surprised that the first emotion was not enthusiasm but dread. Mark's face and the likely reaction he'd have of her absence washed over her thoughts. 

Allison, on the other hand, looked thrilled. Positively glowing. Will knew work had become hostile for her, with the cops all casting disapproving leers and not-so-quiet whispers wherever Allison walked.

Her friend - and partner - needed to get away. And she wasn't about to let her go alone on an invitational investigation. 

Peter Strahm's face was a distant memory, buried with so many others. Sand over a beached bottle. But already, a tide was gently wiping the grains off the glass, coming into the light for her to remember what it looked like. 

So much had been left unsaid. And now, that ship has sailed. Despite her conviction, Will swallowed, knowing Mark would not be thrilled when he’d get the news of her next assignment.

Chapter Text

Angelina Acomb

It had been six months since she heard Peter's voice. A dark cloud had overcast her days and so she buried her feelings into work. At The Dillon, it was so easy to lose herself.

She would run about, prepping ingredients. Stir sauces and simmer meats. More oregano. Thyme. Salt. She then went to the desert station. She took out cake tins while her pastry chef held out a spoonful of frosting for her to check. She took a small taste, closing her eyes and focusing solely on the flavor notes. 

The loud hiss of steaming chaos and the rich smells of caramel in the kitchen almost made her forget.

They were catering for a large charity banquet with Umbrella Health, a medical insurance company collaborating with Urban Renewal Group and Homeward Bound Clinic. 

"Angelina?" The low and gentle voice of Jill Tuck broke through her thoughts. She smiled at the beautiful doctor. "Yes, Jill?"

"Do you mind adding another appetizer to the menu? And an additional course that's vegetarian?"

"Of course, there's still time." Truthfully, it would take more preparations well into the late evening but she had nothing better to do. She was grateful for it. 

The one thing Angelina dreaded was going home to her empty apartment. She didn't know what to do, now that Peter was gone.

She had found herself simply standing and staring down at the telephone, as if hypnotized and waiting for a phone call to break the spell. This scared her.

She had called Mark a few times, to see if he wanted to come over. The first time had been the last.

“Ange?” Mark sounded as though he had just been awoken. A thunk, followed by a soft giggle had piqued her interest. 

“Who’s that?”

“Uh.” He had been quiet for a few extra seconds before sheepishly admitting, “Will.”

“Oh!” A familiar feminine sleepy murmur had made her immediately backpedal. “Sorry for bothering you. I know it’s late.”

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah! You know, funniest thing. I forget why I even called. Sorry.”

“...You need me to come over?” There was that knowing tone, that he wasn’t buying her words. 

“No - no, seriously, it must not have been a big deal. I’m going to bed. Good night!” And she had hung up, shaking her head at herself. She was happy for them, more than she was sad for herself. She would get through this on her own.

She just needed more work to keep herself distracted. Time would fly faster and Peter would be back home to her sooner. She did everything she could to not be home.

Sometimes, she felt resentment worm its way through her heart, her being left behind.

She couldn't remember the last time she felt so alone.

Amanda Young

She stood before the judge, in disbelief as she heard her sentence. Her public appointed lawyer put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy but it did little to bring any comfort. Five years . She was sentenced to five fucking years.

And she hadn’t even done the crime she was accused of. Possession. Sure, she hung out with Cecil and the wrong crowd. And sure, she had done her fair share of criminal activity. But she never fucked with dope. She never needed to.

So how the hell did she get found with heroin?

She knew it was that fucking cop. He was in the courtroom, unphased as he looked right at her as if he was in the right for this whole mess. He must have framed me. Lied.

She had protested and even begged to have a drug test done. It changed nothing. Her friend, Cecil, managed to evade prison time. She was happy for him. Really. But the resentment itched up her arms despite it. How the hell did he get off while she got stuck in this mess?

“Do you understand?” The judge looked down at her, unimpressed and cold. 

“Yeah. I understand.” I understand that this system is fucked and I’m going to prison for a crime I didn’t commit. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.  

“Perhaps you’ll reflect and change your ways during your sentence. I hope so. You’re young and still have a long life ahead of you. I suggest you take this time to reconsider your life choices.” The judge smacked the gavel, the court dismissed. 

Amanda barely registered when the handcuffs were clasped to her wrists. She glared hatefully at the cops that did this to her. She would never forget their names. Eric Matthews, the cunt with the oral-fixation and the dick-sucking-lipped Mark Hoffman. 

She wished she could shoot lasers from her eyes and vaporize the two of them. The two men were talking amongst themselves, laughing like schoolboys and ignoring her hateful eyes as she was pulled from them. 

She’d get them. One day. Somehow. She swore this.

Even if it kills me, I’m going to make them pay. 

Mark Hoffman

Six months. After six months of dating, he thought they had built a healthy enough relationship to trust each other. He was slowly stalking up the stairs towards their office level. The ambient buzz around him had snuffed out. He was keeping his fingers from tightening into balled fists. He felt his pulse beating under the skin of his neck. She had even rolled over and kissed him good morning, no hint that she had been hiding anything from him.

If she hid something like this, what else was she not telling him?

“You’re going to Quantico?” Hoffman pushed into the women’s office, hot anger gripping his throat. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Kerry was in mid-sip of her coffee, eyebrow raised, before she straightened up and walked out of the room with her mug. Hoffman was grateful for her tact and closed the door behind her. He pulled the blind shut at the door’s window. And then he rounded upon Will.

“Were you just going to leave me a note?”

Will looked like a naughty teenager getting caught sneaking out after curfew. He refused to find it arousing. He refused.

He kept sharply reproaching, not blinking as she squirmed in her seat. “Well,” she closed the folder she was referring to and leaned back into her chair, “I don’t know how long it’s going to be. It’s for the collaboration program and the agents who helped us on the Rosello case asked for us specifically.”

“Yeah. I’m sure Strahm will be thrilled to know you’re going.”

“What does that mean? Perez made the request.”

He remembered the first time he met Special Agent Peter Strahm, the thorny memory of his hand on Will’s back as he steered her back into the task force room, closing the door in his face. Riggs’ words replayed in his mind. “ Oh, and she’s been heading uptown to talk to those agents. I noticed she'd grab a bite to eat with the guy. And get this - Strahm - he was also at the funeral.”  

Strahm, he had thought, was not a threat any longer now that he was out of state. How fucking wrong he was. Will, that fluff of red hair pulled back, looked up at him so naively, it sometimes made him incredulous. She had to know. And yet she was trying to deceive him, to pretend she was unaware. It hurt, and he wondered if this was a sign he couldn’t trust her. “I know the guy has feelings for you.” 

Her jaw twitched. “I won’t deny that before we were dating,” she cleared her throat, “there may have been some flirting.”

Hearing this, though it raised the temperature in his blood, he felt his shoulders relax a bit. She was open to him. That was something. “And now?”

“Obviously, I don’t intend to do anything beyond maintaining a working relationship. And not like ours, so don’t start on that,” she shook her head and sighed. “There’s nothing between me and Strahm. We haven’t even spoken since the night Rosello died. I’m sure he’s moved on and,” she got to her feet and went around her desk to put a hand on his arm. “So have I. I love you. I don’t want to ruin what I have with you.”

Her touch was like a healing spell that calmed the buzzing in his head and halted the sparks of anger before they could catch aflame. He wanted to take her face in his hands and pull her close to him and not let her go. “I love you, Will.” But he didn’t want her to leave. “How long are you going to have to work with the FBI?”

She smiled sadly up at him. “Until we catch the serial killer that’s been murdering women all up the east coast.”

“That could take months,” he grumbled.

“Kerry and I plan to still keep up with our caseload here. We’ll be flying down to Quantico and back up here every other week.”

He shook his head. “You’re going to be busy.”

She gave him a grin, all chagrined. “Well, if you and Matthews want to help us when we’re here, that would certainly clear up my schedule for some more downtime with you.”

She could always pay him like a fiddle. “I’ll be expecting a form of payment, then.”

“Oh,” Will pulled at his necktie, mischief glittering in her laugh. “I think I can find a way to make it worth your while.”

David Tapp 

The Japanese man looked so calm and refined, despite being cuffed to the table. His black suit was pressed and without stray hair or lint. He had a scar at the corner of his mouth and his right hand was missing the tip of his pinky. 

“Mister Yamaguchi. We appreciate you speaking with us.”

The yakuza’s mouth curled into a lazy smirk. “Of course, considering I have been arrested under false charges. So, what does the esteemed Metropolitan Police Department require of me, to have the drug charge disappear?” 

"Information." Sing approached, arms folded and sour. This round, he was center stage as the bad cop. "Any information on the locations of other explosives your syndicate has stashed so we can save some innocent lives. Get your group to stop this bloodbath, hell, we may let out some of your brothers that are already incarcerated. Two years is long enough."

“No one is innocent,” Yamaguchi commented with candor. “Especially when those who uphold the law twist it to get what they want. And delude themselves into believing it is for a worthy cause.”

Tapp stepped in, leaning back in his seat and giving the man a smile. “That’s what judges and IA’s for. Now we appreciate you letting us know about the corruption in the department. Believe me, I want to do things right. But we’re on a time crunch. I know, unlike the street hoodlums here, you follow a strict set of code, Mr. Yamaguchi. You won’t harm children. You won’t harm innocents. And yet your bombs are directly putting those at risk who aren’t involved. Level with me. Do you want innocent blood on your hands? Because maybe we’re bending the rules because that’s the last thing we want.”

Yamaguchi pondered, a thoughtful hum escaping his nose. “Yes. Perhaps. Give me a telephone, and I will speak with the syndicate. Perhaps we can make arrangements.”

Tapp’s feet twitched with hope. “Get this man a telephone,” he turned to Sing who leaped and left the room, to get the authorization to escort their prisoner. 

“But know that our war with K2K will save many more, and we intend to purge this city of their corruption. They are like an infected limb and must be cut off,” Yamaguchi whispered, eyes black pools of night that reflected no stars. “I advise keeping your distance from their contested territories and soon we will erase them. And order will be restored.”

“As the Sumiyoshi-kai maintain that order, is that right?” Tapp always felt creeped out by the yakuza. They normally kept low profiles and were low maintenance on his case docket. But Rosello’s absence made everyone see gold and it was just chaos. The mayor had ordered a curfew. There weren’t any idle officers at the moment.

“We will return to balance. And, unlike Toni Rosello, we will not get too glutinous with power. Understand that we are not your enemy, Detective Tapp. We are businessmen.”

Tapp nodded, wanting the man to continue. He was on tape. 

“In the end, the civilians want to walk out in the sunshine and to go to the markets. Take their children to the parks. Pray in their churches. The sumiyoshi? We want to earn our wealth and return it to the outcasts of society. We wish to aid those that need it. And keep the black markets in line. No unnecessary bloodshed. Simple perfect dance, police chase to catch us, we simply evade. ” Yamaguchi smiled serenely. 

Tapp pursed his lips. “Very eloquent, Mr. Yamaguchi.”

“Thank you.” 

Sing finally returned. “Tapp. A word?"

Outside the interrogation room, they went into the observation chamber where Yamaguchi looked straight at the one-way looking glass, smiling.

"What is it?"

"K2K members have come forward, asking for protection. Get this, apparently, the yakuza have already just about wiped them out. The bombs are still out there, though. "

"Then we still need to play their game." He scratched his beard, taking slow and deep breaths as he contemplated. "No wonder he’s playing nice. They got what they wanted.”

“And the other bombs?”

“Well, Sing, let’s get him that phone call."

Chapter Text

Wilhelmina Maddox

  They arrived at Quantico, getting their visitor badges, and were led through tunnels of white painted walls and glossy waxed floors. The sound of their shoes squeaking filled the silence. Will studied the short man in uniform, his swagger similar to how Perez and Strahm held themselves.

Kerry elbowed Will to look over at a group of youths in matching sweats, fresh Academy students who held a grimness rarely seen on a person so young. Everywhere they went, there was an intensity that screamed, ‘We take ourselves very seriously’. 

The brass sign announcing ‘Behavioral Sciences’ with Dan Erickson and Peter Strahm’s names proudly listed below. Passing the surprisingly modern furnishings and the distinct smell of air freshener gave Will a window into the world of their old colleagues. They went through a common waiting area and finally reached Peter Strahm’s office.

“Looks like the federal government pays better,” Kerry quipped as she looked at the degrees and credentials framed on the walls. Rich mahogany desks and navy blue carpet with walls of academic texts gave her the feeling of being in a library. She half expected a librarian to be seated at the desk, to hush her partner for her loud remark. 

Instead, Peter Strahm rose from his seat, reading glasses on the tip of his nose. “Allison. Will. How was the trip?” He shook Kerry’s hand first before turning to Will’s, giving her only the minimal amount of eye contact necessary to be polite before turning his attention back to Kerry. 

Confusion with a thick dose of relief coated her insides and she felt herself slacken as she took a seat across the desk. The cushions were surprisingly plush and after hours of taxi rides and flying coach, she could have happily curled up and napped in its softness. 

“It’s going to be rough, bouncing back and forth every week.”

Strahm shook his head. “Exhausting, I know. We appreciate the MPD’s willingness to spare two of their best detectives. We’re happy for all the help we can get.” He had his pen in hand, playing with it in between his fingers and clicking the cap. Will noted the shadows under his eyes and the lines that had deepend on his face since she had last seen him. He looked exhausted. Angry, even. She knew he was a serious guy, always with a look that felt deep with troubled thoughts and a dark outlook.

But now, there was an almost furious edge to him, like a pot about to boil over. 

“So,” Will decided to dive right in. “You have a profile on this guy?”

Strahm finally smiled at her, softening just a touch. “Male. Caucasian. Mid-thirties. Has a negative relationship with a young, attractive woman, early to mid twenties. Various appearances and professions. We are still trying to figure out what makes him decide to target his victims. They were found with their hearts removed. We’re assuming a romantic gesture is represented in the act. In addition, traces of bioluminescent algae on their remains, neck down. The algae is only found in Australia or tropical fish aquariums, though they are very hard to maintain. We scoped every major aquarium but the algae needs to be cultured and do not survive in controlled environments for longer than a week.” Strahm opened a drawer and took out a thick folder, dropping it within the womens’ reach. 

“How about algae culture suppliers?” Will and Kerry shared the folder, craning their heads together to take in as much detail simultaneously. 

“What color?” Kerry asked, looking up. “The algae, what color does it glow?”

“Blue.”

“Any mythology referencing blue glowing water?”

“Not that we’ve seen. We’ve scoured religious references to blue water, beautiful maidens, anything. So far, we haven’t found anything worth exploring.”

Kerry wrinkled her eyebrow. “This case seems to have some flair. You always get the creative types?”

“Unfortunately. They’re not as straightforward as the flavor you get up north.” 

“And the victims. Besides gender and age, any other commonalities?”

“That’s the thing. Most come from various socioeconomic groups. Most have not even lived in the same state. Two runaways. Four college students. Three stay-at-home-mothers. We even had a corporate executive who normally frequents Wall Street. One was also from Russia, here on a work visa. Two Jane Does that haven’t been identified yet. And then there was the most recent victim.” Strahm returned to a seething scowl. “Alicia Reynolds. Her remains were placed as a stage spectacle for one of the running senators of Virginia. He was hosting a campaign event, and once the curtains were drawn, she was revealed. She had been strung up on the rafters of the venue.” The pictures were there, showing the woman nude and pulled apart by her limbs high on the stage of what looked like a theater hall. Her yellow hair braided was around her head, carefully, her face clearly made up to emphasize her features.

“I’m no psychologist, but she seems to be presented in a way that looks like the suspect cares for her. He’s presenting her to look her best.”

Strahm squinted, his mouth thin. “Your interpretation may be more aligned with what he believes. But it’s clear she’s an object to him. A prop to further his agenda. Why else was she nude with her rib cage exposed? Her heart, missing. This indicates the desire to humiliate.”

“And yet, he took the time to groom her. And even her restraints aren’t cheap. Looks like satin or silk rope. You mentioned he’s got issues with whoever he’s projecting onto his victims? Maybe it’s not just hatred - no - rage. They aren’t beaten. They’re not disfigured outside of the practical removal of the organ.”

“He left the others out to be eaten by the buzzards.”

“Were they displayed similarly?”

“No. Most were discarded, like trash.”

“So what makes Alicia different?” Kerry interjected, reaching over to take a headshot of the victim, where her lips were gently rouged and her cheeks caressed with blush. 

  “The killer needed her to make a statement. To publicly display his work. We are currently investigating any connection the senator has with Alicia or any potential link to a motivation.”

“Who’s the politician?”

“Larry McGill, Democrat. Been using immigration and student debt for his campaign. He’s down fifteen points since the uncovering of the victim, as it was being broadcast live statewide. Now, it’s about to break nationwide. It’s the reason I was able to get you two here,” Strahm looked at each woman, grim. “We’re desperate and need him caught sooner than later.”

“We’re on it.”

The door knocked and Lindsey Perez entered, lighting up at the sight of Allison. “About time you two got here.” She, too, sported dark patches of weariness under her eyes, looking as if she hadn’t had a rich meal or a goodnight’s sleep in weeks. “Any trouble getting here?”

“None. Fret not. Back up’s here.” Kerry got to her feet, hand at her hip. “So what’s the plan?”

Mark Hoffman

“So yeah, got promoted to Head Chef,” Angie had been swirling her glass of wine with feverish focus, the golden liquid having coated the inside of the goblet several layers over. “That Umbrella Health event went well. Jill’s been great, she even gave me a bonus for all the work. I think I’ll have enough saved to open my own restaurant in the next two years. But I want to wait for Peter to get back from deployment.” He knew she was far from the bundle of joy she was pretending to be. He knew from the way she wouldn’t look him directly in the face as she spoke. She would look at his ear or at the top of his head. 

She hadn’t been putting on makeup lately. And when she returned in the same pair of sweats he’d seen her wear just the other day, with a bottle of wine within reach, he knew she wasn’t in a good place.

“I haven’t been paying attention, Ange,” he felt as if his ankles were being grabbed and pulled into the ground, the gravity of guilt crushing. He reached and took the wine glass from her, noting her flinch from his grasp, before collapsing into his hug. She was sobbing into his chest, her tears warm and damp as they soaked into his shirt. 

Fuck . He had been so caught up in his own shit that he neglected the one person he promised he never would. “It’s going to be alright.”

“I just miss him. I haven’t gotten a phone call or letter in weeks. I don’t know if he’s alive. If he’s okay.”

A lump had formed in his throat. He wanted to fix this. But he had no direct link to the military. And Peter was overseas in a warzone. He went through the list of people in his network. Some were veterans, sure. He could ask them if there was anything they could do. Hell, wasn’t there some sort of support base for people like Ange? Spouses that could get a hold of someone that could at least verify that he was all right?

He needed to at least distract her. “Ange. When was the last time we went to the movies?”

She sniffled, her shoulders slowing in their violent shrugging. “I don’t remember.”

“Let’s go. I hear there’s this movie on dinosaurs that’s pretty realistic. I’ve been meaning to see it.”

She was wiping her eyes. “Dinosaurs?” She hiccuped and let out a small laugh. “Yeah. Okay. Sure, anything if it means getting out of this apartment.” 

He took her to see the film, keeping Angelina in the corner of his eye while he considered what he needed to do to help ease her fears. Once the opening credits began and the theater dimmed into darkness, did he allow his attention to break from his exclusive focus upon her. She was engrossed in the film, like a deer in the headlights. The music was larger than life and whenever he peaked a glance at his sister, it was clear she was enraptured in the story. 

He thought it was an okay movie, if not a bit dull at the beginning.

It wasn’t until the giant tyrannosaurus rex went on its killing spree, was he so invested. He was amazed at how realistic it all looked. The giant lizard roaring and tearing apart anyone in its path was a beautiful sight.

Angelina thought otherwise, covering her eyes and burying her face into his shoulder. He laughed at this, returning to memories of her squealing in terror whenever they snuck horror movies back in their childhood home, while their parents slept oblivious.

It was like they were kids again.  

After the movies, Angelina had been noticeably lighter. “I’ve got a terrible sweet tooth right now,” she turned to him, hair spinning around her as she twirled hyperly.

“Want me to make you something?”

She laughed. “Yeah, your famous chocolate cake.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“God, no,” she pretended to be horrified. “I remember how you always tried to bake sweets to cheer me up and they always ended up being both overcooked and raw at the same time. It’s actually what got me into cooking, so we wouldn’t starve to death or get food poisoning.”

“They weren’t that bad. I remember you’d eat them without complaint.”

“Actually, I secretly threw them out when you weren’t looking. To not hurt your feelings.” The sun had long set and the air had gone cool. It seemed autumn was approaching quickly, her breath steaming out as she spoke. 

“Well now, that breaks my heart,” he pretended to be hurt, clutching his chest and pouting. 

She stopped and gave his arm a squeeze. “The fact that you made them was the important thing. Regardless of undercooked centers and burnt edges. You’ve always been a good brother to me. I hope you know that.”

He felt warm and emotional. He avoided her eyes and suppressed the tightness in his throat. “You’ve been a good sister, Ange.”

“Okay, let’s not get all sappy here.” She pointed a few blocks over. “I know this amazing late night cafe that serves the best chocolate mousse. My treat.”

Peter Strahm

He knew that Will and Hoffman had begun dating. Lindsey had told him in passing before she arrived, the message sent by Kerry who had made the call to let him know in advance, to spare any awkward rejections. 

The case took precedence. Strahm fully understood and was grateful for the heads up.

Despite maintaining his professionalism, he couldn’t help but wonder incredulously.

After everything with Rosello, how the hell did Will decide to commit to a man who had compromised his ideals and had blood on his hands?

It wasn’t any of his business and he knew this. 

He had left the city without so much as a farewell. He had been the one to initiate distance, the growing affection he had developed during their therapy sessions something he knew he needed to stop before it continued.

Yet here they were, back on a case together, and she still made his heart pick up the pace with a simple glance. 

Truthfully, he had felt ashamed of himself for how he had not argued against letting her go on that sting operation as the bait. 

He remembered the night, sharp and sore like a wound that had gotten infected and was slow to heal. 

“I dare you to deck Will. Like you mean it.”

All he did was stand there, in the undercover van while the live feed brought him to the scene. He had heard everything. Every word. Every punch. 

And she was now fucking the man that hit her.

The forensic psychologist in him had concluded Will had some underlying attraction to men who invoked pain. Her history with her ex-husband and with Mark Hoffman justified this theory. But he also considered how this catered to his own ego. 

He wasn’t the problem. It was Will’s warped desires. Yeah, wouldn’t that be convenient?

Even he thought that was a farfetched and outlandish conclusion.

He objectively knew that was from his own bias of not wanting to consider another reason she had run into her partner’s arms. Such as a personal shortcoming she deemed incompatible. To distance himself from the possibility, he had taken clear clinical treatment of their relationship, keeping it as sterile as he knew he should.

It was the professional thing to do. It followed protocol.

Mark Hoffman was notorious for not giving a damn about protocol, not if there was something he wanted.

And that had given him the advantage when courting Will.

Strahm had unrealistic expectations of her, assuming she would have no romantic thoughts of the man she worked with. But he had hoped that she would at least not act upon it.

He had been wrong.

He didn't want to ruin the friendliness between them, though.

"Strahm," Lindsey raised an eyebrow at him. "There’s fingerprints."

That was new.

He approached, careening around forensics who were like birds around a feeder, the flash and chirp of the cameras sounding off.

The latest murder had only happened a day after Will and Allison arrived.

He was beginning to lose his patience. This guy was getting more brazen with every kill.

This one looked young, thin. Her hair was still damp, as if he had been in a rush when he was performing his ritual. Her lips were almost blue, her eyes milky white.

"There's also some unknown sediment under her nails," the coroner lifted one of her hands. "I need a bag over here."

Allison was shining a flashlight over the walls, taking in every detail of the vinyl records store. "There hasn't been consistency in the disposal of the remains. Any clues as to why here?"

Will was squatting by the body. "Musician, maybe? She has a tattoo of a treble clef on her ankle."

Strahm turned and went to her. There, in bold black ink was that music symbol. His mind went back to the other victims. Alicia, what was her relationship with politics? There had been nothing hinting of such in the background check. Kimberly and a tobacco farm? Besides an uncle that smoked, there had been no reason to suspect a link. This was the first victim with any strong indication of an intentional connection to the scene where they had been dumped. 

"Hey! We got something you'll want to see!"

Strahm turned to one of the photographers who was staring at the bottom of the stairs, camera clutched to their chest, their face looking green.

"What is it?"

And then he saw it.

A box, stained in blood, "Pete," hastily scribbled on the wrinkled cardboard.

He narrowed his eyes. "Get a bomb squad in here. Everyone back away."

Chapter Text

John Kramer

He admired the old building, a relic of the past that still withstood the test of time. His meticulous plans had finally led up to this moment.

Years of studies, careful anticipation of the real estate market, and eventual independence with his own contracting firm had built this new foundation to his ever growing empire.

The Gideon meatpacking plant, still proud with all its rust scars and broken windows, stood before him wrapped with chain linked fences and barbed wire. He felt like a royal entering his castle.

"Congratulations, John," his lawyer, Art Blanck, looked smooth in his suit, giving the new property owner a smug nod. "It’s a beaut."

"A fixer-upper," Jill was craning her head to the roof. The walls. When they entered the warehouse, she stepped deep into its bowels and spun around like a dancer. She took in all the equipment left behind, admiring some shelving with dusty hooks and hammers. "It’s perfect,"  she turned to him and beamed. 

Blanck had his hands in his pockets, swaggering about. "One of many, I'm sure. Considering the declining prices, now is the time to buy up whatever you can. A brilliant business opportunity-,"

"And a good opportunity to renovate these buildings for affordable housing," Jill added, wary of Blanck. "To help get people off the street." 

John loved Jill's charitable heart, it being her idea to consider this line of work. Before Urban Renewal, he had been more focused on pleasing the customer, be it the private contractors who sold his creations for weapons or the latest product gimmick that got the American consumer eager to trade their paychecks for. He had not discriminated, driven only by the pursuit of wealth.

But when he met Jill, he was taken aback by her bravery. She was pure of heart. His rock in this crazy world. 

He wanted to help her, in her dreams, which was to make the world a little bit better off. Her own project, Homeward Bound, was far from profitable. She spent every waking moment at the clinic and so he had decided to assist in financing it for her.

Art Blanck had not approved, the tax break not enough incentivize or justify such a poor business decision. 

The tension was clear. His wife and lawyer were just civil enough, though Jill did little to hide her disapproval.

"Well, John. Jill. Congratulations. I’ll leave you two to celebrate.” Blanck forced a smile as he strode out of the old warehouse.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Jill’s shoulders relaxed downward and her face smoothed to a beautiful twinkle. “John Kramer,” she would say his name with such honey and fondness that it made his heart swell, “I’m so lucky to have met you in my life.”

He took her hand and spun her around, as though about to sway to secret music. He pulled her close to him, tightly into his arms. “And I, lucky to have met you, Jill.” 

Angelina Acomb

It was a hot summer day. The sun was already burning her shoulders and making her sweat. 

The annual Metropolitan Police Department Potluck had a full turnout, despite the growing tensions the city was experiencing, tightly clutched by rumors of terrorism in the form of explosives and gunfights in the streets.

She had brought cupcakes. Decadent little pastries with carefully swirled frosting and high end pearl sprinkles accenting them.

Her work stood out in the sea of homemade goods, though love was placed everywhere she looked.

“Angelina,” a woman she recognized as Jane Matthews approached her with her son, Daniel, who was now walking around and sputtering to himself. “I love your cupcakes. It’s so good to see you.”

“Great to see you too,” she was taken off guard when Jane pulled her tightly into a hug. She knew that Mark was now partners with her husband, thus explaining her affection, but still, she had only spoken to Jane in passing at holidays and the occasional police function. “How are things?”

“Honestly? Terrible. I’m only here because Daniel needs to spend time with his father. Though it’s so awkward,” the woman was staring over at her ex - or, soon-to-be ex, - husband, who was talking with Mark over some beers as they watched the grills. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it to your wedding.”

“Oh,” Angie shrugged, not sure what was the right thing to say at that moment, “that’s all right. I can only imagine what you’re going through right now.”

“Yeah. Trust me. It’s not fun.” Jane forced a laugh but her eyes were watering. She looked down at Daniel, as if that would hide them. “Anyways, I just wanted to say congratulations. On your wedding. I hope you and Peter are well?”

“We are. Though the distance is hard,” she grimaced but remained pleasant. “He’s in Iraq right now, what with the tensions in Kuwait.” Her heart was already hammering in her rib cage, adrenaline coursing through her veins like acid at the thought. 

Jane gave tisking and clucking sounds of sympathy. “Terrible what’s happening over there. You know, I hear George Bush…” Angelina forcefully muted Jane’s voice, the desire to melt where she stood and absorb into the grass at her feet overwhelming. 

Angelina found herself picking faces in the crowd, hungrily searching for Alllison or Will’s features to pop out and rescue her. She recognized the two curly puff balls of hair and mentally pleaded that they would be attracted by the forces of sheer friendship and she would be free from this awkward conversation. 

Her prayers were answered with the glitter of recognition from Allison as she waved and turned to tap Will on the shoulder. The two cops turned and approached, though a darkening of awareness shadowed their faces from seeing Jane Matthews. They slowed their pace.

Angelina grimaced over Jane’s head, nodding in understanding that they needed to keep back for just a moment longer. Will whispered something into her partner’s ear, Ally shaking her head and mouthing curses.

“Oh, Tracy!” Jane let out a high pitched squeal as she walked off to join the throng of police wives. 

She couldn’t walk away from the desert table fast enough.

“Ange,” Will put an arm around her and pulled her close. “How are things?”

“Hanging in there,” her smile was no longer forced. “Seriously, though, such an awkward time with Jane.”

“Yeah, tell me about it. I’m surprised she showed,” Allison took a swig from her bottle, swirling the beer in her mouth with a pout. “Hoffman’s keeping Eric close. Especially with how drawn out the divorce is going, he’s been on a short fuse.”

Well, he did cheat on her , Angelina kept the thoughts down, torn between her friendship with Allison and Eric and knowing they had gone and made a downright mess of things. The addition of negative thoughts piling onto her mental trash heap was bringing her down, so she quickly turned to Will with a mischievous need to distract from the dull pain. 

“So, Will, how long have you and Mark been together?” She leaned forward, eyes wide with intensity as she watched the redhead shrink from her scrutiny. “If you say more than a few months, I will absolutely kill him for hiding this from me.”

“Uh.” Will whirled over to Mark, who seemed to be in a deep discussion on the precise moment a burger needed to be flipped with Daniel Rigg and Eric. 

Angelina was not about to let this go. “Since when? I knew you two weren’t working on cases anymore - but that was years ago.” It was mostly denial, her refusal to believe that her brother would have hidden this from her for this long, but she already knew. 

Mark had been pleasant lately. She had seen him make smalltalk to strangers in line at the movies. She even saw him hold the door open for a young couple, throwing a small smile at them. Though Mark was always such a loving brother, to most people he was calloused and aloof. 

She had been so caught up with herself after getting married. She had not spent anywhere near as much time with Mark as she used to and this was likely another reason she never noticed. She never even thought to ask.

Still, he could have at least told her.

“Well, we may have become more than just coworkers for a while now.” Will was waffling. 

“Since when?” She took her hand and squeezed it. “Please, I need to know!”

“Since your wedding?” Will let out a gasp when Angelina squeezed her hand tight. 

“That. Was. Three years ago.” She was looking through Will and at her brother. “How come Mark didn’t invite you over for the holidays?”

“Well - I usually go back to California to spend time with my relatives - and - Jesus, Angie, you’ve got a grip,” Will pulled free and shook her fingers. “Yeah, I knew he hadn’t let you know yet.”

“What was he waiting for? Will I even be invited to the wedding?”

Allison choked on her drink and Will sighed. “I don’t think marriage is on the radar for a while.”

“Don’t ruin my hopes and dreams,” Angelina was already imagining a church house wedding, complete with pink roses and silver silk. Will would look like a dream in white, her hair orange fire pulled back with pearls and lace. Mark would be in a tux, hair slicked back, happy and all teeth. “I was starting to lose hope that Mark would ever get me a sister. And the kids!” She felt triumphant, fist pumping as she let out a gleeful cackle. “I’m going to be an aunt!”

“How much have you had to drink, Ange?” Ally was amused. 

“None, actually,” she was clinging to this good news, wrapping it around her like a blanket, nestling into the comfort of it. 

“Speaking of weddings,” Will effortlessly dodged the spotlight, “You’ve got to show me the photographs from yours. I haven’t had a chance to swing by and reminisce. Sorry about that, Ange,” Will looked sheepish and sympathetic. Angelina felt as if she was reading her and knew every dark thought that was barbed into her brain. 

“Oh, yes! Come by any weekend. It’s been slow with the catering contracts.”

“Sorry, Angie honey, we’ve got to fly down to Virginia this Friday.”

“Oh, right,” disappointment was like an anvil over her head. “You two close to catching that monster?”

“We’re trying. He’s been quiet this summer. Part of the reason we’ve been staying here for so long is because he’s gone underground since the last murder. It’s slowing things down on our end.” Will and Ally exchanged looks, as if there was a lot more going on than they let on. She knew better than to push, though. When it came to high profile murder cases, they had to keep the details under wraps. Especially if withholding information was used to verify the killer’s story when they finally caught him. 

Angie shook her head, shivering at the prospect. Women taken and having their hearts removed, it was gruesome. The stuff of horror movies. 

Sometimes, she wished Mark hadn’t chosen to go into law enforcement. She just wanted a normal, simple life, for both siblings. The Hoffmans were such a small family, really just the two of them. And it terrified her, to imagine a world where Mark was gone. She wanted him far from danger. Far from serial killers and violence. 

And with that, she thought of her husband, off to war. She wanted Peter home. She wanted her future children to not worry about losing their relatives. She wanted to live somewhere safe. 

And she wanted her brother to experience all these forms of happiness as well. 

They were all dreams so close to coming true. And yet so far. 

A part of her, in her anxious paranoia, feared it could all fall apart at any second. That Mark would one day not return her calls. That Peter would never come back. 

Lately, the future plans she had felt out of reach and so fragile, like smoke on water. 

“Hey, ladies,” Eric called out while loudly clicking the metal tongs, “How many burgers you want?”

Mark Hoffman

Larry returned with the whiskey and two glasses, giving a clearly warmer look over at Will before turning to wipe the greasy towel onto the old wooden bar. 

When his old bartender approved of the new addition to his evening ritual, he knew he must have been one of the lucky ones. 

At the corner of his eye, he saw Will yawn and flip through the pages of the American Rifleman, picking at the soggy fries in her basket. Her lips were pulled together in a small pout, her freckles fading with the warmth of the late summer. 

These days, she wore darker colors. Black and navy. Colors of control. The shadowed bruises under her eyes gave her a punkish look, followed with how her fingernails were all torn and chewed to the quick. The flash of amber eyes flicked a jolt of energy up his spine. She could give a look that would make him feel like a deer in the headlights getting blasted with a flamethrower. “What?”

“Nothing.” He pretended he wasn’t feeling eager to grip her by the hair and sink his teeth into the softness of her neck. He forced himself to look away and stare at the broadcasting football game. A fumble caused some nearby patrons to curse and grunt, shaking their heads as another let out a laugh. 

“I hate how small my wrists are,” she spoke, holding the shiny pages up to reveal a Big Frame Revolver Magnum, the classic western pistol, glint in its matte stainless steel finish. “Ain’t he pretty?” 

He smirked, reaching to where her hand pressed the magazine down to the bartop and ran his fingers over the back of her hand and up to her wrist. It was like warm butter, a teaser to the rest of her he wanted to caress. “I think you’ve got nice wrists. Never stopped you from throwing a good punch.”

“Yeah, but imagine the recoil on this puppy.” She had her lower lip stuck out. “I want it but it’s not like I’d be able to use it.”

“Yeah, but it’ll scare the hell out of anyone who crosses you if they see that on your hip.”

“Nah, they probably would just assume I wouldn’t know how to use it. Because, realistically, I’m not built for it.” She huffed. “But it’s so pretty.”

He suppressed a laugh. She had this way of raising the octave of her voice whenever she got all gushy. Usually, it was when she walked by a dog. Or a good looking weapon. The latter was a turn on. “What’s wrong with Edgar?” He was referring to her Smith and Wesson 38, her preferred weapon since he’d known her. His eyes darted down to her hip holster, where it was resting on her belt. He poured her a drink.

“Nothing. Edgar’s served me well. Nothing wrong with dreaming of life across the fence. A life with thick wrists.”

“I think you’ll hurt Edgar’s feelings, looking at other guns like that,” he joked, realizing as the words came out that they had an almost metaphorical bite to it. He squeezed his lips together, cursing himself. Fuck. I guess we’re not going back to my place after this.

She sighed and closed the magazine, turning in her swivel barstool and leaned forward to put a hand on his thigh. Oh? They locked eyes, and he kept his as blank as he could despite feeling the warmth of her palm through his slacks. 

“Hey. You know you’re the only big gun in my life.”

He was glad he hadn’t taken a drink, because he would have choked on it. “Yeah?”

She teased, “Oh, definitely. And soon, I’ll be back to spending every workday right across the hall from you. Who knows, maybe we’ll be assigned to some cases together.”

“So you’re close to catching the Heart Stealer?”

“Maybe. Can’t go too deep in the details.”

“That’s too bad. I could help.”

“Yeah that would be nice,” a want in her voice, full of denied desire, trailed her words. “But know that I’m working hard to get back to working with you. I miss not feeling like I’m constantly being watched and analyzed by the men in black.” 

He liked it when she complained about the feds. He had been starting to worry that she would move onto greener pastures and end up working with the FBI, permanently. “Well, I hear their benefits are better.”

“But they don’t have your handsome face,” she leaned forward and planted a kiss on his mouth before turning back to her magazine. “What do you say we get outta here?” 

“Don’t have to ask me twice.”

 They had practically ran back to his apartment, an easy ten minute walk from Larry’s Sport’s Bar that they made in four, and as soon as the elevator doors locked the two of them alone he had dove upon her, pressing her against the wall as she had one palm on his face while the other reached down and fondled his groin.

He let out a hiss as he felt her push and play into his loins, cutting into his focus as hot hunger roiled out of him. He tasted the salt and scotch on her tongue, the smell of her shampoo familiar and comforting. She was like a squid, each limb rubbing and tugging at wherever they could reach. He felt his tie being loosened and his shirt being ripped open. 

“Naughty girl,” he growled, “that was my favorite shirt.”

“I’ll buy you another one,” she breathlessly whispered into the fat of his lips. 

Despite all the intermittent travel that forced them apart, it had only heightened their mutual physical need for each other. 

Migrating from elevator to apartment was a blur, with only bits and pieces of visuals including the cream of her collar bone down to the red lace of her bra. He found himself kneeling before his goddess while he ran his tongue down her pelvic bone as she swooned against him, knees thrashing over his shoulders as he showed his devotion through his tongue. 

She let out a gasp chased with a scream and he groaned against her pubic bone as he resisted the burning need to find relief. She needed to be savored and cherished. He only had her to himself every few weeks.

He continued swirling his tongue over her nub as she writhed against his chin, twitching and yowling, round calves flexing against his neck and pressing into his shoulders as her heels dug into his back ribs.

He knew he had her when she breathlessly inhaled, suddenly releasing him from her leggy vice, relaxing into his sheets as if the Great Kraken itself was appeased. 

She looked spent.

But he wasn’t even close.

He ascended over her, feeling her small, sweaty form underneath him as he peppered her with kisses and pushed her legs far apart with his knees. She looked up at him with half-lidded eyes, drunk from his treatment, until they burst wide from his impulsive plunge into her. 

She gripped his shoulder as he began his eager thrusts, no longer composed and no longer caring. He felt her gummy walls, slick and warm, squeezing and sucking at his girth and it was like sparks were short-circuiting his brain. He didn’t feel his limbs but he felt absolute fucking ecstasy up his spine as he pushed into her, grunting as he pushed as far into her as he could while she dug her nails into his arms and bleated out profanities like his dirty little angel. 

“Mark! Fuck! Mark! Oh, God!” 

Her cries made the hairs on the back of his neck stand and he had to slow down the pace so he wouldn’t come right then and there. He pulled the sheets into his fist as he took long, careful breaths, holding onto the last thread of control as it threatened to snap.

She was grinding upward into him, taking his free hand and sucking on his thumb with such profane gusto that he let out a low growl as he pulled it away from her, gripping her wrist and holding it above her head. “Not. Yet.” He was speaking more to himself, but she looked up at him with wide, lust-filled eyes that looked half-afraid and half-into-how-afraid-she-was-feeling. 

He picked up one of her legs and hoisted it over his shoulder as he began drilling downward into her. She tossed her head back into the pillows and sang for him as he returned to feeling her insides, feeling her pussy spasming around him. This drove him to ram his cock deeper and deeper until he finally released. 

He was panting over her, dripping with sweat, collapsed and feeling the dark comfort of sleep begin to pull his consciousness away. He felt her kiss his cheek and ear gently, her heart beat strong against his chest. 

Chapter Text

Mark Hoffman

“Hoffman.” Roger McCallister and Ron Willis, partners with desks downstairs in the Cop Pit, were waiting in his office, seated in front of his desk. Through the billowing smoke and growing stacks of unfiled documents, Matthews was flicking ash and bobbing his eyebrows up and down in his direction. Whatever these two wanted, it was worth listening to. 

“McCallister. What’s up?” 

“Bad things,” McCallister was rubbing his receding hairline as he spoke, a guilty look marred his face. “I’ve got two sex workers.One of them wised up and got a lawyer. Now, we're about to have hell on our asses. One of them's claiming Willis copped a feel.” 

"Did he?" Hoffman turned to the short man, who scratched his beer gut as if comfortable at home.

"I had to pat her down for weapons. Didn't mean anything else by it."

"Regardless," McCallister waved it off, "IA is about to fuck us real good. We need your help."

"Not much I can do, what with my not being there to be a witness." Hoffman sat into his office chair, hearing the squeak of the pivot. He knew what was to come. He felt like the godfather, about to have his rings kissed.

"We're not dumb. We know you've been closing cases like clams. The people you bring all bitch about how they're innocent. That they're being framed. Now, not saying we look down on that sort of thing. But lately, Gibson has been watching us like a hawk. If you can give us a tip on how to get around that asshole, it sure would make life a hell of a lot easier."

Hoffman inhaled slowly. This put him in an awkward situation. If Will was here, she would have been furious to know what he had been up to… but she wasn't. She would never know. 

He and Matthews had been bypassing the tedious processes she followed religiously, because at the end of the day, it was about locking away the criminals. Waiting for them to get lazy and leave evidence for a solid conviction never happened. 

He looked over at two cops. "They're for sure guilty?"

"Without a doubt. Caught them soliciting at one of the usual nightwalker hangouts. Dressed the way they were. Carried a fuckton of cash."

"Did they approach you?"

Willis looked uncomfortable, his face pinching towards the center as if he ate something sour. "Well, no. When we approached, they told us to get lost."

Hoffman didn't like the idea of bringing more of the department into what he and Matthews had set up. It left a lot of openings; vulnerabilities that could come back and bite them in the face.

But turning his back on his brothers, it would have been a real betrayal. And he wasn't about to go back to the days when he was Rosello's mole and ostracized by the entire department.

"If you can't build a strong case on prostitution, look at other options. Did you find any drugs on them?" He gave them a weighted stare, expecting them wise enough to catch on.

McCallister perked up.  "Actually, yeah. We found an eighth of coke on each of them."

"Possession. That's at least three years." 

The two men nodded like bobbleheads, eager.

"Since you haven't added them in the initial report, you're going to need to find another way to pin it on them. Did you impound a vehicle?"

"Their Corolla. Yeah." Willis looked over to McCallister. "We haven't submitted the inspection paperwork yet."

"There ya go," Matthews flicked ash onto the floor, smirking at Hoffman. "That's how you get it done."

"Hell, it's fucking genius." McCallister laughed, relieved. "You're a godsend, Hoffman."

He nodded, not sharing the revelry. There was a chunk of ice in his stomach and he kept thinking of what Will would say if she knew.

She doesn't have to know. Never.

Lindsey Perez

She hated it when the victims were kids. The teen girl should have been worrying about who would ask her out to prom or whether or not she'd pass her next algebra exam. 

She should not have been lying out in the middle of a drive-in theater, arms spread out as if crucified, rib cage spread open like the gates of hell, with a clearly missing portion of the organ cavity where her heart should be.

It had to have been recent. The smell hadn't set in yet. She had been left undisturbed by the insects. Putrification was not yet setting into her pretty face. The dawn was still breaking. Distant lilac skies blushed above, barely noticed under the neon scarlet of blood that dripped down the great billboard. 

The projection had long finished its showing, flickering muted white light over the body. Shadows shifted, contouring her figure, making her resemble a gargoyle standing watch over them.

"This can't go on," Lindsey muttered to herself, at a loss.

"It won't." 

She turned, seeing Strahm, who gave her a sympathetic frown. 

"This one's like the last. They’ve found some prints. He’s getting sloppy," Strahm assessed, "and arrogant."

"And yet, he's still out there," Erickson stepped towards them, displeasure plastered on his frowning mustache. "Eighteen months. That's unacceptable."

Lindsey looked away in embarrassment, hating the scrutiny of Erickson's gaze. He was always a hardass, especially with her. She figured it was remnants of partner-possessiveness, as he used to be Strahm’s partner before he was promoted to their supervisor. 

"Look, I get that the higher ups are breathing down your neck, but we're stretched thin enough as it is, Dan," Strahm stepped between her and Erickson, quick to save her from the direct attack. 

"I've granted you the resources you've asked for." Erickson casually glanced over his shoulder at the two women that were currently at the base of the billboard, pointing their flashlights along the blood trail with their backs to the agents. "And I expected results."

Lindsey suppressed a sigh. He wasn't wrong. Every lead had resulted in wild goose chases and dead ends. They had believed a college professor was the likely suspect, but after being issued their warrant, they came up with nothing. 

Still, of all the people Erickson was lecturing, Peter was the last man he should have focused on. He was the one taking it all the worst. She looked over at her partner, watching as he had his hands on his waist, glaring down at some of the debris as if searching for the answers of the universe at his feet. She bit her lip and pulled at her necklace, worrying about him.

Ever since the killer started leaving packages for him to find, taunting him, Peter had become obsessed. He rarely slept. He barely left the office. He had become so transfixed and a hot angry mess. He had upturned his desk twice. Each time, over the puzzle of the various artifacts the killer had left him.

The first box had various pictures of the record store victim, followed with a manifesto that was unintelligible and disturbing. Angry rants written in red ink that swore of the end of days and how the impure would be cleansed only confused them and muddied their investigative waters.

She had only seen him be so erratic one other time, earlier in their career when they had first partnered up. He rarely got stumped but when he did, he was like an angry bull thirsty for blood.

A rustle was at her back. She thought she saw a glimmer of light in her peripherals and she turned to find the source. Something felt off. Across the pavement were dense bushes and trees. The wind was tickling the leaves, some of the dying vegetation falling to the ground.

She felt the hair on her neck prickle. She rested her hand onto her gun, the feeling of being watched making her knees vibrate. 

She scanned the horizon.

The bushes. She could swear there had been some rustling and not from the wind. Another glint of light. Not too bright, but as if someone was pointing a mirror in her direction. She took a step, squinting in the darkness.

"Perez!" 

She spun, seeing the group gathered and waving her over.

She walked over, noticing everyone gathered around a carefully taped box. An envelope was fastened to it, simply addressed, FBI .

"We need a bomb squad over here," Strahm shouted behind them.

They had waited for the all clear.

"He wants acknowledgement. He wants an audience." Strahm was pacing, jaw clenched, hands fidgeting for a pen that wasn't there to click. "What's changed?" He was looking right at her, intense, angry.

Perez exhaled through her nose sharply. "I don't know."

"Come on, Linds," he was close to her, not to intimidate, but because they had solved every challenging case together. He believed she could give him the answer. He trusted her, turning to her when even he was at a loss. She was one of the only people he turned to for help.

She scanned the scene. The settings must be related to the victims. All women. What drove this man to kill? To take their hearts? To leave them, naked, and cast aside like trash. And what was with bathing them? Hatred would have torn them to pieces. Lust would have indicated sexual assault in the autopsies. He was collecting their hearts. A symbol. Love was the obvious one. Bathing suggested they were in need of being cleansed. 

"Damn," Allison muttered to Will, her voice always low and seductive, "I used to come to a drive-in for the nostalgia. Now that's ruined."

A drive-in theater. The thought of Allison, and all the dirty ideas that crossed her mind. 

And then it hit her.

"Sex," she muttered.

Strahm blinked, dark eyes unimpressed. “No indication of sexual assault.”

“But… I mean, where was your first time? Drive-ins are famous for the setting of a teenager’s first time.”

Strahm considered this. “The tobacco field. The music hall. A drive-in theater. Secluded places the victims had access to. Maybe they conducted sexual behavior where they were left."

"The Heartstealer's targeting sexually active victims he catches in the act? Maybe their first times?"

"That’s a stretch. Many had previous relationships. Some were well above the age of losing their virginity. There has to be more than that."

"The bathing," Lindsey was gesturing with her hand, excitedly, "if the victim sleeps with someone, he feels he has to wash them. He bathes them to purify them?"

"And he takes their heart as his trophy. What, they’re no longer pure of heart?”

Lindsey bit her lip. “Maybe.”

Strahm turned to glare up at the dead girl. “He feels entitled to them." Strahm seemed to be renewed, "he invests in them. When he finds a new fixation, he follows them. Watches them. He believes they’re pure and belonging to him. And once they betray him, by taking another lover, he takes action."

Will folded her arms, frowning. "What do you mean 'invest'?"

"He invests time, observing them. In his eyes, he's courting them." Strahm looked up at the victim. "When they go about their lives, he sees when they have sex, it's an act of betrayal of his deluded 'relationship'. He believes they've tainted it. That it's no longer a pure, good bond. So he severs that bond."

Allison cast Lindsey a skeptical look but Lindsey looked at Strahm with grateful awareness. She knew he was on the right path.

"Holy water," Will muttered to herself, her lips moving as if going through lines in her head.

"What's that, Maddox?" Strahm turned to her.

“Holy water. Maybe he’s baptizing them."

“This is conjecture," Strahm was done, his frustration taking over. He had his moments, especially during a tough case, where a switch would flip and he had enough. Lindsey watched him as he turned, fist at his hip, looking around to kick something or flip a desk. With nothing to target, he ended up walking toward his car before calling back, "I'll be back in the office."

He drove off, the tires squealing with his tantrum. Lindsey shook her head and gave an apologetic look to the two of them. "He's just excited about this new lead."

Allison shrugged while Will looked especially disturbed, looking down at her feet. Lindsey knew Will did not take male disapproval well, especially when it was from a man she found attractive. 

Daddy issues, seen from a mile away. She would never dare express this, even over pillow talk with Ally - if they ever hooked up again, that is.

There wasn't much to do now, besides wait while forensics swept the scene. 

"I'll see you guys," Will left as well, heading to her car and leaving the two women behind. 

"Want to grab a coffee, before we head back?" She turned to Allison, who had not looked her long in the eye before shrugging. 

"Might as well. Going to be a long night." Allison and her had been off since she ended things. She had hoped it would have smoothed over after all these months but from what she gathered, Allison wasn't interested in rekindling their previous fling.

Maybe she wanted more commitment.

It was something she had always struggled with. She never knew a stable relationship. Not even growing up, as her parents split up when she was a kid. Still, that didn’t mean she didn’t want to be with someone. She just needed more time to be ready for something long term. Especially if it was long-distance.

They had gotten in the car, the tense silence frosty. She decided to break the ice, turning to Allison to lean forward, her lips so close to hers she could almost taste them. 

“Linds,” Allison’s eyebrows were furrowed as she stared off in the distance, avoiding her eyes. “Stop.”

She pulled away, letting out a sigh. “What’s wrong?”

“Don’t play dumb. We’re not an item. And I don’t plan to pick up where you left me.” Ally was curling a strand of hair around her finger, looking out of the window. “I’m with Eric.”

“Matthews?” She was incredulous. “But he’s such a prick.”

Ally turned her eyes sharply at her. “Don’t call him that. You don’t know him.”

She tried to smile the hostility away. “Come on, Ally.”

She shook her head. “No, you come on. You had your chance. I’m tired of being jerked around. I’m tired of being taken for granted. Eric, at least, needs me. He wants me. He misses me when I’m not around. But you?” She looked away, but not before Lindsey saw the tears. “You just want my body. I need more. I deserve more.”

Lindsey swallowed back a response. What Allison was saying was fair. “I’m sorry, Ally.”

“Don’t be. I don’t expect you to be forced into something you don’t want. But you’ll respect what I want. We can still be friends. But I don’t want anything else.” 

Lindsey didn’t want to believe that. But she wouldn’t push. She could wait. “All right. Whatever you want, Ally.”

Chapter Text

Amanda Young

She had never messed with dope. No matter how many times it had crossed her path.

She had always stayed away from the stuff. Even when her older brother brought it home. Even when it seemed everyone in high school had been strung up in class. She never dared to even experiment. No matter what her friends said. She had stayed out of trouble, despite the worst situations she was in. But, now that she was in prison?

She wasn’t so sure she could stay strong, now. Prison was so fucking boring.

She was currently reading the same fucking book, a third time that week, while she heard the scuffle and screams of a brawl outside her cell. The fights kept her up at night. She sighed and rolled over in her cot, pulling the sheet over her shoulders and curled into a fetal position as she stared blankly at the yellowing paper. It was the Great Gatsby, and Gatsby was such a little bitch, pining after dumb cock-tease Daisy. 

“Yo, Mandy,” her cell mate whispered in the bunk above her. “You okay, sweetie?”

She looked up and forced a smile at Ronda, a heavy set intimidating woman that, for some reason, liked her. She was lucky. She had seen Ronda dig another woman’s eyeball out with a spoon just last month. Apparently, solitary was the worst punishment they’d dish out to the inmates there. Ronda was a regular in the solitary cell. “Wish there were some new books.”

“Never liked them. Reading gives me a headache.” Ronda slumped off her bunk and landed on the concrete, squatting to be eye level with Amanda. “You know what will take the edge off, sweetie?”

Amanda swallowed. She knew what Ronda would offer. She shrugged. “I’m trying to keep my nose clean.”

“Oh, don’t worry, baby, you don't snort it. I just got some painkillers. It’ll make the day seem perfectly fine. How about it? I’m feeling charitable.” Ronda, pupils already great black pools, took out the silver foil of a pill sheet, shaking gently the drugs in their plastic casing. “Besides, I owe you for always giving me your pudding cups.”

Amanda couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, but I don’t want anything in return.” Besides you not shanking me in my sleep, that is .

“Well,” Ronda pushed out a pill and put it on her pillow. “I’ma leave it here before I change my mind. Trust me, it’ll help pass the time. The fucking guards said they were planning on skipping afternoon recess.”

“Again?” She groaned. She had been looking forward to going outside. To feel the sun on her face.

Lately, the guards have been such fucks. They were almost as bad as cops.

Almost.

She was grinding her teeth, looking at the heavily painted yellow walls again. The bricks burned her eyes and she wanted to just slam her forehead into the concrete until she caved in her own skull. 

She wanted to just die.

She had been in for six months. Six long fucking months. And it never got easier. The time never passed any quicker.

And she wasn’t even sure what waited for her when she was finally outside. Her parents had disowned her. Her brother was dead. She didn’t have anyone she’d expect to wait for her on the outside. Maybe Cecil, if he was sober and not in a bad mood.

But she wouldn’t count on the bastard. She was still bitter and blamed him for getting her in this mess in the first place.

The little blue pill looked appealing, all of a sudden. 

She always wondered if it was as good as they said. 

What else am I going to fucking do here?

Without a second thought, she took the pill and put it in her mouth. The coating stuck to her tongue and she forced-swallowed, clearing her throat.

And then she laid back on her pillow and waited.

Eric Matthews

Detective Bradshaw pistol whipped the suspect in the middle of the interrogation. Red splashed the concrete floor. Matthews looked on, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, smirking as the guy spat out a tooth. Bradshaw was a heavyset man and he had thrown all his weight - beer gut and all - right into that smack. 

They were currently in the middle of ‘questioning’ with his preferred approach. It was two in the morning. Just the bare-bones skeleton crew, preferable when they needed to keep the potential witnesses down. 

“You can’t fucking do this,” the guy growled, surprisingly still with the attitude. 

“What are you talking about,” Matthews was at his back, taking a step forward while lighting up another cigarette. He was unconcerned. Hoffman was at his right, exchanging a look with him that was full of agreement and pent up rage being held back. Everyone in that room wanted to hurt something. “We can do this all fucking night if you want.”

Their latest piece of shit to take down, a man who they knew had beaten his wife and child to death with a baseball bat, had crossed their path with a flip of the middle finger and a grab at his crotch, signing his sentence right then and there. They had been investigating the surrounding area, looking for him. Witnesses all pointed in his direction. When they confronted him, with the terrible news of his family, he had only cared about his own wellbeing. 

And then they ran his background. It solidified their decision to deal with him as they were. 

He had plenty of priors. And though he hadn’t been actively committing a crime when they arrested him, had no solid evidence tying him to the scene of the crime he was supposedly involved in, that quickly changed when they ‘discovered’ some dope in his pocket.

Now, they were going old school, a stack of yellow pages on the table, more a symbolic gesture than actual instruments to administer compliance. They wanted to use their fists. They could always explain away the bruises later.

Despite the unconventional approach, Matthews was pleased with how quick they had cleaned the streets. While Sing and Tapp were focused exclusively on keeping organized crime in check, they dealt with the miscellaneous chaos that had run about, untethered, long enough. They administered justice swiftly, stomping out any rebellion like tufts of flames on dirt. 

Things were finally improving. Wherever they went, people behaved. They feared the police, as they should. Because they weren’t going to take any bullshit anymore. 

Matthews just had one complaint - Hoffman, his brother in arms and right hand man, seemed to want to pull him back more often than he’d like.

Maddox had made him soft. 

Whenever Eric went on a rampage, like last week when he had pummeled some fuck too many times in the face with his flashlight, Hoffman had stepped in, pulling him off the guy and throwing him like a sack of rice. 

He didn’t like it, but when it came to his partner, he knew he needed to take a walk and cool down. He knew, deep down, that in a fair fight Hoffman would likely win.

The door knocked and everyone straightened up. Bradshaw put his gun away. Matthews continued blowing smoke on the suspect as the prick spat another glob of blood on the floor.

In came Gibson, the little man looking ready to breathe fire. “Stop right there.” Behind him were two other cops from Internal Affairs. Matthews resisted the urge to laugh. It was like watching a kid play cops and robbers. 

Hoffman remained calm, coolly watching as Gibson walked toward the table, looking down at the seated man. “You all right?”

“No! These fuckers knocked my goddamn tooth out,” The guy looked up, lowering his hands to reveal bright red cherry juice leak past his lips. Matthews felt the corner of his mouth curl. They had gone easy on him. If they had really wanted to hurt him, he wouldn’t have been able to speak. 

Gibson immediately turned with a triumphant smile plastered on his face. “I finally got your ass, Hoffman.”

“What’re you talking about?” Hoffman looked passively back at the kid. “The suspect attacked Detective Bradshaw first. We tried to be civil, even taking off his handcuffs in good faith. And he made a move to strike him.” He said this so easily and Matthews nodded in agreement.

He didn’t get why Gibson had it in for his partner. Likely jealousy, but Gibson always ran his mouth and hadn’t made too many friends in the precinct because of it. It looked like the kid was about to make some more enemies, though, as evident from Bradshaw twitching his nose and clenching his jaw while eyeballing the IA representatives warily. 

Gibson raised a hand, shaking his head. “No. You may have turned off the cameras, but I’ve gathered enough complaints that I’m about to indict you and all of the members of your little fuckboy club.” 

“Yeah?” Hoffman pushed off the wall and took a step toward Gibson, looking down at him. “Talk is cheap, what do you have to back it up?” 

Matthews observed as Gibson stood his ground, chin up defiantly as Hoffman closed in on him. He thought of David and Goliath, though he doubted Gibson would walk away after slinging a rock at Hoffman’s forehead. 

“Eye witnesses. Enough of them to at least have Bradshaw here,” Gibson turned to glare at the cop, “put on suspension without pay, while IA conducts an investigation.”

“You’re joking,” Bradshaw shook his head before looking alarmed. “No, that’s bullshit.”

“You’re right, it is bullshit that you’re not arrested right here,” Gibson snapped. He looked at each member in the room. “It’s bullshit that Grissom turns a blind eye and everyone in this department refuses to stand for what’s right. While Kerry and Maddox are out, you all suddenly behave like a bunch of animals and don’t get punished for it.”

“What’re you gonna do, Gibson, tell mommy?” Matthews snickered. “You’re fighting a losing battle, kid. You can’t beat us.”

Gibson’s ears had gone pink and his face contorted to fury. “Mark my words, Matthews. Hoffman. You may have friends in high places here. I may not get you tonight. But one day, I’ll get you two. One day, you’ll both slip up. And I’ll be the one to put you in your place.”

Hoffman rolled his eyes, amused. “Get out of here, Gibson, before you embarrass yourself.” 

“Not until Bradshaw comes with us. I’m serious,” Gibson held his hand up and gestured with a curl of the fingers. “Come on. We’ve got an affidavit you need to review. Now.”

Bradshaw cursed and left, casting a nervous look at the two of them before disappearing behind closed doors.

Matthews stared at the door before turning to frown at Hoffman. He knew they had gotten brazen. But Grissom had been thrilled by the arrest rates and the higher convictions. The DA had been practically dancing as of late. And it was always their word against criminals. Who would question them? No one. 

Life in the MPD was good, as of late.

So why the hell was Gibson fucking it up for everyone?

Didn’t he get it? The city was a monster that would swallow up everyone in its path if they didn’t take shortcuts to keep the worst of the riff raff away from the public. They had to assert their dominance on the scum of the city, otherwise innocent people would get caught in the crossfire.

It was the only way that worked. 

The lower violent crime rates these past few months was all the proof they needed.

They were fixing things.

“We got a problem,” Matthews growled, shaking his head. “Fucking IA.”

Hoffman nodded. “We’ll handle them.” If Gibson kept poking his nose in their business and tried to take down anymore of their guys in Homicide, he would be digging his own grave.

He’d have to teach Gibson a hard lesson, if that was the case.

The door knocked again, this time, the deputy on-call arrived, some rookie with her uniform pressed and starched. “Matthews, phone call for you.”

He cursed before turning to his partner. “See you tomorrow.”

He followed the girl down the hall, noting her short stature and blonde hair pulled back in a tight bun. He could smell the fruity perfume, sharp and sweet, breaking through the smell of his cigarette smoke. He took one final drag before he let it fall to the ground and stomped it on the linoleum, leaving it as they made their way to one of the entryway desks.

He took the phone, already knowing who it would be. “Yeah?”

“I need you to come watch Daniel.”

“Why?” Anger, fresh and never ending, poured over his head in heated waves. “You made it clear I’m not fit to have custody.”

“Well,” Jane’s voice came in like a shrill sigh, petty and passive aggressive. “Something came up. I need to go out and I can’t find a sitter this time of night.”

“If only you didn’t kick me out, I just so happen to be getting off work. But I’ve got plans, too.” He put a fresh cigarette between his lips, smiling into the phone. “Looks like you’re out of luck, bitch.”

“He’s your son, Eric-,” He heard Daniel screaming in the background all of a sudden, wailing for attention. “Danny, hang on, I’m coming!” The sound of fumbling, followed by Jane, rushed and angry. “You know, If you hadn’t been fucking off and actually took time to get to know him, we wouldn’t be this way.”

He knew she had a point.

He bowed his head, looking down at his feet. Shame was gripping him by the throat and making him feel weak. A part of him wanted to tell her she was right. That he would head over there and help out. That he was sorry, for everything.

But to hell with that. 

“Jane, when I get visitation rights, then we’ll talk.” He slammed the plastic receiver onto its seat, causing the internal bell to clang. 

Hanging up never felt so good.

Mark Hoffman

Gibson was starting to piss him off. It was commendable, the kid’s eagerness to be the big hero that saved the department from his corrupt ways. He understood why Will liked him so much; her affection for the underdog was endearing, if not misguided. 

It was early morning, sunrise many hours away, when his shift came to an end. He hadn’t participated as much in the line of questioning that Matthews and Bradshaw had conducted, his focus on watching Matthews carefully to make sure he didn’t push his luck.

Despite his philosophical agreement on Matthews’ approach in collecting and taking out the metaphorical trash, he also knew there was a way to go about it. Going around and punching everything that had a face and a running mouth, was not it. Hoffman knew Matthews was unhinged as of late, his stress linked to the growing bills from his divorce attorney as well as the general pent up frustration with Kerry being away. 

He was waiting for the storm to pass, choosing to take on the role Will had held in their previous partnership. It was hard, not joining in the fun. He missed unleashing his strength and teaching a good lesson to someone in dire need of it, but after Gibson crashed their recent party, he knew it was not wise to cross the line. 

Now that Bradshaw was taken out, it was likely that the others in association with him would follow. He’d need to cover his tracks and keep an eye over his shoulder. Gibson wanted blood, and Hoffman sure as hell wouldn’t be giving it to him. 

Things sure have changed. If he had asked himself ten years ago whether or not he would be the one keeping Matthews in line while being seen as the golden boy of the department, he would have likely given himself a black eye out of frustrated rage.

Things had been so different then, back when he was still relatively young and chained to Toni Rosello. He had fallen so far from grace, back when he made the wrong move at the wrong time, in poor control of his emotions.

Knox had tried to warn him. To teach him the game. He had been too idealistic and naive, and when he tried to stand up to Rosello that fateful day, it ended with Knox in a wheelchair and Hoffman ruined. 

Back then, Matthews had been the hero, decorated and exalted, getting the promotion and the accolades while he had been thrown down in the Pit with the one desk that had an uneven leg and dumped with the throwaway cases that would do nothing to help his career. IA had been on him then too, and he had to learn quickly on how to avoid getting spiked.

And then he had been left forgotten in the precinct, never to promote and never to be trusted again. He had been left to rot, until the day Grissom had plopped a plucky little redhead in front of him as his new partner. 

And despite how annoying she had been, with her constantly keeping him to follow the rules, she had saved him from making terrible mistakes. She had been a good partner, on the level of Vernon Knox.

Thoughts of Knox made him feel nostalgic and thirsty for a drink. 

He drove off the parking lot, his tires bouncing from the uneven pavement, when he decided to take a detour. He hadn’t seen his old partner in a long time. 

The night was quieter than most, the air humid and full of the typical stink of urine and rubbish. He stopped to pick up the usual items: a bottle of middle shelf scotch and some pistachios, pretzels, and a case of cigars. He told the cashier to keep the change and carried the brown paper bag up the flights of stairs with a throwback tune under his breath.

Vernon Knox had not responded with the usual growl and the cock of the shotgun when he knocked at the apartment door.

This, disturbed him. He immediately moved away from the door and lowered the groceries against the wall, taking out his gun. “Knox?” He called out, loud but keeping his voice steady. He immediately assumed some old Rosello-loyalists had come for revenge. Or maybe it was just a random burglary. Hell, Knox had a long and colorful career that had given him a long list of enemies.

He wasn’t worried, though. He was just being overly cautious. He knocked harder, wondering if the man had a little too much to drink; that he was just passed out.

Hell, the old goat needed to catch up on sleep. Maybe he shouldn’t disturb him.

But he had a gut feeling that something was wrong.

He knocked again. Hard enough to notice dust had wafted off the frame in plumes of plaster. He counted to three in his head.

And then he kicked the door down. An eruption of gray mist exploded into his face but he walked through the bent frame, stepping onto the crumpled door as he entered.

When the smell hit him, his heart dropped to his feet. He sprinted deeper into the dark apartment, turning corners, not seeing but knowing from the hundreds of times he had visited, where to go. That stench grew stronger. He had hoped it was just the garbage, that Vernon just lacked a visitor to come by for so long that it accumulated to an ungodly level.

But he knew that smell.

It was unmistakable.

No. Fucking NO.

The stench of rust and rot, a cologne that haunted his daily life as a homicide detective was as familiar to him as the smell of coffee. 

The lights weren’t on, but the city lights provided enough illumination through the window for him to take in the scene.

Blood was splattered on the windows like brown stained glass. Blood coated the walls. He stepped forward to find the fucking floor was sticky with the evaporated crust of brown congealed fluid. 

He saw the wheelchair, first, silhouetted by the faint light streaming through the windows. He couldn’t see Vernon. 

He knew he would regret it but he flipped the light switch. 

And then he realized he had been looking at the rotting husk of his old partner the entire time. 

Vernon Knox’s head was detached and in pieces. Bits of skull were tacked to the wallpaper. His lower jaw was still attached to his neck. His tongue was blackened, still nestled in between his lower teeth. The rest of him was all over the place, having been sprayed outward from his neck.

The sawed off shotgun rested on his lap, his fingers still wrapped around the handle, thumb in the trigger.

He had done it by the kitchen table, where a piece of paper and pen rested.

Sorry.

That was all he wrote. 

Hoffman felt his legs tremble but he locked his knees and leaned against the wall, forcing himself to remain standing. He turned, his throat tight. His nose felt stuffed. He coughed into his fist before slamming it against the wall, indenting the sheetrock, barely recognizing that the low guttural moan sounding in his ears was his own. 

Angelina Hoffman

Mark hadn’t been answering the phone for the past few days.

This worried her.

Even though she was trying not to be so needy lately, she still called him every other day. Hearing his voice was a comfort she needed and going a week without it left her like an addict in desperate need of her fix. After the most recent missed call, she decided to drive straight to his apartment.

She knocked and waited, her pulse thudding in her ears as she impatiently stood by the door. He never failed to open the door when she visited. This made her expect the worst. She let herself in with the spare key he had entrusted with her. The door creaked as she slowly pushed it open. 

When she saw the mess the apartment was in, her first thought was that he had been robbed. Mark was neat. Organized, and proud of it. 

She had never seen him leave his home in such a state. Dishes stacked in the sink, trash bags piled around the overflowing bin, and mountains of clutter of newspapers, magazines, and unopened mail ranged the counter. 

What was more telling were the sticky whiskey glasses collecting on the coffee table and the various empty bottles strewn around the floor.

She felt a crunch under her boot. She had stepped in broken glass.

“Mark?” She knew he was off duty and should be home. 

A click of metal made her flinch. 

“Damn it, Angie,” his voice made her whirl around, her heart frozen in her chest. With only the dim light from the kitchen, he stood in the hallway like a shadow of death, only the glint of his eyes defined. She reached for the nearest lightswitch to flip up. The overhead yellow illuminant revealed his state. He was in sweat pants and an undershirt, eyes bloodshot. His hair was messy and over his forehead. She saw the gun just as he pointed the barrel downward, and she widened her eyes.

“Mark. Why haven’t you answered my calls?” He didn’t answer, flicking the safety on and turning to put his gun away. She followed him. “Mark?”

“Just needed some time alone,” he growled. “What do you need?”

She balked. “I just wanted to see my brother. Something’s wrong. Tell me.”

He stiffened still holding the gun that was pointed at the ground. She felt nervous with it out in the open. “Give me that,” she reached for it but he pulled it away before she could touch it. “Mark!”

He looked at her, expressionless. “Knox is dead.”

She blinked. “Oh…” she raised a hand to her mouth before throwing her arms around him. “I’m so sorry, Mark.” She felt her eyes water and her heart sink. Vernon Knox had been like a second father to Mark. “Was it his injury?”

“No. He shot himself.”

She pulled away, alarmed. “Oh my God.” She looked up at Mark, taking in the grit in his eyes, the crust on his mouth. He looked sallow and greasy and he didn’t smell any better. She had never seen him so completely messed up. Not even when…

Something in her rose up, scraping up her throat, filling her with scalding energy. “Mark, when was the last time you ate?”

He blinked, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t know.”

“Okay. You’re going to take a shower.” She took his arm and pulled him to steer him towards the bathroom. He let her, for which she was grateful for. “And I’m going to make you something to eat. Okay?” She pushed him into the bathroom before closing the door, turning to face the mess. 

Okay, Ange, one thing at a time. She needed to clean up. She entered the kitchen, separating and shoving shot glasses and debris, looking into the fridge to find only assorted condiments, some eggs, and a random carrot. She pulled her lips to a grimace, turning the cabinets to analyze the spices and dry foods she hoped Mark had kept on hand.

She found a random box of spaghetti, some parmesan cheese, and a generic bottle of olive oil, followed by a lone salt shaker. She suppressed a smile at how limited Mark’s cooking options were. She had gotten him accustomed to never needing to cook much at home and it showed. She wouldn’t be able to whip up a gourmet feast with this limited selection.

But she knew she could work with this. 

Like lightning, she moved quickly and precisely to clear the countertops and began cleaning the dishes in the sink. She hoped Mark would take his time cleaning himself up while she sped through getting the kitchen in workable order.

Since she could remember, Mark had always taken care of her in situations of loss. She was aware that when their parents died, he had stepped up and taken on the parental role. He had sacrificed so much of himself and his own feelings for her sake.

Now, it was her turn to help him. 

Vernon Knox’s face was in the back of her mind. Her eyes began to sting again. Why did he do this? She hadn’t been close to the man but Mark certainly was. Every time she had met him, he had always had a joke and a compliment to share with her.

“Your parents named ya right, after the angels. You sure look like one. Now be an angel and tell your brother to visit ol’ Knox more often, won’t ya? And tell him to bring some good beer, none of that cheap canned shit he’s been drinking.”

She filled the pot with water, realizing that her vision was swimming again. She wiped at  her cheeks quickly. She knew Mark didn’t handle her crying very well. She had to force the tears down and push the sorrow out of her. This wasn’t about her. This was about Mark.

“I’ll clean up while the water’s warming up.” She was talking to herself softly, to keep herself grounded. The pot was on the stove and she was now reaching for the trash bags under the sink, to begin scooping up every piece of debris and trash and have it all ready to be taken out by the front door in minutes.

The pot was a chaotic cauldron of bubbles, now. She took the pasta and let it sink into the water, setting a timer, and then ran to clean enough dishes to serve the meal on. She pulled at one free-looking dish and the sink exploded in a cacophony of crashes as the dish pile caved into itself slightly. 

She bit her lip and looked over in the direction to Mark’s bathroom, hoping this didn’t stress him out any further. As she scrubbed at the heavily caked and grimy plate, she thought of when Mark had always made sure she had eaten. 

He had taken her out, often to the very same diner she had met Peter, when she was still in high school. Knox used to join them there, too, the man tall and proud, walking with a swagger in his shoulders and a cocky grin. Mark would brighten up whenever Knox would take a seat at their table, often ordering corned beef hash and sunny side up eggs, drinking at least four cups of coffee black before picking up the bill for all three of them. 

He used to scare Peter so much, back when Peter was still trying to pick me up with his magic routine, she mused to herself. One time, Peter had arrived with the bill to leave for Mark while the waiter had planned to make a bouquet of flowers appear from out of nowhere. 

Knox had proceeded to grip Peter’s wrist when he had made his sudden movement, the older detective’s reflexes quick and had broken the illusion as Peter’s one hand had been left frozen and holding the stems of some flowers that had come out of his sleeve. 

“Go back to school, son, if you can’t move fast enough for a man twice your age to stop ya, magic just ain’t for you.”

The timer went off and she ran to retrieve a freshly cleaned colander, having to improvise with dish rags as oven mitts to pour out the excess water. 

The rest was a quick saucing and heating, followed with pouring a generous amount of parmesan onto the noodles. Mark always went overboard with the cheese. 

She heard him open the door and leave his bedroom. 

“Mark, food’s ready,” she tried to sound normal. Happy, even. She gave him a wide smile as she poured the steaming food onto the plate and handed it to him. “I’m not leaving until you eat at least half of what’s on this plate.”

Mark took the plate glumly, avoiding her eyes, before going to take a seat at his couch. He turned on the TV, the channel already set to the sports channel. She joined him on the couch, pretending to find some newscaster who ranted on some various names and football moves as fascinating.

She knew he wouldn’t bounce back right away. And that was perfectly fine. She would stay with him until then. She wouldn’t let him out of her sight.

She wondered how she could take his gun away. If that was even possible. 

“Thanks, Ange. You don’t have to worry about me, I’ll be all right.” Mark got up to put the plate on the counter. 

Angelina turned to her brother. “Hey, I'm going to stay over tonight.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Uh, yeah, I do.” She stood up and walked up to him, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder. He looked fresh but still exhausted. His full face looked as if it was beginning to narrow. She waited until he finally looked at her and she smiled sadly. “Mark, it’s my turn to take care of you, okay? Don’t worry about the mess here. Just go to sleep, okay? But I need you to promise me something.”

Mark didn’t answer, only waited for her to continue.

“Promise me, Mark, that you’re not going to do anything stupid. Like hurt yourself.”

He shook his head. “No, Ange, I don’t plan to.”

She nodded, not able to completely believe him, but she’d at least take his word on it. “And if I ask for your gun -?”

“Out of the question.” His voice had a sudden edge to it, stubborn and angry.

She backpedaled quickly. “Okay. Well. Good night, then. You got work tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Then all the more reason for you to go to bed now.” She waited until he turned to go to his bathroom before her eyes fell to the phone by the front door.

She needed to call Will.

Chapter Text

Wilhelmina Maddox

Rain was striking the building with loud thuds that filled the awkward silence. It was three in the morning. They had been debating on the killer’s next move. On the table before them, the contents of the very first parcel he had left for their investigative team was uncovered. Its contents, which held sealed plastic bags marked as evidence, held a dirty old Barbie doll with its hair shorn, a once gold plated necklace that was now tarnished with a pendant that was meant to be adorned with rubies and diamonds. The hand scrawled note was unfolded, its black writing hard to read. You think you’re so smart, don’t you Peter?

Will bit her lip while Strahm clicked his pen furiously. She was exhausted. They had been at it for hours, ever since Strahm stormed out of the crime scene. With all this rain, I hope they got the scene cleaned up in time. Will’s cell phone began to ring. She pulled at it, recognizing Mark’s apartment phone number on the caller ID and her heart skipped. She looked up at Strahm who was leaning back in his office chair, watching her.

“I need to take this,” she gave an apologetic frown as she turned away from the contents. She flipped the phone, pulled out the antenna. “Hey, Mark?”

“Will, it’s me,” Angelina’s voice whispered on the line. Will’s heart sped up. 

“Ange, what’s wrong?”

“Vernon Knox died. Mark’s not doing so well. His apartment’s a mess and he wasn’t eating until I made him. And I’m worried. He has his gun.” A soft sigh followed by a long pause, then, “You see, Vernon killed himself. And he was like Mark’s second father. I - it’s just that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this way. Not even when our parents died. I know you’re busy, but… you see he won’t give me his gun. I’m just scared he’ll…”

“I -,” Will turned just briefly, locking eyes with Strahm whose already angry stare had darkened further. She felt her face harden in response. “I’ll catch the next plane back. I just need to wrap things up here.”

She heard Angelina sigh in relief. “Thank you. You’re seriously the best.”

She bit her lip. “No, you are. Thanks for looking out for him. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She hung up, looking at the large clock that ticked above the door. A flash from outside followed by the deep grumble of thunder shook the room.

“Trouble?” 

She turned and cleared her throat. “Yeah. Family emergency. I’m afraid I need to head back for a few days.”

Strahm clicked his pen again, lips pressed together. It was clear he wasn’t happy about it. “We were finally starting to get somewhere, Will.”

“I know. I know. But.” She ran her fingers through her hair, noting how oily the locks felt. She needed a shower. Some sleep. Like him, she was near the end of her rope. This case was draining her of everything she had. “You’re going to have to get through this without me.”

“I’ll take you to the airport. We can continue this discussion while I drive.” Despite all his previous tantrums, Strahm got to his feet and retrieved his suit jacket, pulling it on. “At least we won’t likely hit traffic this early. You need to get your stuff first?”

“Uh, yeah.” Her mind was currently stuck on Vernon Knox. She wondered about the circumstances and feared the worst. 

Allison and Lindsay were likely fast asleep, unaware that she was about to leave the state. She got into Strahm’s car, now familiar with the smell of car leather and his cologne; sandalwood and pine.

“Earlier,” Strahm was pulling the car back out of the parking space, “you mentioned something interesting. You said you thought he was taking their hearts, not to steal, but -,”

 “To take what he thinks is his. He displays them as if to humiliate them. And he brings them to places where he wants them to feel shame in,” Will felt herself fall back into the shroud of this persona. She was trying to think like the killer. To understand him and why he did this. “He feels entitled to their hearts.”

“And where would that entitlement stem from?”

She was biting her lip, keeping her eyes ahead. “He gave them his heart. And when they threw it away, he decided to take it back. An eye for an eye. A heart for a heart.”

“If he didn’t have his heart, he’d be dead.”

She gave him a look and was surprised to find he was smirking at his own joke. “Too far-fetched?”

“No. I think it’s brilliant. The locations mean something - something terrible in his eyes. And so he takes his victims to clean them. To purify them. And then he brings them to the place where the victims did something terrible - a wrong that he must right. And so he kills them, takes their hearts, and leaves them to rot in that location. He has the final say. He casts them aside, in his finality.”

They were pulling onto the highway, the roads completely devoid of other cars. They sat in silence with only the hum of the engine in the background. 

“Everyone all right back home?” Strahm’s voice was thick with concern.

She turned to look at him, his profile a shadow in the dark. She wondered if she should share anything with him. If he would judge her, for dropping such a serious case. So far, he hadn’t done a good job hiding his honest feelings of her dating Mark Hoffman. “It’s Mark. His old partner killed himself.”

Strahm nodded, swallowing, his eyebrows softening. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Will turned away. “His sister called me, telling me he’s not handling it well.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s hard. Losing someone that way. You never get over it.”

She studied Strahm, seeing his jaw clench and unclench, eyes fixed on the road. “Did you lose someone?”

“Yeah.” Strahm’s left hand twitched and Will looked at his ring. Lindsay Perez had told her that Strahm, despite wearing it, was not currently married. 

But Lindsay never elaborated. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, who was it?”

“My wife.” Strahm’s voice sounded almost hoarse. She instantly regretted asking him. He added, “She had been depressed for a while. I was always working. And I kept my distance back then. I didn’t want to share all the horror with her. She was lonely.” Strahm’s eyes flashed over to Will’s, haunted. “She suffered from insomnia. Was prescribed sleeping pills. One night, I had to work late. And she downed the whole bottle. I didn’t come home until the next day. By then, she was long gone.”

“I’m sorry,” Will whispered, feeling the world press in over her with dread. “I can’t imagine.”

Strahm cleared his throat. “You blame yourself, after that. You wonder if you could have done things differently. Cared more. Showed that you cared more. And no matter how many years go by, there’s always knowing that they were suffering.”

The silence had grown awkward. Will wanted to reach out and touch his shoulder, to offer some comfort, but found her hand hovering just over his jacket. “What was her name?” She desperately wanted to fill the silence, pulling her hand back and resting her folded hands into her lap.

“Jessica.” A longer pause, then, “We met in college. She and I were both psych majors. She wanted to settle down. I was more career driven.” Strahm shook his head. “Sorry, Will. I don’t want to burden you with my problems, not now. You’ve got your hands full. I’m glad Hoffman’s got you to look after him.” He spoke with genuinity, no hint of resentment or malice sneaking through his words.

“It’s okay, Peter,” Will felt it was all right to touch him. She put her hand onto his shoulder. “You don’t have to feel bad for opening up. You can’t keep things bottled up forever. It’s not good for you.” Will tried to diffuse the dark mood. “You know, they say that’s why law enforcement get heart attacks in their forties.”

Strahm breathed out of his nose, huffing with a smirk. “Is that what they say?”

“Yep. You guys keep your emotions all in and it literally ages you prematurely.” Will was delicately grinning. “A shrink that shrinks to no one will shrink into nothing.”

“God, that was terrible.” Strahm was chuckling. “And made no sense.”

“Don’t act like you don’t think I’m hilarious,” Will boasted, glad the conversation was making a new turn. 

“The term shrink came from the historical context of how heads of fallen warriors were shrunk. The shrink doesn’t get any smaller themselves.”

“Nerd,” Will teased. “Way to turn a pun into an object lesson.”

“I’m just making sure you understood where the term came from.”

“I thought you were called that because you made our problems seem smaller.”

Strahm nodded. “I can see how that was interpreted.” His long lashes blinked before changing the subject. “What airline do you fly?”

Eric Matthews

“You’ve done good work, Matthews,” Grissom held out the cigar case and Matthews helped himself to one, smelling the honey on the paper with that comforting scent of luxury he knew he deserved.

“Damn straight,” Matthews reached for the cigar cutter and lit himself a healthy puff. “Mm-mm. Tastes sweet. Cuban?”

Grissom eased back into his chair, holding a match and taking gentle sucks of his cigar. “I cannot confirm or deny the origin, you got that?” There was a playful warning in his eye and the two men chuckled amongst each other. “You’ve done an excellent job picking up the slack, what with most of this precinct handling the K2K case. You and Hoffman, both. Despite all your problems at home. You’re a damn good cop, Matthews.”

“I aim to serve, chief,” Matthews felt like he was floating. Sure, his life was a damn mess at home. His ex-wife kept nagging at him for child support. Daniel could apparently speak, now, and kept asking him to stay and play with him whenever he visited and it broke his heart when he had to tell the kid no. 

Grissom flicked some ash into the tray on his desk. “So, I’m thinking of getting you and Hoffman raised to the next pay grade, for all the damn good work you’ve done.”

Matthews brightened. “You don’t say? About time.” It wasn’t exactly a promotion, but a pay bump was always a good thing. “So how about moving us to one of them good offices. The ones with the windows?”

“You want a view of the back alley?” Grissom's smug smirk melted as he looked down at his desk. “IA’s been getting antsy. Gibson’s got it out for you two. I’ve been sweeping things under the rug, because I see the big picture. Like you and Hoffman. I understand what you’re doing is, in the end, right.” Grissom took a thoughtful puff. “But if the public start learning the dirty details, they may suddenly grow a conscious and want us to pay for their guilt. So best if you try to keep your nose clean these next few months.”

“Fucking Gibson,” Matthews scoffed, hate rooting in his chest. “The punk’s not learned his place yet.”

Grissom shrugged. “The rookies are always the idealists. Just give it more time. He’ll come around. Like you and Hoffman did.”

Mathews blinked at this. “Us? Idealists?”

Grissom let out a laugh. “You probably don’t remember too much, what with all the years you’ve got behind you. How long has it been now? Fifteen years now?”

“I think it’s still under fifteen,” Matthews took a puff, suddenly feeling ancient. His lower back was sore. Every time he looked in the mirror, his scalp kept reminding him of how he used to have a thick head of hair that was now a thinned remnant of what had once been his youth. He sometimes woke up choking for air, coughing and desperate to get his morning cigarette in. “Yeah. Hoffman and I were in the Academy back in eighty. Fuck. Thirteen years.”

“I remember a rookie who once prided himself in being so straight-laced and by-the-book.” Grissom flicked ash and chuckled. “We all had a more sunny disposition, back then.”

“Yeah, back when murder was a weekly case and not every single goddamn day.” Matthews scoffed at the past. “We got to do what we got to do, to keep up with this crazy fucking world.”

“Ain’t that the truth?” 

John Kramer

He had everything planned. The basket was packed. He had an extra blanket in his trunk, in case the warm weather took a turn for the worst. The Fall air was rich with crisp leaves and the trees would be at their peak level of color. He had checked the weather daily as this Saturday approached. He had looked at the past ten years of climate patterns and foliage surveys to ensure that this would be that one special day.

The perfect Autumn picnic. 

True, plans often did not always succeed. But that was why he had various contingencies in his back pocket, should the need arise.

He was confident there would not be a need to utilize one of his backup plans. For one, the location of their vista point was at the edge of a cliff, facing the valleys and mountain ranges of the park. He had explored the hiking trails and found this one to be simple enough to explore while being private enough to ensure they would not be disturbed by fellow hikers.

He had managed to acquire one of Jill’s favorite vintages, a zinfandel they had discovered when they vacationed in the Maldives, their first trip together, many years ago.

He had this romantic day planned for his beloved wife. 

Jill, having worked tirelessly for the downtrodden who wandered into her clinic, was in dire need of some pampering. She would work even later into the evening than he did on his busiest nights. While he would wrap up his schematics and the urban renewal renovations past sunset, he would then go to drive and pick her up at her clinic which closed at ten in the evening. 

She always looked exhausted, eyes closed while he drove her home. She wouldn’t say a word, instead taking a quick shower before collapsing onto the bed as soon as they returned.

To him, Jill Tuck was a saint. His Lady Madonna. She gave every piece of herself to others and never asked for anything in return.

Except for one thing.

She had always wanted to be a mother, for which he had always kept the idea out of both of their reach. He had his reasons for not wanting to be a father. One of them, being, he was afraid he would turn into the very man he had despised. His own father had been a cruel man.

It had taken him time but he finally felt ready.

They had been married for many years and Jill was at that age where it was now or never. And they were not worried about the money. Oh, no. He had made a fortune throughout his career as a mechanical engineer that evolved into independent consulting that left them with more money than they knew what to do with. 

He wanted to give Jill the one thing that she always wanted. And what he now wanted as well.

“John,” Jill wrapped her jacket tighter around herself, beaming at him. “Where are you taking me?”

“It’s a surprise,” he grinned as they pulled up to the trailhead. They trekked up the dusty path, stepping over jagged roots and ducking thick branches as the wind rustled through the leaves.

It took them about an hour before they reached the end of the trail. There was a clearing where the trees ceased but grass spread outward with giant rocks that protruded about like teeth. 

“It’s so beautiful out here,” Jill sighed, closing her eyes to feel the fresh air on her face. 

He laid out their blanket and Jill was opening the bottle of wine. They enjoyed the peace together. Often, they spent many moments in a comfortable silence where they had no need to say anything at all. They were connected on a level that transcended words. 

They ate their meal and looked out toward the long mountain range, taking in the textures of trees and deep blue shadows of the landscape. He waited for the right moment. And when it came, he turned to Jill.

“My love,” he whispered and she looked up at him with such innocence and admiration that his heart swelled. He took her hand in his. “I have a proposal for us.”

“What is it?” Her eyes widened and her smile did not waiver.

“Do you still want to start a family? With me?” He suddenly felt nervous. His palm was sweating. He had a lump in his throat. And his pulse was getting faster. But he pressed on, knowing that despite his insecurity, that with Jill, it would all be fine. It would all work out in the end.

“Oh, John,” she looked excited and hopeful. “Do you mean…”

“I want us to have a child. If you still want to.”

“Yes!” She threw her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his mouth. “Yes!” She was laughing, like bells in the breeze.

It was one of the happiest moments he had ever experienced in his life.

Mark Hoffman

Mark knew he should take another shower. But what was the point? He barely got out of bed, other than to use the bathroom or to try to stare at the TV. But there were too many things that reminded him of Knox. When the Eagles would be playing, he remembered Knox would clap his hands and cheer at the screen at every touchdown. When Trebeck would come up with a quip on Jeopardy, Knox used to snort in humor.

But Knox was gone. Forever. He would never see him again.

Mark felt that familiar loss, like a frozen punch to his throat. Just like his father, who had died in that accident. He never gotten a chance to say goodbye to him, either.  

Life could be so fucking unfair.

Ange kept checking in on him. He didn’t have the heart to yell at her to go away, though he wanted to. He knew she was trying and it reminded him of when he had taken care of her when their mother died. 

He knew loss. He was familiar with it. But it didn’t mean it was any easier when more people died on him. 

He heard his front door knock. He rolled over so he could hear the commotion.

He heard Ange’s voice. And then Will’s.

Despite hearing her, he didn’t bother to get out of bed. He only felt embarrassed at his state. She shouldn’t see me like this. He shut his eyes and hoped that if they came into his bedroom, they’d think he was sleeping and leave him alone.

He heard his door open, the hinges creaking. He heard the soles of her dress shoes on the wooden floor. He felt her sit on his mattress, feeling the shift in gravity attract him closer to where she had sat. 

Her arms slowly moved over him and pulled him into a careful hug. 

He felt his eyes sting and he refused to move or say anything. He felt her kiss the back of his head and wrap herself around him. 

It helped a little. 

Feeling her, warm and firm, was a nice distraction. 

“Hey, Mark,” she whispered. “I’m right here. We’ll get through this together.”

(Power of Will)

Will had convinced him to shower, change, and go out to get some food. He just wanted to get a drink. Ange looked relieved as she left to go to work and kissed him on the cheek before leaving. 

Will looked like she had a rough time in Virginia.

It was the hardened frown on her face that he noticed, when she wasn’t looking at him directly. But when she realized he was watching her, she turned and lit up like a Christmas tree, all smiles. He knew she was pushing herself for his benefit.

It made him feel worse. But the two of them continued this charade of pretending that everything was fine. That they were all just going about their normal routine. Their old habits. 

They were now at Larry’s. Sitting at their usual swivel chairs at the bar. Larry was wiping the same bartop with the same greasy rag. The same channel was on the TV, showing the results of the last baseball game taking place. 

Everything was the same, the world unchanged despite Knox no longer being a part of it.

Will ordered the usual basket of fries and grilled chicken sandwich. He ordered the same double cheeseburger he always got. He asked for a bottle of Jamesson and had Larry leave the bottle. Will joined him and the two clinked their glasses together.

He appreciated Will not asking any questions. She didn’t keep quiet. She simply took a shot of the whiskey and talked about the case. “He’s taunting us. He left a fucking doll for us to gawk at. And he kept leaving notes. He’s a cocky sonofabitch.” 

He knew she was breaking the rules, telling him details when she wasn’t supposed to. He knew she was doing this for him. To try to help distract him with the fascinating evidence of the most notorious serial killer case since Ted Bundy. “Will,” he murmured.

She peaked at him at a side glance, her shoulders relaxed but her eyes sharp as a hawk’s. “Hm?”

“Thanks.” Hoffman didn’t like talking about certain topics. Emotions. Feelings. They were off limits in the best of circumstances. But he felt as if he was boiling over. He was full of this poison. This anger. This rage. “But you don’t need to fuck yourself over to make me feel better. Better not say anything else.” He threw back a shot of whiskey and let the alcohol burn his throat, enjoying the pain. He felt like he deserved it.

“Okay,” her voice was delicate and that made him angrier. “What do you want to talk about?” 

He was silent as he fumed. He squeezed his shot glass and glared up at the TV. Thankfully, she didn’t push it. They sat there, watching as Jimmy Key revved his arm and pitched to the White Sox. The batter struck out. 

He took another shot. In the corner of his eye, Will matched him.

He couldn’t help but smirk. He turned to her and she looked back at him with that competitive spark she always gave him when she wanted to prove that she could keep up with him in something. He refreshed both their shot glasses and they both downed them with the familiarity of high functioning alcoholics. She burped. He scoffed and the pressure growing in his chest subsided. 

He didn't know how many hours it had been. But his head was feeling nice and numb. His face was hot. He felt sweat down his neck. And his vision was getting blurred. He knew he was pretty fucking drunk at that moment.

Will was hiccuping beside him. He had forgotten why they were there. He turned to her, glad she was there with him. He missed that giant mop of orange hair and brown spots on her face. And she smiled back at him, looking at him like he was the tastiest piece of cake she was going to eat. 

“You… good, Mark?” She was slightly slurring her words. He smirked. 

“Yeah. You?” 

“Never better. I could use a water, though. My head hurts.” She was rubbing her temple.

Larry had heard and was retrieving a glass to fill with the soda water from his dispenser. He wordlessly slid the glass down the bar and Will caught it, taking sips in between her hiccups. 

Mark looked up at the game. The Yankees were losing. Badly. He remembered when his father took him to their first game. When he was just a kid. And when he was a young man, still a rookie, he had then gone to watch the Yankees with Knox.

Oh, shit. The pain in his gut had him hunch over for a moment. He had forgotten. How could he forget Knox, just like that? He hated himself for it.

“Mark?” Will’s hand was on his arm. He looked up at her, blinking. “You okay?” She looked scared.

“Fine,” he lied. He shook his head. “Just thinking.”

She hesitated but finally began prying. “About Knox?”

He looked at her, angry and seeing red, so quick he couldn’t stop the words already coming out of his mouth. “Yeah. Knox. No shit. The man fucking kills himself without so much as a goodbye. Just blows his brains out for me to find. How can I not fucking think about him all the goddamn time.” He took the bottle and chugged the remainder of the handle, the amber liquid scalding his insides. He slammed the bottle to the bar and growled. “Man was like a father to me, you know. I let him down.”

Will’s face was red and her glazed eyes were glistening. “No, Mark. You didn’t let him down.”

“I should have visited him more.” He was talking more to himself than to Will. He felt like he was at church, giving his confession. “I should have talked to him more. I would have picked up on it. He’d probably still be here, if I had.”

She was close to him. He could smell the alcohol and perfume on her skin. “Knox wouldn’t want you to feel guilty about this.”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to hear the truth. That it was all his fault. “He’s gone. We’ll never know what he would have wanted.”

“That’s horse shit, Mark,” Will huffed. He looked up, surprised. She looked angry, too. “Knox loved you like a son. And no father would want their kid to feel like they’re to blame for something like this happening. I promise you.” She turned away and wiped at her eyes. She let out a small laugh. “I never told you this, but Knox used to call me up every so often, asking about you.” She had a small smile, her eyes distant. “He would call, saying he had advice to give or that he needed me to pass a message to Tapp. But I knew what it was really about. He wanted to make sure you were okay. He once told me that he thought of you like his son. He was such a caring man.” She wiped her cheek. “Hey, Larry, another bottle, please.”

Larry nodded and brought them more liquor. Will poured their glasses and held hers up. “To Knox. Such a loving man. A father figure to both of us. And we’ll miss him.”

Mark swallowed a lump in his throat. He felt as if a knife was twisting in his heart. But he held his glass up as well. He hoped Knox was in a better place. 

Maybe it was the booze, but his mind went to Will’s father. Still in a coma, since she was a teen. She never told him the full story. He never tried to push. But now, maybe it was time. “You never told me what happened to your father.”

She swigged and sighed. “I haven’t?” She was being coy but shrugged. “Well,” she was stinking drunk, her words loud and lulled. “My father, you know he’s been in a hospital since I was seventeen. Back then, I wanted to be a dancer.” She gave a sheepish grin. “I was pretty good. Was talking to recruiters from Julliard.” Her smile evaporated. “But then some burglars broke into our home one night. I was out at dance camp. My brother was still a toddler, but had been sleeping in his room, thank God.” She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing. “They had broke in and my father had tried to fend them off. They shot my mother. She died quickly from blood loss. And they beat my father. Beat him to the point that they say he’ll probably never wake up. When I got the call, the police came and escorted me to help identify my mother’s body.”

Mark felt the air escape his lungs. He had never known. “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged. “At first, I was so angry. I wanted to find the men who did this to my family and hurt them like they hurt me. The investigator understood me. I’ll never forget him. He told me that he wouldn’t rest until they caught them.”

“Did they?”

“No.”

He grimaced, knowing something like this would have driven him mad. “Is that why you became a cop?”

She nodded, fascinated by the stains on the bar. She ran her fingers over the various nicks and dents in the wood. “I joined the police academy as soon as I graduated high school, after that. I always hoped the police at the time would find the killers. But if not, I wanted to try to. It wasn’t until after I graduated from the academy that I found out it’s against the rules to investigate homicides where next of kin is concerned.” She let out a harsh snicker. “I was so naive, back then.”

He didn’t suggest she still was, knowing that when she was this drunk she threw punches. And they stung. “What about Bram?”

“Oh, my Aunt raised him. He never knew our parents. I really sucked as an older sister. I was so focused on becoming a cop. But despite all of this, he still calls me. He still lets me know how Dad’s doing. He visits him every week, to read to him. Bram is a saint.” Will sniffed. “Damn. How did I start talking about myself? My bad.”

It was his turn to put his hand on her shoulder. “You have nothing to be sorry about,” he told her. After all this time, despite how long they had known each other, he felt a new layer of connection with her. She, too, had lost her parents so young. And like him, she had taken her loss and had tried to make their deaths a purpose to fight back. 

Fuck, he loved her so much. 

“Closing time,” Larry spoke, as usual, for the pure necessity to kick them out. “Last call.”

Angelina Acomb

She found herself standing over a bowl of peeled potatoes, her tears falling onto the naked spuds. She gasped. How long had she been standing there? How long had she allowed her tears to drip into the food? She knew they were no longer fit to be served. She looked around, embarrassed, and fled with the bowl out the back exit. 

The alley she walked into smelled of rotting garbage and tobacco. She tossed the produce into the nearest open dumpster and suddenly collapsed to her knees.

She just lost control of herself and began to weep. It had been four months now, and still no word from Peter. She was now worried. She had asked the liaison for military spouses to look into what had happened. They told her to stay patient. But now, she expected the worst.

She was violently shaking on the oil slicked pavement when she heard a voice clear its throat.

“Um, you okay?” 

She turned to the sound of the male voice, looking up to see one of the dishwashers staring awkwardly at her, rubbing the back of his neck. He was one of the new hires. He had a scruffy face and his uniform shirt was unbuttoned, revealing a wife beater and various tattoos underneath. Despite his rough appearance, his eyes were kind and sympathetic. 

“I’m fine,” she wiped her eyes and got to her feet. “Sorry, you didn’t need to see that.”