Authors Note: Ok this is the concluding part to my trilogy. Warning, if you haven't read the first two, Walking Disaster and Money Talks some of this might be a little hard to follow as I constantly refer back. This is also AU. It wouldn't have been very AU when I started but that was quite a few years ago now. This trilogy is after season two, dealing with the aftermath of Jack not going to Chicago. However, being AU I'm also adding in elements of the later seasons like a shootout, Danny fans I promise I'm going to do this right for you. Thanks a lot to my first beta Cynically Optimistic for starting me on this journey, Agent P!nk for helping me work through the plot for this, Agent Spade for giving it a once over, Malinche for being a great beta and finally DianeM, the last beta on this journey whose awesome command of the English language is hopefully going to make me a better writer. Finally thanks to jbird for being a constant source of encouragement and for helping us all to keep the faith. This is for everybody at Maple Street. I'll update once or twice a week.

Chloe Larson sat at the console watching the flickering image on the screen. Her hands moved the dials and switches automatically as she edited the footage they'd taken that day. Strictly, this wasn't part of her job description but she suffered from insomnia and it was comfortable, familiar work, soothing her troubled and anxious mind. She finished editing that take and the last image froze on the screen. Her eyes fixed upon it but she did not see it for what it was. Images burned many years ago onto her memory were assaulting her mind as if she was back there, nineteen again and scared seeing it all for the very first time.

A black, automatic glock pistol was lying on the table in front of her, the color of milk. The colors were so opposite each other, one so potently evil and the other innately calm and pleasant that it sent shivers up her spine. Two clips for the gun were next to it; one was already in the chamber. The acrid smell of gunpowder rose up to assault her nostrils. The gun had already been used once that evening. Slowly she reached down, pausing slightly when the cool, smooth steel touched her hand.

Chloe shook her head violently and brought up the next segment of film, her hands working the dials automatically. Suddenly a loud bumping noise broke the silence. Chloe quickly turned around, startled panic written on her face. The noise could be nothing, something quiet that seemed loud because the footage was on mute and she'd been sitting in the silence for a long time.

"Who's there?" Chloe called out, her voice quivering with fear. The sound of her voice gave her some measure for the noise she had heard, but she still couldn't be sure about it. She wasn't sure how much time had passed before she was satisfied that nobody was going to appear. Telling herself that she must have imagined it, she shook her head as if that would rid her of the uneasiness she felt and turned back to the console. After taking two deep breaths, she leaned over and flicked the switch into the on position for audio. Somehow she had to try and fill a silence that had stopped being comforting and was now unnerving her, just like it had that fateful evening.

Her breathing shallow and labored from fright, she pushed open the dirty door in front of her. The paint had peeled so badly that it was difficult to discern what color it had originally been, but if it had been painted in accordance with the rest of the room, it was likely to have been brown. She winced as the door creaked slightly as it opened, this small noise emphasizing how quiet it was. She walked in and instantly felt her stomach revolt at the sight in front of her. Involuntarily, she felt her eyes instinctively drawn to the blood splatter on the floor. With growing repulsion, she felt her eyes moving of their own accord, following the splatters to a pool of blood, which then moved into a smear as if somebody had been dragged. The feeling of the gun in her hand did nothing to comfort her as her eyes followed it along further to witness what was at the end of the grisly trail. She was so scared that the only noise she made was a quiet gasp of shock.

Chloe shook herself again and stood up to walk over to the coffee machine at the other end of the room. She rationalized that she wasn't going to get any sleep anyway. Just before she reached the machine, she vanished.

Ackerman, Coombs and Hurst Associates

31 hours missing

"So why do you think that Kate and Hanna should live with you and not with their mother?" Bernard Scoggins asked analyzing Jack's every move with his trained eyes. He'd been a divorce lawyer for twenty years now and had seen it all: husbands cheating on wives, wives cheating on husbands, domestic violence or just plain irreconcilable differences. Over that time he'd become immune to it; the people he represented were no longer people but cases, clients. This case was different though, he'd known that when he'd taken it on, but he'd accepted it anyway. Maria was his friend, they'd worked together for years, and he cared about the outcome and what it would do to her. As the case wore on, he'd found himself caring more and more, they'd grown closer and closer, until he cared no longer as a friend. This wasn't just a case anymore.

"They belong in New York," Jack replied tiredly.

He'd practiced answering this question and had come up with, what he hoped was, a convincing answer. Now, in this setting, his prepared answer didn't seem right anymore.

"They've lived here all their lives and . . . it's not that I think they shouldn't live with their mother, it's that . . . I didn't want any of this, you know." He started to explain his position, knowing as he did so that the lawyers in front of him didn't care and didn't understand. No matter what he said, he'd never get them to understand. "If Maria stayed in New York this wouldn't be an issue, I wouldn't contest it because I'd still get to see them. However, because they would be living in Chicago, I'd be lucky to see them every couple of weeks and even then only for a few hours."

"What's so unusual about a few hours? How many nights a week did you stay at the office or out of a town or at a hotel . . .?" Scoggins pushed, goading the man in front of him.

"What are you implying?" Jack shot back, eyes narrowing at the tactics being leveled against him.

Subconsciously he leaned forward over the conference table, placing both palms flat down, glaring at Scoggins. His opponent leaned back in his chair and raised an eyebrow, as he exchanged a knowing glance with his colleague. Jack Malone had quite a temper, something else they could use against him. Jack, for his part, felt like he was viewing the scene from two different perspectives. One perspective was through his own eyes, as himself, an angry participant. The other perspective was as a fly on the wall, who was observing the proceedings with detachment. He knew that getting angry with Scoggins wouldn't help; in fact, on the contrary, it had the potential to make things worse. In spite of this knowledge, he just couldn't help himself. What would have happened next nobody would ever know as Jack's phone rang, mercifully interrupting the proceedings.

"Malone," Jack answered, leaning back in his chair again, ignoring the two divorce attorneys.

"Jack, it's Danny. Sorry to call but we've got a new case," Danny informed him, walking out of the bullpen, cell phone in one hand, gun in the other.

Jack looked across at Scoggins and, for the first time in what felt like ages, smiled slightly, relief flooding through him like a drug. Intellectually he knew that he'd have to come back and finish this ordeal, but for now he was safe, he could get out of here.

"Sure. What've you got?" he enquired.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm on my way to the scene now," the younger agent explained.

Back in the bullpen, Danny finished holstering his gun, pressed the elevator button for the ground floor and went on with his report.

"It's BL Studios, over in Queens near the Fresh Meadow District."

"Thanks, Danny, I'm on my way."

Jack pocketed his cell phone and stood up.

"Work, Agent Malone?" Bernard Scoggins inquired with just a hint of sarcasm, anxious to prove his point for the tape.

He already knew the answer but he wanted it for the record. From Maria's testimony, this was typical behavior and it would make good evidence for court. They now had cast-iron proof that no matter what was going on, if he got a call, he would leave. That was not a good characteristic for a parent, particularly one who was seeking sole custody. Jack Malone might not realize it yet, but he didn't have a chance in hell of winning this battle. He might not even have to finish the deposition. They had enough, more than enough, actually.

"Duty calls," Jack shot back, conveying with his eyes exactly what he thought about lawyers, and left the room.