AN: This takes place after the episode called "Baptiste." I don't know if I'm going to stick to the following episodes after it if they contradict my story. But they haven't so far, so that's good! Anyhoo, I got this idea from something Baptiste said, and I just decided to run with it. Hope you enjoy. This is going to be just in longish drabble form. I think. We'll see how it goes.

Oh yeah, right. Disclaimer: I don't own anything that isn't mine. this story doesn't contain slash. It doesn't contain incest. It doesn't contain adult scenes. It contains little, if any, coarse language. So basically, rated because I'm paranoid.

It had been four days since the phone call with Baptiste, and it was sticking in Guerrero's mind.

"I never got to congratulate you on becoming a family man. How old is the little one right now?"

He was working through the problem, and he thought he had a good solution. He was sure Chance would be okay with it; Winston would be the sticky part.

He wanted to buy himself some time before he pitched it to them, though. So he did what he usually did –went to raid the refrigerator. New girl, Leila, was back, moving some of her equipment into Chance's pad, their base of operations.

"Hey new girl," he said as he passed her.

"Leila," she corrected, pushing a box over with her foot while juggling computer stuff.

"Right," he said, and opened the fridge. Let's see, there was left over casserole, week-old fries, a take home of Indian food, Winston's lunch… better not take that if I want to stay on his good side, Guerrero thought. He saw a box of Chinese takeout behind a milk carton. I like Chinese, he thought as he pulled out the carton. He hunted up a pair of chopsticks and dug in, plopping down on the couch.

Chance walked in and said, "Help yourself," a little sarcastically.

"Thanks, dude," Guerrero said around a mouthful of noodles. Chance rolled his eyes good-naturedly and turned the TV on. "Hey, dude," he said, taking the plunge, "what do you use all those guest bedrooms upstairs for?"

Chance raised his eyebrows. "Nothing. Why?"

"I wondered if you might mind someone filling one of 'em."

"Depends on who it is," Chance said curiously.

Guerrero made a face. "You know I called Baptiste, right."

"Uh huh."

"Well, he knows."

"He knows a lot of things."

"Dude, he knows about …her." Guerrero looked in Chance's eyes very seriously. "Don't know how much, but he knows somethin'."

Chance nodded thoughtfully. "And you want her to move in here?"

"Just a thought," Guerrero shrugged. "Maybe new girl could move in too and keep tabs on her."

"Leila," she called from the other room. She had ears like a cat when someone didn't call her by her name.

"Leila," Guerrero corrected himself.

"Sure, why not?" Chance shrugged. "They both can, if they want to."

"Thanks, dude."

"No problem." Chance's look knew. "I understand wanting to keep someone away from the big man." Right, Guerrero thought, getting up. "You want me to come?" Chance asked.

"Thought your car was in the shop," Guerrero said, raising his eyebrow.

"It is. We'll take Winston's."

"Oh, no you won't," the black man said, rounding the corner. "I don't know what it is you want, but you aren't taking my car."

"Well, can you give us a ride?" Chance said with a smile.

Winston rolled his eyes and pulled his keys out of his pocket. "You're lucky I was going out anyway."

Guerrero frowned. It wasn't that he didn't trust the guy, he did; Winston was as honest as the day was long. He just wasn't ready for the questions that would come from him. The guy didn't understand that secrets that were long dead and buried sometimes needed to stay that way. Nasty skeletons got dug up, otherwise.

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