A/N: I'm on a Life story kick, because, I just am. I blame it on the fact that I've completely re-watched the second season and now view this show in a brilliant light—and I'm seriously hoping they don't cancel it now. I will be angry. I'm taking a few artistic liberties on Rachel, since Reese 'knew her but didn't know who she was,' this is if she figured it out on her own. Not exactly sure where this falls, but I'm just gonna go with post ep for 'One'—a few weeks later or something. NOT a continuation of my other story, they are stand alones. On with the story. (Drifting Further Away, lyrics by Powderfinger)

Where We Stand and How We Fall

Come make your peace, come find your way
Come lay your wreath at the alter of change
Don't lose your step, don't break the bones
Don't shoulder your burden out there on your own
'Cause every word and every turn
Every sign points to your hurt
With every hour, you're drifting further away…

Partners are there to watch your back. To be your best friend, your confidant, your lifeline. You guard each other with your life. Because that's what partners do.

But they don't put that partners are human in the fine print of that underlying trust. They lie, make mistakes. They're not infallible. They die, they leave, they yell.

They find you at bars at three in the morning, staring at the drink you bought hours ago, contemplating the consequences of your actions upon indulging in the terrible habit. Another awful break up that led to this breakdown. Even though it was all her doing—she was a pretty good runner when it came to the 'things going well' stage. But the minute her boss had started talking about children and parents and she took a really good look at who she was with and what she doing, she knew it was a mistake. He was a filler. A filler for someone she always ran too when the world came crashing down, that was always caught up in his own demons. He never put his burdens on her, and he had many to be sure. So she'd left Tidwell, feeling freer than she had in awhile, freer than when Charlie had traded himself for her. That was the real reason she'd ended it.

And she found herself wishing sometimes that he would burden her. He knew about her, whether because her father set him up to take the fall, because it hadn't taken her long after meeting Rachel to realize the teenage (not) niece of her partner was someone she remembered being in her own home, long ago, long before she met Charlie Crews and the implications of the girl's identity. Her father had been the silent caretaker of Rachel after the girl's family was brutally murdered, the one Charlie took the fall for, and she felt like she'd been punched when she realized how interconnected her life and Crews's were. It was twisted, really. Foolish. She still hadn't figured how everything worked into it. Deep and twisted connections. Their own six degrees of disturbing separation.

Staring into the amber liquid as if it would drink itself, she felt him lurking beyond her in the crowded dullness of the bar. There was so much she wished she didn't know, much she wished she did. When he asked she used to tell him she didn't want to know. Now she did. She knew most everything there was about her father's illicit part in the plan. And after her abduction, Reese no longer felt safe in her little world.

Even though Crews had saved her, even though Roman was dead, something felt unfinished. The story wasn't over yet. And that was why she didn't feel safe. The lurching feeling in the pit of her stomach left her wondering at night when she couldn't sleep—it seemed too easy still. And Crews? Well, she'd come to know his methods and thought patterns and actions well enough in two years—he didn't act like he'd solved his life's mystery. A big part of it, maybe….but not all of it.

It seemed like a precursor to the real battle.

He was sitting on the stool next to her now. Quiet, calm. The bartender looked at Charlie expectantly. She heard something like 'just water,' come from her partner. Three stools down two blondes leered at him seductively. She really couldn't take him anywhere…well, actually, in all fairness she had been here first.

"Your drink going to drink itself?" he asked in his quirky way. No judgment though, she always liked that about him. No matter if she showed up at his mansion drunk in the middle of the afternoon, which she had on occasion, he never judged her. A glass of water was placed in front of him; he gave the bartender a quick nod.

"I needed perspective."

"Hmm…interesting way of finding perspective."

She finally looked at him, no trace of humor on his face, just the false humor laced in his voice. "I'm still sober. I needed to remind myself why I shouldn't drink. I needed to figure out my question."

"Have you figured your question out?" He asked, taking a sip of his water.

"Yes. But I don't know if I want the answer yet."

"Well I guess you won't know if you don't ask."

She nodded, looked into the glass again, ice cubes long melted. "We're not done yet, are we?" she whispered, small crease appearing between her brows.

He stared at her for a long while after that. Not uncomfortably so, but darkly contemplative. "I'm not done yet, Reese. I'm not done yet."

Her head shot up to see his expression. She was angry. "We're partners. We're in this. We're both a part of this," she bit out.

He looked away.

"There's no "we' in 'team' Reese."

She would have laughed. But it wasn't funny. "There's no 'you' in it either Crews."

"I would prefer a 'you' in it. 'We' got you kidnapped by Roman. That can't happen again." He replied firmly. His fingers flexed against the water glass.

"Roman's dead. It won't happen again," she answered smartly. That made him angrier. He looked ready to rip the drink from her hands. He looked like he needed it more than she ever had.

"It isn't done yet though. It won't be done for a long time. Roman was a pawn, like I'm a pawn. Rayborn said it was always about me. Always for me. Only about me. Not you. I don't need anyone dying for me anymore. You're not part of this anymore Reese."

She scoffed, feeling angry tears. Hadn't she wanted it done and over? Two years ago she would have moved on. Two years ago she hated the prospect of working with the crazy released alleged murderer. Two years ago, she had no clue how deeply their stories entwined. Two years ago, he didn't matter to her.

Now he was all she really had.

"What if I want to be part of it?"

He glared at her fiercely. He'd never glared at her. Even back when they'd each held suspicion of the other, who killed who, who was involved with what, even after she'd taken the fake FBI gig…he'd never given her that look.

"Then I want a new partner."

The air left her lungs. The alcohol mocked her, almost screaming, begging 'drink me,' as the stoic words ran through her mind again. Stupid man. Stupid. Here he was, telling her he wanted to leave her. She remembered his expression the day Roman and he had their face off. It was the only part of that day that played like a loop; when she saw him from the passenger seat of Bodner's car. Alive. She didn't know what it was at the time, and she hadn't seen it since.

And she'd be damned if she didn't get her answer now. What did she have to lose anymore?

"When I was in Bodner's car," she began, not looking at him again. "When I saw you standing there, why were you looking at me like that…what did you see?"

The long silence stretched again. The blondes filtered out of the bar, clearly irritated that Crews paid them no mind. The bartender hadn't come back to them, taking care of other paying customers. Customers that didn't order water. Customers that didn't stare at the same drink for hours.

The drink that was winning. White knuckled, clenched in her small hand, she didn't care what he saw, what he was looking at, what he was thinking. She wanted the alcohol to burn now.

It was three inches above the counter when his hand covered the rim and slammed it back down with a loud cling of glass on hard wood. The bartender shot a suspicious glance at Crews, daring him to break it.

"Dammit Crews, what the hell?"

"That's not going to help," he whispered.

"Well I don't want your help. I don't want your opinion."

"You wouldn't have asked if you didn't want my opinion…my answer."

"What's your problem?" she demanded, the fight wearing out of her. He was too exhausting for his own good.

"My problem is your problem with our miscommunication, that's my problem."

She raised an eyebrow. "If you don't stop speaking in your stupid riddles Crews, I swear to God that your only problem will be the bullet I put in you. Justifiable homicide; every person who's ever met you will testify to that. "

He shrugged. "Sure, but then who would answer your question?"

She shook her head. Tired. "I don't want it anymore," Reese replied, resigned.

"Your problem, Reese, is your lack of expectation. You don't expect good. You don't think you deserve good. I want you to have good. I don't want you to be involved with me anymore—every tie to me is a tie to you. Roman tied you to me. I can't be your partner if my enemies tie you to me. It isn't fair."

"My father's involvement made them my enemies. That's not an excuse."

He swallowed another sip of water. "You want to know what I saw? You want to know why I looked at you the way I did?"

She really wasn't sure she did anymore. "Do you want me to know what you saw?"

He smirked. "Now who's speaking in riddles?"

"Touché."

His smile was small but real this time. "What I saw was something I never thought I'd see again. Something I haven't seen in a very long time. Least of all, something I never thought I'd see in you."

She winced, but curiosity had her in its killing grasp. "And what did you see in me?"

Wider smile this time. The kind that crinkled his eyes, made him look genuinely at peace. The hand that long covered the rim of the glass, she realized, was on her wrist, thumb on her skittish pulse point, touching her. Touching her without her permission.

"The very same thing you saw in me that day," came his simple reply.

She wanted to shake him, shoot him, scream and yell at him. Frustrating man. "Can't you just speak in plain English—just—"

Reese stopped when he slid off the barstool, effectively invading her personal boundary. He pushed her hair away from her eyes, and the same strange, confused bewilderment reappeared on her pretty face as it had a few weeks ago. The look he'd seen more and more. For him….when she didn't think he noticed.

She leaned forward hesitantly; scared she'd misinterpreted his intentions as he scrutinized her. Her lifeless limbs finally began to cooperate, her hand reaching out to the informal gray button down shirt he'd changed into after work to pull him closer. It seemed to bring him back to the moment; the fingers that brushed her hair away now cradled her neck as he pulled her lips up to his seconds later. It was soft and light at first, wary and hopeful. She felt him smile against her lips before he wrapped his other arm tightly around her waist, crushing her to him; her arms moved from his chest to wind around his neck, content to continue until she turned blue.

They'd forgotten the time, who they were, where they were. Preoccupied, until the loud cough of the bartender intruded, telling them that it was closing time. Reese laughed lightly, forehead resting against Crews' as they muttered half hearted apologies.

"So, Reese, was that English?" Crews questioned smartly. He watched her roll her eyes.

"No, Crews, I'm pretty sure that was French," She commented dryly. He laughed now, tugging her off the stool but not letting her go. He'd never let her go now. They left the bar before the bartender could send them another withering glance. She paused before he could open the door to his fourth fast, expensive, overly ostentatious Italian car. "Crews?"

"Yea Reese?"

"Can we still be partners?" the question sounded shy and childlike. Almost as if asking if they could still be friends.

He smiled, holding his hand out towards her. She let her fingers lace in his, waiting, on edge. "Yea, Reese, we can definitely still be partners."

"Good."

"Good," he said, liking the idea more and more. "The world is ruled by letting things take their course."

"Zen?" she whispered softly, pulling him closer.

"Zen."