Part Five:

Angie knew she was risking everything, and it wasn't in her nature to do so. After her father had left, her mother would lay beside her daughter at night, brushing her long blonde hair from her eyes, telling her of the dangers of loving without restraint, how to never give her heart over fully. That those who loved that way were substantially changed forever, no longer complete. And she would listen, absorbing every word, learning at a young age to fear love and everything it represented. She had decided long ago to never love with that degree of abandonment, where life was perceived as innocent, the threat of loss implausible. There would be no happy ending, no prince charming for her. But then Oscar had entered her life and challenged everything she believed in.

Never allow a man to stay the night. Never apologize. Never fall in love. She was breaking all her rules; and it would change everything forever. She was going against everything she had taught herself, everything that she stood for. She didn't even recognize herself anymore. Even beneath the happy exterior, she knew that she was still damaged, in her own mind, she was still no good. Sometimes, love had a habit of making two people ruin one another, even in love. They would hurt and make each other bleed, and she had this fear of doing that to Oscar, of destroying him. That's what damaged people did. Honestly, the only person she ever allowed herself to love completely was Manny, and that was on an entirely different level than Oscar. How she felt towards him was complex and layered, and very much real.

She watched him now, bent across his desk, his hand feverishly writing his name across the bottom of a document, completely focused on the task, unware of her scrutiny. Her eyes were steady and sharp, memorizing his form to memory; the wave of his dark hair, the playfulness in his eyes. She never felt this way before, never loved a man so completely. She was losing herself by loving him and it scared her.

She had spent the majority of her life keeping people at arm's length, never allowing them to get too close. It was her way of protecting herself, to ensure that she was never left broken-hearted, to never allow people the opportunity to destroy her, even if it meant her leaving before she was left. In the long run, it saved everyone a lot of unnecessary hurt and heartache; it kept her safe. But he had spun into her life like a tornado, uprooting everything in his path, creating chaos from the fragile illusion of normalcy that she had created, changing everything that she believed, making her want to risk it all, to give herself over to him completely. And unintentionally, she had done just that; rendered herself vulnerable, and now he could break her if wanted, and there was nothing she could do about it.

He lifted his head, sensing her presence, and glanced in her direction, giving her a faint smile. She blushed from the sudden attention, realizing that she had been staring, and lowered her gaze, rearranging a few files on her desk absently. She was feeling nervous all of a sudden, a flutter of butterflies in her stomach. She hoped her partner didn't pick up on it. She heard the screech of wheels on linoleum as he pushed back his chair, glancing at him sideways. He stretched out his long legs, and folded his arms behind his head, studying her for a moment. "What are you thinking for lunch?"

For the moment, she was surprised by the question, not realizing the late hour. She fumbled over her words, shrugging her shoulders, and placed her chin in the palm of her hand, looking at him from across the room. "Chinese sounds good."

He laughed, standing from his chair, and crossing the room in long even strides, positioning himself on the ledge of her desk. The proximity of his closeness only managed to cloud her mind more. She shifted her attention to the stack of papers in front of her, rumpling through the corners, pretending like his nearness wasn't have an effect on her, wasn't causing her stomach to somersault. He folded his arms across his chest and looked down at her in amusement. "Aren't you sick of Chinese food yet?"

"Blasphemy," she teased; leaning back in her chair, sending blonde curls falling over her shoulder as she cocked her head sideways, her eyes landing at the curve of his mouth. She was struck with the sudden urge to kiss him, to brush her lips across his soft, full ones. And she didn't even care that they were at work, surrounded by coworkers. She wanted to taste him, to feel him pressed up against her. He was going to be her downfall; the one thing to break her.

Neither spoke, the moment stretching for what felt like an eternity. They were playing a dangerous game, being involved. There was so much at stake, and they were risking it all. She didn't want this to just be about sex, to just be a brief fling, she wanted more than that, she wanted a long-term relationship, but being in love with him could complicate things. He gave her a perplex expression, reading her mind. He opened his mouth to say something, when Lucas rounded the corner.

The young detective hurriedly headed in their direction, somber in appearance, his lips drawn downward. "Detectives Flynn, Vega, I'm afraid I have some news." His voice was serious, dangling a clear plastic evidence bag from his hand. It glistened in the light every time that he moved; the shine of it catching her attention as she fell back in her chair frowning. "Keith Adams is dead."

"Murdered," she asked; snapping her head around to look at Vega. She wasn't expecting that and judging from her partner's expression, neither was he. They had arranged to pick him up later that day, securing the evidence they finally needed, and a warrant for his arrest.

Lucas shook his head firmly. "No," he explained, "Apparent suicide; and get this, he left a letter confessing to the murders of both David and Anna Hill." He held up the clear evidence bag, his eyes darting back and forth between the detectives.

Angie narrowed her eyes, snatching the bag out of his hand. Inside was Keith's letter, she read over the first few lines, not needing to read the rest and handed it to Vega. She shook her head in disgust, feeling sick to her stomach. It wasn't the ending she was hoping for.

Vega glanced at the letter dishearteningly, wearing a similar expression, his shoulders sloping as he tilted his head to look in her direction, his eyes wary and remorseful. "I guess in a way, justice was served," his tone was meek, not really believing a word he said.

"Except that it doesn't feel that way at all," Angie voiced, tilting her head down. She felt defeated, like their work was all for nothing. David and Anna had died in vain. Their killer wouldn't even be held accountable for his crime, taking the coward's way out. An angry breath escaped her lips, cursing silently to herself. Out of all the outcomes, she wasn't prepared for this one at all.

Her partner sensed her deflation, and reached over touching the back of her hand, his fingers warm and soft. She didn't move, allowing his fingers to stoke over the skin on the back of her hand, tracing up along her knuckles, before interfolding his fingers between hers, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. The action was intimate and telling, so much so that Lucas actually coughed, slightly uncomfortable with the sign of such affection. But Vega ignored him, and continued to hold her hand, simply staring into her eyes. She actually trembled beneath his touch, feeling raw and somehow fragile. Her heart leapt into her throat and she tried to swallow it back down again.

The tension was thick and palpable, suspending heavy around them, and neither seemed to care that they were in a crowded precinct. To them, they were the only two that existed in the world. And for a moment, something deep inside her snapped and shifted, and fell out of place, like the breaking of a bone. It ascended from her stomach, going to her chest, and moving into the back of her throat. It gnawed at her from the inside, splitting her in half. Loving Oscar Vega was physically killing her.

That part of her that resisted love, that never allowed her to take the risk, resurfaced once more, reminding her that she would never be good enough for him. Her edges were sharp, and although unintentionally, she knew she would hurt him, wound him, and leave him visually scarred. If he was to even survive her at all, he would be stained, somehow marked from their time together. If she loved him at all, she would let him go, set him free to find someone better than her. It was his only chance at happiness, for her to break this off, whatever this song and dance they were doing, this barely whispered promise of happily ever after. It was the only way to prevent him from resenting her.

She jerked her hand from his, avoiding his gaze. He tempted to reach out for her, but she moved from his reach, heading down the hall in a panic. She managed to make it to the bathroom before bursting into tears. What was she thinking, getting involved with him? He was the most important thing in her life, and she was messing it up. She stared at her reflection in the mirror, red-eyed and tear-stained; she would ruin herself before she would ruin him.

It was the hardest decision that she ever made, deciding to walk away from him. She turned on the water, cupping her hands beneath it, feeling the coldness. She splashed it over her face, trying to rid herself from the tears. She would have to go back out there, she would have to face him, and she would have to end this. One day, he would understand.

For the rest of the day, she barely spoke to him, barely even looked at him. She skipped lunch, claiming paperwork. He could tell something was wrong, she saw it in his eyes; the hurt from her rejection. She allowed work to distract her, to preoccupy her mind. She didn't want to think, because if she did, she would change her mind, she would stay with him forever.

By the end of their shift, the precinct was at a slow crawl, most of the other detectives gone for the evening. He was still at his desk, watching her silently. She stared away, trying to think of anything else. When he approached her, she gradually looked up, sighing as his hand came down to rest on her shoulder. He bowed his head, asking discreetly, "You coming over tonight?"

He sounded so sincere that her lips began to tremble, the tears fresh in her eyes. "Not tonight," she said. And he squeezed her shoulder in understanding, a heartbroken expression written across his face. She was breaking his heart, and hers, too.

He walked away in a defeated posture, her eyes following him out. She stared ahead, vacant and aloof, believing that he deserved better, resolved to the idea that she had to let him go. Once he was gone, the trace of his back merely a shadow, a distant reminder of all that she loved in this whole world, she leaned her head back against her chair, staring up at the ceiling. The precinct was a quiet hush; the buzz of the fluorescent lights above her head, the only sound. She pulled open her bottom desk drawer, taking out the bottle of scotch that she kept; reserved for when cases failed with endings that kept her raw and bitter, for nights that stretched on with no ending in sight, for drowning that dulling ache inside her. Her heart was scattering into a million pieces and she needed to drink, to lose herself in the alcohol's bittersweet taste.

She poured the rich amber liquid into her glass with a heavy splash, trying to forget all about the pain that she was feeling. She chased it back, closing her eyes, allowing it to burn the back of her throat on the way down. She loved him. It was as simple as that. It's also what prevented her from pouring another round; her fingers still tightly clasping the bottle's neck. If she loved him, why was she pushing him away? And then it happened. She let go; lost herself in oblivion; dark and silent and somehow complete. She found freedom. Loving him was freedom.

Deep down, she knew he loved her as well; every aspect of her, even her flaws and razor-sharp edges, he saw the beauty in her. She was too tired to fight it anymore; it was time that she surrendered, it was time that she went home.

She arrived at his house, late at night, allowing herself in with her key. She stopped in the living room, removing her coat and purse, discarding them on the couch, in a heap. She kicked off her boots, tiptoeing down the hall, in the direction of his bedroom. She figured he would still be awake, considering how they left things.

He was sitting up, his back against the headboard, when she entered. He looked at her pleasantly surprised to see her, his eyes coming alive instantly. "I didn't think you were coming over tonight."

She pulled back the covers, climbing in beside him, her hand falling against his chest. "I changed my mind," she admitted, resting her head on his shoulder. "I hope it's okay."

He nodded, folding her into his arms, and kissing her softly on the forehead. "I'm glad you did. I miss you when you're not here."

She took a hesitant breath, her fingers absently stoking his chest. "I'm sorry about earlier. I had a lot on my mind."

"Like what," he inquired, running his fingers down the length of her arm.

She buried her face further into his neck, finding comfort in the scent of him. She relaxed slightly, knowing how ridiculous she was behaving, thinking she would destroy him, that this couldn't work. It had already been working, they had been practically dating for months now, just neither had approached the subject, nor given it a title, and it was time they did. "I've been thinking. Maybe it's time that we made this official, our relationship."

He looked down, giving her a perplex expression, his brows furrowed, and then cracked a smile. "Good to know that I don't have to give you that letter asking you to be my girlfriend; the one with the check yes or no boxes."

She elbowed his side playfully, laughing in spite of herself. "I'm not that bad."

"Yes, you are, but I love you regardless." He tilted her head back, so he could look her in the eyes, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Don't think I don't know what you were doing earlier."

She attempted to play coy, averting her eyes, and swallowing. "And what exactly was I doing?"

He rolled over, hovering above her, pinning her between the mattress and his body, forcing her to look him in the eyes. "I saw the panic. I saw the fear in your eyes. I knew you were scared."

She caught her breath, searching his face for a moment, seeing the love and care that resided there. "Why didn't you say something," she asked.

"Because we all get like that," he answered. "You just needed to work through the motions. I knew you would come around eventually. You always do. But I don't ever want you to think that you're undeserving of me, or my love. Do you understand me?"

She nodded her head, lifting it slightly to kiss him on the lips. She must be the luckiest woman on earth to have him, to have found the person to complete her. She would love him forever, and forever didn't seem that long anymore. Come rough or still waters, she was his.

End.