Author's Note - I'm sorry the updates are so few and far between! I won't even bore you with excuses. ;) Without further adieu, here's chapter 15... And thank-you for all your kind reviews:)

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The rain had still not found the decency to let up even after we arrived in the Bronx. There didn't seem to be much promise of it stopping any time soon, either. Sheets of the cool water still poured onto the car with force, effectively having caused a virtual whiteout for the length of the ride. The only guide to our destination had been, as was for every other New Yorker, the taillights in front of us. In fact, John's refusal to slow down had found us nearly broadsided by a semi as we merged on to the parkway. I was unsuccessful in convincing him that and that he could take his time, seeing how the decomposing corpse wasn't actually going anywhere.

Yellow tape still lined the crime scene just outside Morris Park when we pulled up, but we saw only flashes of squad cars and uniforms passing by as the windshield wipers flicked back and forth, and even less when John cut the engine and the rain was free to pound and linger on the glass.

"Were they seriously waiting for us?" I wondered aloud as we undid our seatbelts. "I mean, it's been a several hours since they found the remains, right?"

John spoke for what was only a countable time during the drive. He'd started off questioning me about Bosco and finally asking what was up his ass as if that might explain why he'd been such an unrelenting jerk ever since his return. My curt response, informing that it wasn't his place to judge, had succeeded in silencing the Crown Vic for the remaining miles.

"Pretty sure the coroner came and left. But I wanted to see the scene myself," he opened the door halfway, not in the least concerned about the massive flood he'd just welcomed inside, paused, and then added: "If that's alright with you."

"Sure," I rolled my eyes, but he was already out of the car and slamming the door behind him. I begrudgingly pushed open my own door, thinking about how I would become even more drenched than I already was, and that suddenly being partnered with Jelly didn't seem like such a painful idea anymore. It had always been Jelly's unflinching lack of drive that had teed me off, and yet now it was John's assiduous zeal to solve each and every case regardless of whether or not the killer had specifically adorned the body with a note and addressed it to him. I suppose I should have appreciated his impartial passion, but I just wasn't feeling especially passionate lately.

I had been outside no more than thirty seconds, searching for John's not-so-obvious navy blue jacket in a sea of darkness and gray, when a miracle happened. It stopped raining. Not gradually, but in one second, it all stopped, as if the clouds had finally moved on in one swift motion or had literally expelled the last of its water onto to New York soil. I heard several people mumble 'finally'; a few crime scene techs looked too engrossed to even have noticed. Either that or they had resigned to the fact that it had probably washed away all tangible evidence. A handful of uniforms shouted a slew of derisive thanks to the heavens.

"Yokas!" John's irritated voice rang out amongst all the other people rushing past. He threw his hands up, insinuating I was taking my sweet time.

Now, thanks to the crime scene spotlights and flashing squad lights and lack of rain, I spotted him ducking under the police line, and I followed after, though he didn't seem to have any intention of waiting for me. He quickly engaged himself in conversation with a sergeant, and the two motioned to the disturbed area where the remains had been discovered.

I started to ask if the ME had come up with a time of death yet, when he sharply interrupted with another comment to the sergeant.

"If you came out here to work solo, I can just go home," I snapped, feeling my anger rise. It had been fairly easy to flare since the argument I'd had with Bosco. "Because it is my day off, you know." I folded my arms as he glanced over with gray, misty eyes.

He paused, opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. He ran a flustered hand over his graying hair, then put a hand on my shoulder and turned me away from the sergeant.

"Look, Faith," he started. "I'm sorry about…earlier. I shouldn't have said anything. You're right. It wasn't my place."

I shook his hand away, not about to object. It hadn't been, after all. I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes as I recalled Bosco's words. And I silently willed the rain back down, if only because it would allow me to cry silently and let my tears blend in with the downpour.

"I need you on this case," he insisted.

"Fine," I acquiesced, tossing my hands up. I figured if I did go home, I'd just worry sick about the kids in Fred and Caroline's potentially-haphazard care. She had lost Charlie before, in his own city. God only knew where he could wind up in Color-freakin'-ado. Or at least, I'd construed it in my own head to seem as if she did, if only because I was so angry at the time. "Whatever," I finished, giving him a surrendering look.

"Good," he replied, his face softening. And I relaxed a little, hoping we'd stay on good terms. The ease of our partnership had gone out the window with the mounting ill will between him and Bosco, but at the very least I hoped we could keep things civil. It was a shame really, because we made a relatively good team during the Jeffrey case, or so I'd thought. Regardless, I was now determined to see the case through, so we could quit precinct-hopping and resume some sense of normalcy. Perhaps the whole detective charade wasn't exactly my thing. I thought I'd like being able to see things through – to feel like I was actually providing a more long-term solution, but it turned out I was just too unaccustomed to piecing the puzzles together. I'd felt more progressive as a beat cop. Go figure.

"I'm gonna get the ME to fax us everything on the body. If it's our guy, we'll find out for sure. So far the MO matches."

"So far," I mumbled. "Who knows what the monsoon took with it. Besides, this body is weeks old."

"A little optimism, huh?"

I just smiled meekly.

"Lieutenant Miller!" the same sergeant was shouting and motioning for him. I wandered off several feet to where the body was found, as John set off in the direction of his name.

This is going to be thrilling, I thought sarcastically, looking at the useless piece of saturated earth before me. My skeptical thoughts on how the case would turn out, or rather, wouldn't turn out, were temporarily pushed away when a couple voices caught my attention. I spotted two uniforms together a dozen feet away, both glancing in my direction at random intervals, the taller one more than the other. I frowned to myself, keeping my eyes on the ground for the most part, shifting them occasionally and straining my ears to eavesdrop.

"Good fucking God, Jake," the taller one whined. I watched him from the corner of my eye as he squinted at his watch. "You picked a fine fucking day to pick up a shift for both of us. I'll take OT where I can get it but this is fucking ridiculous, standin' here for hours, stringing tape, taking orders from gold shields. It's bullshit is what it is."

His partner, or at least who I'd assumed was his partner, turned around to face him, kicking at the dirt as he did. "I was not alone in 'picking up shifts'," he snarled, but his voice was calmer and more articulate. I cringed, trying to imagine how they could coincide well. "Just move in to the god-damned apartment and stop bitching about your commute already."

"It's a fucking journey from 42nd, Jake!" the taller, stronger one replied in a hushed bark. "I'm waitin' for Mike anyway. He wants my old apartment then the bastard is doing some heavy lifting and helpin' me get my stuff out. Doesn't do shit in Riker's but bulk up anyway."

"Least he can't shoot up in there," Jake mentioned. "All he did before."

"Hey, Jake, drug use is a far cry from agg batt and impeding an investigation. You know if they could've swung it they'd have put him away a lot longer," he looked almost offended as he faced his partner again, who simply shrugged.

"How much longer you gonna carry this chip on your shoulder?"

He muttered something back about revenge, then nodded toward me. It didn't unsettle me as much as it made me snap my head down so it wouldn't be so glaringly obvious that I was eavesdropping, if only because John had failed to spark my interest in the case even as I hovered over the remaining remains. I shrugged at my thoughts about the case and how dead-end it seemed, all the while shaking away the strange feeling I'd gotten from the uniforms' looks. When, suddenly, said two drenched uniforms strode up beside me in one swift flurry of side-by-side navy-blueness.

"Not quite your size, is it?" asked the one who reached me just steps ahead of the other. I heard his loud, confident voice just milliseconds before I turned, meeting him face-to-face.

I tilted my head in confusion, though smiled politely at the two men, waiting for one of them to elaborate.

"You're shirt," the first, and taller one, added. I followed his stare down to the oversized NYPD turtle neck that had originally hung loosely from me, but thanks to the rain was now clinging in twisted wrinkles around my waist, and covered up much of the top part of my jeans. I'd nearly forgotten I had on Bosco's shirt.

"Oh yeah," I laughed, shaking my head as I remembered. "Yeah, it's a…uh…" I nodded, glancing back up and meeting his brown eyes for a second time. They were a deep copper and matched his hair, which looked like it was normally short and tousled, but due to the rain was now matted down and still trickling with water.

"My partner," he said suddenly, breaking our gaze and leaving me no time to finish explaining the size of my shirt. He shifted two thumbs to the man next to him, a couple inches shorter, but equally as handsome and as poised. The man smiled genuinely.

"Jake Lee," he stated, and then shrugged.

I nodded politely; suddenly somewhat unsettled by the impervious glare the taller one was giving me. Said unyielding stare finally broke when he noticed me looking expectantly at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. I was squinting, trying to train my eyes to adjust to the darkness so I could make out the letters on his badge. But the combination of night and panicky light sources just reflected off of the silver, making it impossible to read.

"Oh," he said, not lowering his voice in the least. He smiled broadly, revealing a set of white almost perfectly-aligned teeth, and outstretched his hand. I shook it obligingly as he announced his identity.

"Matthew Walker."

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She'd left me standing in the locker room, my hands still clenched into fists inside of my pockets. I'd stood there for a long time, taking in her words. I'm not sure how long I would have stood there had Swersky not poked his head in a little while later.

He'd asked me if I could man the desk until two, and I'd just shrugged and agreed to the OT, too distracted to dwell on a response, but not really regretting it once I had. I could always use the hours, I'd justified. Besides, I'd be back on the street the next day, which made my last night of desk duty somewhat bearable.

"You're still here, Bosco?" Sully's voice was gruff and slightly surprised as he lumbered down the stairs and toward me.

"Lieu needs me 'til two," I tossed my hands up, "Figure what the hell, right?" I spotted him raising a styrofoam cup to his lips, and immediately dove to intercept it.

"Bosco!!" he shrieked, his eyes wide with disbelief and downright disappointment.

I shook my head and tossed it into a trashcan, contents and all. "Jelly make that?"

He shrugged and nodded. "So?"

"So I just spared you a massive Bayer-wouldn't-help myocardial infarction, Sul. Man puts more sugar in that crap than a call girl could give you during a power out," I bowed my head astutely.

"Well I like sugar!"

"Sorry," I mumbled, half-apologetic.

He sighed heavily, and for a second, I seriously thought I may well have ruined his night. Finally he looked up. "You see Davis?"

I motioned toward the door, "He left twenty minutes ago. Why?"

"I'm tryin' to get him to talk to Monroe," he explained, leaving me narrowing my eyes, baffled.

"Uh….why?"

"Because, Bosco, she's pr…! She's…nevermind. They just need to cross this IAB bridge and move on."

"What about me?"

Sully furrowed his eyebrows, "What about you?"

Dismayed, I threw my hands out, "What about her throwin' Cruz in Rikers to get the shit beat outta her for takin' out Mann…for…for killin' Mikey and almost killin' me and Faith and Ma and Davis and you and, damn, Sul, should I continue?!"

He looked at me, distressed, but said nothing.

"Why are you defending her?" I persisted.

"Bosco, it's complicated. A lotta crap went down while you were in the hospital."

"So tell me! Why won't anyone tell me? It's like this god-damned freaking secret all around here everyday. I feel like I have a contagious disease!" It was true – whenever I tried to bring up the Mann situation, everyone scattered.

He shook his head, almost sadly. "….Just talk to Cruz, okay?"

"Cruz?"

"Well," he corrected, "I would say talk to Monroe but you can't get through a single sentence without calling her a rat, a bitch or both noun and adjective combined. I'd also tell you to talk to Faith but you two can't do that civilly either, so the next in line is Cruz, who, ironically, you actually coincide with better now than either of your ex-partners. So, Bosco, take your pick."

I hesitated for a second, flustered by his words. "I will. Next time I see her."

He nodded slowly and then pushed himself off against the counter. "See you tomorrow, then?"

"Land of the living? You bet."

He scoffed and turned for the door, "More like land-of-paperwork's-a-bitch."

I smiled weakly, and he stopped at the door and looked up one last time, before leaving me to shift-change and the obnoxious ringing of the phones.

"Hey, Bosco, tomorrow?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm driving. And you owe me a coffee."

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"Uh…Faith," I started, stuttering. "Faith Yokas…er…well…it's…yeah," I decided I really didn't need to explain what my last name was, wasn't or would be and wind up going off on some marital tangent to a couple of strangers.

"Yeah," the taller one said, half-interrupting in his thoroughly resolute tone. "I heard your partner calling you," he nodded in John's direction. "That's actually why I came over here. Your name…it's uh…familiar."

I hesitated, staring into his brown eyes as if they would help me figure out his motives, or at least offer some reason why I felt so instantaneously captured by him, and yet, at the same time, an unease.

"You know Boscorelli? And Cruz?" he asked. When I didn't answer, he continued. "Jake and I just ran into them a couple times…," he explained, seemingly rather skilled at making everything sound simple. He shrugged, "That's all."

His partner said nothing, but I could tell by the way he looked at me, that it wasn't "all". And it didn't explain why my name had been familiar to him.

"Been out here for hours," he spoke up, once again drowning away my thoughts with his imperative voice. He motioned between him and his partner. "Crime scene sure as hell takes their sweet time." He glanced at the crime scene techs with disdain. "We pick up shifts when there's a serial killer around," he laughed bitterly with his partner as if they hadn't exactly made a wise choice on the overtime. "Guess this is what we get."

I just nodded slowly, still switching suspicious glances between the two.

"So what brings you all the way out here from the 55th?" he asked, equally as loud, and I started to answer until I remembered I had no indication of my precinct anywhere on my clothes. My words slowed into a weak, broken phrase.

"We're actually working this case," I said, nodding, as if to make myself seem more assured.

For the first time, he just nodded back.

"Kind of a long drive?" Lee asked, and I felt relieved at the onset of a less-intimidating voice.

"Not bad," I said, somewhat abruptly.

"You should try commuting," the overbearing one said. "I live on 42nd."

"Ouch," I agreed, trying my best to keep a polite front, when all I felt like doing was interrogating. I convinced myself not to get carried away, and just ask Bosco about it when we got back to the House. It was probably not a big deal anyway.

"I work midnights, though," he clarified, "So it's not really that bad."

I nodded and smiled, not really caring to inquire why he worked so far away.

His eyes traveled downward, quickly turning our gaze from borderline friendly to downright awkward. I shifted, hoping to deter his wandering sight. John's voice was a welcome break in the sudden silence, and I felt myself relax when the man was forced to take his eyes off me and look up.

"Matt?!" John cried, squinting and speaking somewhat questioningly. The two shook hands solidly, both grinning broadly. "How are you, man?" all three seemed to say in unison.

I felt like there was some clandestine Six Degrees game going on that I was left out of, and I was somehow the only person in New York who didn't know Jake Lee and, from what I'd gathered, Matt Walker.

"Jake," John nodded, acknowledging Matt's partner, still grinning. He reached out and shook his hand, too. "Long time." They all nodded in agreement. I looked a John expectantly.

"Faith, you remember Matt, don't you? Medal for Valor, 1998. Disarmed a gunman outside Jacobi Hospital. No casualties. Not a one."

No, I don't.

I just shook my head. "Uh, vaguely," I told them, but I really didn't remember it. I did, however, feel somewhat better about the person standing before me. Maybe it was because he knew Miller, and it suddenly made him seem less suspicious, and less contriving. I began to reevaluate my original stance. If he knew Bosco, it probably wasn't a bad thing. However they knew each probably hadn't been all that spectacular, anyway, thus a logical reason why he had never mentioned him.

I lost myself in a sea of what-ifs and possibilities regarding them as his and John's conversation distanced into a slur of incoherent words. I barely noticed when Lee mumbled something to his partner and then slinked off.

John's voice suddenly became clearer, snapping me out of my thought-induced fog as I realized he was talking to me.

"Looks like I'm gonna be here with the sergeant for a while," he said. "Still waiting on crime scene to finish up."

I nodded.

"He says uniforms brought in a witness a few minutes ago…thinks they might have some info on the vehicle around here just before they found the body."

"Really?" I asked, looking up with a bit more curiosity than I'd originally had. "They at the precinct?"

He mirrored my previous nod. "Yeah," then his eyes glittered for a second. "See? I told you we'd get more. There's always more."

"No you didn't," I accused, laughing. I knew at heart he'd been just as doubtful as me. More determined maybe, but just as doubtful.

"Why don't you go talk to them?" he suggested.

"Me? Right now?"

He glanced between me and the uniforms, "Well…yeah. Soon as CSU is finished I'll meet you there."

I shrugged and frowned, "Okay…" Hey, I'd been a detective for about four months but I'd only worked with John once before. He was easier to work with than Jelly in the sense that we actually made progress, but he also gave off this impression that you could really screw things up for him. Thus, I was apprehensive to go badgering a witness for details by myself. Especially with how fragile and cold the case was becoming. But, John continued to stare at me – expectantly and assured – so I eventually gave in.

I was about to confirm with a 'yes' or something similar, when Walker's voice broke in. He was hard to ignore just standing there, so when he spoke, his presence was beyond evident.

"You know…I could take her," he suggested, nodding toward John. John, who was about the same height and possibly weight, but for some reason appeared much smaller and weaker next to the younger cop. Walker flicked his wrist over but I could tell he didn't actually read the time. "Jake and I are just goin' back about now anyway."

I said nothing at first, just watched the man and anticipated John's response, all the while struggling to keep the unnerving sensation from rising inside me again. You're being ridiculous, I scolded myself.

"Yeah?" John looked from him to me.

"Sure thing," Walker nodded certainly before screeching for his partner. Jake was few dozen feet away, nodding obediently to some lieutenant before heeding his partner's obnoxious calls and striding toward us.

"We're going in, Jake," he informed Lee, tossing a shoulder toward me. "Taking Yokas so she can talk to a witness."

Jake frowned. "Matt, CSU is hardly done here. Besides we have like thirty-minutes left."

Walker motioned to the display around us, "It look like they got a uniform shortage? We have to do paperwork, anyway. You could try doing some for a change."

"Fine," Jake obliged, shrugging.

"Alright, thanks a lot, man," John announced, giving Walker a pat on the shoulder. He reached for Jake's hand once more. "It was good to see you guys!" Then he turned to me, "I shouldn't be much more than an hour here, Faith. Get what you can out of the witness."

I nodded reflexively, feeling strangely helpless as he walked off.

"Take it easy, Miller," Jake called out, receiving a lopsided wave as John tossed his hand up behind him.

"Let's get outta here," Walker announced, leading the way to their car. I followed hesitantly.

"Look," I started, as their squad neared. "If you guys need to stay, I'll just take John's car. He can just catch a ride with the sergeant."

Jake glanced down nervously at his own watch while rounding the car toward the passenger side.

Walker tossed a shoulder in his direction, "Ignore Mr. By-the-book, here," he sneered.

I feigned a small laugh before catching sight of Jake's serious, not-so-amused expression. And I would have said it was there because he just wasn't impressed with his partner's insult, but the expression had been the same each time the two made eye contact. It was as if they were harboring some dark secret, and Jake's eyes were like discouraging, warning coals that Walker seemed to have no intention of heeding.

"Really," I continued, too confused by their faces and by Walker's demeanor to really let the discomfort in me surface. I didn't usually do that. I didn't usually get too caught up in desperately trying to decode a situation that I forgot about, or ignored, my gut feeling. "You don't—…"

"Don't be ridiculous," Walker started, a wide, almost sarcastic smile forming, he opened the back door and all but ushered me inside. "Besides, you don't even know your way."

He left me no time to answer before shutting the door and climbing in the driver's side. No time to say I could probably figure out how to get there. No time to say I had a map. Or GPS. Or anything else that might leave him with no reason to waste his time. But perhaps I was just being paranoid. Maybe he was doing it as a favor to John. Maybe he really had had enough crime-scene babysitting. Maybe he did have an inconvenient commute ahead of him. Maybe.

Jake climbed inside next to him – and somewhat reluctantly at that. I didn't understand why someone who apparently knew two people I trusted, left me feeling disconcerted, and trapped.

And as we pulled away, I felt I'd abandoned to the crime scene of disseminating uniforms and detectives, the one thing that saw me through alive to the next day on the job. My instincts.

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Present Day

I'd never been under as much pressure before, as much as I was under sitting on that stand – the eyes of friends, colleagues, enemies and total strangers burning into me like fire. All of them, Judge Harrison and Virginia included, staring me down for an answer.

I thought I had been preparing myself for the moment for over four months, but I realized, as everyone watched impatiently, the tension mounting, I was no more prepared than I'd been the day Bosco had been arrested. My plans for lying were easier, well, planned, than put into action. I could recant what happened to me, sure. My goal was to take away the prosecution's motive; give them no way to make Bosco look like he'd been out for revenge. Make it look like he'd had no reason to retaliate. After all, he was pleading not guilty. It didn't mean he was saying he didn't do it, it was actually saying that it simply couldn't be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. But, at the last second, I realized that state-renowned James Lin would come barreling back with the medical records and a slew of nurses who would testify to exactly why I'd been at the hospital that day.

So, sitting there with beady eyes of all different colors, expressions and from all directions, on me, I frantically tried to decide which path to take. I was trying to decide if I was going to cave and go with the part of me – the angry side – that longed for everyone to know what Walker had done, or take my chances and pretend like it'd never happened.

Take the motive away, I repeated to myself, silently, over and over. That was the goal, right? I took a deep breath as Virginia repeated herself again, and I felt my mouth go dry. At that instant, I did something I'd vowed not to do the moment I walked inside. The one thing Sully, in all his jaded wisdom, had advised me not to do. I looked at him. Quickly at first, darting my eyes toward him, and then back to Virginia or to Lin, or to the floor. Quickly, because I was scared to concentrate on him – afraid I'd crumble, because it would be too much for me to see him in his state, or to be reminded of how crucial my testimony, at least one version, was, and what it might mean for him if I screwed it up. But finally, I found the courage to look longer, to actually find his eyes with mine and keep the contact for more than a few seconds.

He stared back with what I knew was all he had left of his evaporating confidence and hope, and he was giving both to me when his gray eyes seemed to deepen to blue again and he bowed his head in a single, slow, reassuring nod.

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"I'm outta here," a familiar, exhausted voice cried out behind me. I turned to see Cruz trotting lithely down the stairs, tossing her jacket over her shoulder. "Goodnight, Bosco."

I just shrugged and nodded. We'd been on pretty civil terms since I returned. There was still the strange barrier I felt between us – like she was keeping some terrible secret from me. To be honest, though, it felt a lot like that with everyone. Still, my earlier, brief talk with Sully left me wondering, so I called out to stop her.

"Yeah?" she turned around at the door.

I leaned over the counter, folding my arms. "What's, uh," I ran a hand over my mouth as I tried to find my nerve to bring up what had silently been deemed unapproachable territory around the House. "What's up with this whole Mann thing? Sully said…"

She looked weary, creases forming around her eyes as she frowned. As far as I knew she'd been working since noon.

"The less you know the better."

I slammed a fist onto the counter, "No, Cruz! I need to know the truth, dammnit!"

She stood, staring at the floor, chewing her lip. I sighed heavily, "Look," I continued, my tone softer. "Please…just explain it to me? Nobody else will, Cruz."

"What version did he give you? Sullivan?"

I frowned, confused. "Version?"

"There's three versions, Bosco. Only one of them actually went down. I'm betting you've only gotten the two that didn't."

I stared, processing her words but getting nowhere. She opened the door, looking as though she'd already said too much. "What the hell that does that mean, Cruz!" I shouted after her. "Huh? Where the hell that does that leave me!?"

The only answer I got was the slamming door as it swung shut, and I had no time to even close my eyes in frustration, or possibly decide to chase after her and demand a more useful answer, when my phone vibrated. Its silence was a welcome break from the monotonous ringing of the phones I'd been answering all day. I pulled it from my pocket and stared at the lit up screen, immediately clenching my teeth at the identity.

I spent too long deciding whether or not to answer: It rang only twice and then was silent. I sighed, flipping it open and punching in her number but getting only voicemail. I said nothing, and instead, snapped it shut and discarded it deep into my pocket – the anger from our previous fight, and even a tinge of concern, going with it.

--------------------------------------- //

The ride was silent for the most part, and with random intervals where Jake would shoot his partner that same cautioning glare that left me suspicious, and then Walker would either ignore his burning eyes, or glance over equally as challenging, leaving Jake to finally shake his head in defeat and turn back to stare out his window.

But Jake didn't give up trying to get whatever point he was trying to make across, that easily. He stopped for several minutes, but as we neared the House, he seemed to become more restless.

"You know what, I think this is a really bad idea, Matt," he announced matter-of-factly. The hand he'd had his head rested on was now propped up in question.

Walker was silent, his hands on the wheel, eyes on the road, as he steered his way almost methodically toward the destination. A destination, which, should we have parted paths from I'd have no idea because I'd never been to it before.

"I said, I think this is a really bad idea," Jake repeated, his voice more strained this time. He must have felt my narrowing eyes on him, because he turned around to face me, looking almost apologetic, and said, "Sorry."

Funny, I didn't get the feeling he was apologizing for his tone or their silent arguing.

"Do I care what you think?" Walker finally snapped, and as he rounded the corner I could see the 38th precinct house fall into view, and an ensuing wave of relief passed over me.

Jake just stared back at his partner with incredulity. I wanted to ask what exactly he thought was such a bad idea, but the polite part of me, the one that believed they were just expressive acquaintances of my partner and ex-partner, didn't want to be nosy and pry. The uneasy part of me wasn't sure I even wanted to know.

Walker pulled the RMP up to the front curb, rather than around to the back where we always went at the 5-5. In fact, he threw it in park but left it running, which only left me increasingly perplexed. In an effort to ease the tension between the two, I spoke up.

"How…how exactly did you know…um," I cleared my throat, even more disturbed at how soon my words seemed to fail. "Bosco?"

They both continued to exchange grave looks. Jake wiped a hand along his jaw anxiously and licked his lips.

Walker's voice finally invaded the silence. It was low and disciplined, "Your real partner locked up my brother during his little stint with Anti-Crime, and that bitch Cruz."

His words shocked me into silence myself. It wasn't that I couldn't accept the fact – I didn't doubt Bosco and Cruz had sent more than a few undeserving skels to prison. Undeserving in the sense that their punishment far outweighed their crime. Still, I'd been almost close to convincing myself their connection hadn't been a bad thing. Now, combined with this revelation and his calculated, icy tone, I was back to my original doubts, and, possibly, even a little scared.

"Wha…what?" I scoffed, and I laughed almost dryly. Maybe because if his brother had been the 'Mike' I'd overheard him talking about, he'd be out soon anyway. The way he'd said it made it sound as if he were dead, or something.

"You knew about it?" Walker asked accusingly, staring me down from the rearview mirror.

I shook my head wildly, "Obviously not. I didn't work with him in Anti-Crime."

"But you knew him and Cruz didn't play by the rules, didn't you?"

I shook my head and shrugged, "I only saw them from a distance," I lied, unwilling to delve into how deeply I knew they'd cut corners.

"I read all about him," he continued just as coldly. "The Dying Declaration, 'Stevie'."

"That was all Cruz," I announced in Bosco's defense. "She set him up."

"But it was your partner's name on everything," he persisted. "His name. They tried to frame my brother for murder, too, like 'Stevie', but he made a scene. Figured if he wouldn't give them names they'd just get him on impeding an investigation. Made up some shit about aggravated battery on a LEO. Got him two years inside. Would've gotten more if they had any more than circumstantial bullshit."

"I—I…" I stuttered, but I really had no idea what I might say. Jake remained silent in his seat, eyes frozen on the House that was so close, yet so unreachable.

"Shut up!" he ordered, his brown eyes still reflecting menacingly down from the mirror. "See, they thought no one would care. Thought no one would miss him. Why? Because he had some trouble with drugs back when? He was getting his life together! Had a good job. Clean almost a year! He's somebody's son. He's my brother!"

I willed the pit in my stomach to subside, but it only worsened. "I'm…sorry…" I said shakily, and with as much sincerity as I could manage. The uncanny parallelism of Walker and his formerly-drug-addicted brother Mike was beginning to unnerve me.

"No you're not!" he shrieked, slamming a fist onto the steering wheel. I winced and leaned back. "Do you know what happened to him in Rikers? Do you?!"

I just shook my head slowly, praying he wouldn't find the candor to inform me.

"Goodnight, Jake," he mumbled suddenly, not looking at his partner. Jake glanced up for the first time, scanning from Walker to me, and back again.

"Matt…" he warned

"Now."

"Look," Jake hissed, shoving a finger toward him, "It was more than two years ago!"

"Get out of the fucking car, Jake!" Walker's voice rang out impatiently, but his self-assurance was suddenly almost non-existent.

"Look," I began, somewhat frantic. I stared at the inoperative door handles. "I really need to talk to that witness. Lee, if you could just open the door…"

But his partner ignored my requests, pushing the door open and climbing out. He turned and leaned back in. "You need to stop and think about this, Matt," he advised, before glancing regretfully at me, and then backing away and slamming the door.

"Wait!" I called, fighting back the panic and struggling desperately to remain calm - I wasn't supposed to panic. I was a cop. I was supposed to be in control of the situation. But somehow, suddenly, I felt the opposite. Maybe it was because of that unsettling feeling I'd had right from the start - that suspicious doubt deep inside that alerted me when things didn't add up. A doubt that I had ignored, and now, was a reality. So I watched, stunned, my eyes blurred, as the car jolted back into gear and the buildings began to whir past. I peered through the bulletproof plexiglass to find Walker's eyes were on the road again. Frantically, I shoved my hand into my pocket, digging out my cell phone. I flipped it open and punched in the first number that came to mind. The first number I always dialed when I was in trouble. The first person I called when I needed help.

The screen displayed 'connecting' for a couple seconds, but the hollow battery icon in the upper right corner flashed ominously before the phone let out a single chirp, and then went dead.

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