Title: Heartbreak, Sunnyside Up
Author: Spike Speigel
Rating: R
Classification: General
Disclaimer: As usual, these characters don't belong to me. Just taking them for a joyride.
Spoilers: General Season Seven.
Summary: There are levels to everything.
Status: Finished.

The brunette takes her time talking to the couple at the table down the aisle from me, a smile on her face, a face that belies the fact that she's in her mid-forties. She casually refills their mugs with coffee that's probably hot enough to melt flesh from bone. That's the thing that really surprises me. Not the coffee. Every greasy spoon's got that scalding hot liquid nowadays. It's the fact she's still able to smile. I feel somewhat guilty that I'm about to bring an end to her happiness.

To her hope.

The gentleman in the booth in front of me shakes his head, so she continues smiling and works her way over to me. I put the menu down on the table in front of me, still feeling the sensation of the briefcase against my leg. Wouldn't want to lose that in here. Especially with the two police officers sitting at the counter.

She's still smiling as she sees that my mug is bone dry.

"How are you tonight, hon? Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

She starts to pour the black, near-viscous liquid into the white porcelain mug, my mind wondering just how much of that concoction is coffee and how much is something else entirely.

"Thank you, Mrs. Roche."

There it is. That little bit of surprise hanging in the corner of her eye.

"I'm sorry. Have we met before? Are you a friend of my husband, Murray?"

I'm succinct in my response. "No."

"Well, you called me by my last name when the tag says Amy. How'd you know my last name then?"

"I know your daughter."

And there's the rest of the surprise I was expecting.

"…Lily?" I nod, taking a sip of the noxious liquid. Whomever is passing this off as coffee should be shot. Many times. "My God. How is she? Where is she? Is she…"

I need something to get this taste out of my mouth.

"Could I get a piece of pie?"

"But…"

"I'll tell you all you need to know. But I really need to get something in my stomach. Please?"

She's not sure what to do, but eventually she walks to the back and comes back through the swinging doors with a piece of pie. A la mode, too. Very considerate. She puts the piece of pie in front of me, her questions starting once more.

"Who…"

"Justin will do." I start digging into the pie, enjoying the feeling of ice cream on my scorched tongue. "Sit down, Mrs. Roche."

"I'm working…"

"It'll probably be better if you sit."

She's hesitant, but if it's about her daughter, she'll be willing to do anything right about now. The fact that she occupies the seat opposite me tells me as much.

"That's better." I finish the bit of pie in my mouth before speaking. "Can't be easy raising a child. You only want what's best for them, but you can only do so much…"

"Please tell me she's alright."

I can almost hear the hope in her voice.

"It's a little late for that, isn't it, Mrs. Roche?"

"What're you…"

"The last time you saw her was four years ago. Lily has done a lot of living since then."

I'm certain it's hope I'm hearing.

"Is she in some kind of trouble? Because I'll do any…"

"That's why I'm here. There is something you can do."

"Murray and I don't have much money, but everything we have…"

"Lily didn't have much money either. Just enough for a bus ticket."

The gravity of the situation begins to sink in for her. "My baby…"

"Was young, attractive…" I take another bite from the piece of pie, still tasting coffee in the back of my mouth. "And scared. She was all alone in the world. An easy mark, for a man who knows one when he sees one." One more forkful as I start to fill in the blanks. "His name was Omar. He promised to take care of her. Treat her right, like she hadn't been treated before. He put her up in a tenement hotel. You've seen the kind. The ones with hourly rates."

I don't look at her, instead remain fixated on the plate in front of me. But I've got a good idea what her face looks like right about now.

"Besides the rates, there were two mattresses on the floor and three other girls who also worked for him. Taken on face value, you'd think a bright girl like Lily would recognize what she was getting into. But Omar told her she was special."

I pause for a moment, still not looking at her but making sure she's getting every last word. Based on the heavy breathing coming from the other side of the booth, I'd say she's hanging on my every word.

"And she needed to believe him. When he hit her, which was often, he said it was because he loved her. She needed to believe that, too. It's funny how feeling loved can almost dull the pain of a fat lip or a black eye."

A sob escapes Amy's lips as she tries to talk.

"This can't be real."

I continue, knowing that she needs to hear the rest, even though the crack in her voice belies the fact.

"It is. Very real. Perhaps too real for Lily. When your reality is having to lay under a stranger in a filthy alley or bend down into his lap in a car, it's no wonder you look for an escape." Another bite, even though it's doing absolutely nothing for the coffee aftertaste. "Lily found hers in a needle."

"Nonononono…"

"She hated herself, and she hated feeling that way. With the heroin, she didn't feel anything." I almost reach for the coffee mug, but I remember why I'm having pie. "I don't have to tell you addiction leads to all sorts of risks, Mrs. Roche. Sharing needles, getting into cars with men who seemed shady."

The increase in her sobs tells me she's begun to cry.

"Lily…"

"Met Jack Morley one cold November night. She asked him if he was looking for a good time. He said yes. What Lily didn't realize was that a good time for Mr. Morley consisted of handcuffing girls to a bed, cutting their nipples off with a straight razor, and burning their faces with cigarettes. He landed back in an institution. She landed in intensive care."

I finally focus on the ice cream, taking a generous forkful since I can't seem to find a spoon.

"It was there that the attending physician discovered Lily was HIV positive, which came as little surprise given her lifestyle. Of course, she didn't have any insurance, so she was released from the hospital. One look at her scarred face was all it took for Omar to cut her loose."

I look up, seeing the image that's been forming in my mind. Her mascara's running. Her eyes are trying to focus on something. Anything. And the two cops at the counter pay their bill and leave, without even batting an eye in our general direction.

"HIV is one thing, but looking the way she did, she was of no use to him. Lily found herself back where she started three years prior. On the streets. That's where she spent this past year. In that time, due in part to the harshness of her environment, eating out of dumpsters, sleeping in doorways…"

I return my attention to the plate in front of me, scooping up another morsel of ice cream, this time mixed with some pie.

"Her immune system was severely compromised. She became a breeding ground for opportunistic diseases. Karposi, Sarcoma, Cytomeglia virus, pneumonia, wasting syndrome, you name it. She died last week. In an all-night porno theater."

One last bite and I push the plate to the middle of the table. I reach over to the napkin dispenser as I complete Lily's tale.

"When the usher found her, he noticed that someone had stolen her shoes."

I wipe my mouth, looking at Mrs. Roche. And finally, she finds something to focus on. Me.

"Do you know what today is?"

I crumple up my napkin, depositing it onto the now empty plate as I wait for the answer even though I already know what today is.

"Her birthday. She would have been sixteen." Black tears continue to stream down her face. I push the empty plate to the side, making room. Then I reach for the briefcase next to my leg and place it in the middle of the table between us.

"I can't give you your daughter back, but I can give you something else." I slide the briefcase toward her. "In this attaché, you'll find irrefutable evidence that what I'm telling you is true, a gun, and untraceable ammunition." Her sobs stop, her full attention on me once more. "Whatever you choose to do, you'll be acting above the law. No law enforcement agency can touch you. You'll get away with it. You have my word."

Now comes the inevitable question.

"Who? Who am I supposed to shoot? The pimp? The psycho? Who?"

I open up the attaché and fish out a manila envelope, closing it quickly so no wandering eyes see the contents inside. I hand Mrs. Roche the envelope.

"I have a photograph that should answer all your questions."

She's hesitant at first, but eventually she opens the envelope and retrieves the photograph inside. And based on her look of shock, I'd guess she's known all along who was inside the envelope.

"Jesus."

Warrick flinches slightly upon seeing the living room. And based on Catherine's reaction, he gathers that this is the first time she's seen something like this as well. Catherine turns away for only a moment before turning back to the crime scene, looking for the lead detective.

"Crime scene. Who's in charge here?"

The unknown man in the suit walks toward Warrick and Catherine, his voice professional and composed as he reaches into his jacket pocket to pull out his identification.

"Agent Morris. FBI. You're welcome to survey the scene, but our guys are already collecting trace."

The surprise in Warrick's voice is clearly evident.

"FBI? Wait, what am I missing here?"

Agent Morris fills in the gaps as he walks over to the armchair, the victim still reclined in it.

"Murray Roche. Informant for the FBI. He was our connection to the Monaghan family…"

Catherine interjects, the name familiar to her.

"Monaghan. Aren't they supposed to be responsible for the recent increase in cocaine in Las Vegas?"

"Cocaine. Heroin. Marijuana. You name it, the name Monaghan's probably not too far behind. In any case, Mr. Roche had dealings with one Thomas Monaghan, son to the Monaghan empire. And when we scooped up Mr. Roche on a trafficking charge, we offered him immunity in exchange for information on the ins and outs of the operation." Agent Morris motions to the lifeless body, his voice never changing cadence. "As you can see, we suspect the Monaghans got wind of our arrangement with Mr. Roche. We're not sure how, but we're definitely sure this was their response to Murray turning on them."

"You're telling me." Warrick kneels next to the armchair, his forearm covering his nose and mouth. "He looks like a piece of Swiss cheese. Just…damn."

Catherine's voice draws the attention of both Warrick and Agent Morris. "Were there any other bodies?"

Morris shakes his head slightly upon seeing Catherine looking at the family portraits lining the living room wall. "Just the one. The daughter's been in the wind for a while now and as for the wife, we sent a vehicle to her place of work. No sign. Initial assessment is that she was grabbed up. But, until we find a lead or a body, we're just guessing."

Warrick slowly rises from his kneeling position, moving over to Catherine as he speaks.

"Well, if you don't mind, we'd like to give the scene a once over. Just to make sure the wife isn't a suspect. You ask me, this seems a bit sloppy for made men."

"Sure, that's fine. Just let me know if you need anything. Maybe you guys will come up with something we missed."

Catherine is about to thank Agent Morris for the courtesy, but a voice from behind gets his attention first.

"Justin, think I got something here."

Agent Morris turns back to the two criminalists. "Sorry, duty calls. Again, let me know if you guys need anything."

And with that, Agent Morris leaves Warrick and Catherine to their devices. But he already knows they won't find a thing.

Two Hours Earlier:

"Fell asleep in your chair again?"

The middle-aged man leans forward, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. Focusing in the darkness, he finally sees the source of the voice sitting in the couch adjacent to him. Amy Roche has come home.

"Yeah."

He smiles at her, flipping through the channels for nothing in particular.

"You know the doctor said you shouldn't. That it's bad for your back."

Murray Roche looks away from the television back to his wife, noticing the attaché case in her lap but paying it no mind.

"I know, but I don't like going to bed without you."

Another small smile, but this night something's different. This night, Amy doesn't smile back at him. Instead, she calmly opens up the briefcase, its contents shielded by the top of the case between the two of them. The only visible remnants of his wife are her eyes peering over the top of the case toward him.

"I met a man tonight, Murray. He gave me a picture of a stranger."

He feels the sensation in his chest before he even hears the gunshots. Like baseballs hitting his chest repeatedly. The only difference here is that baseballs don't tear through flesh and bone.

"You bastard…"

The pain doesn't last that long. Mainly because the first clip killed Murray almost instantaneously. However, that doesn't stop Amy Roche from reaching for another clip.

"My baby…my poor little girl…"

She fumbles with the eject mechanism, somehow managing to replace the empty magazine with a full one.

"Your little girl. All those nights…I was at work…"

She begins to cry again. She cries for Lily. She cries because she knows this won't bring her little girl back. But it's all that's left for her. It's all that's left for Lily.

"Since she was seven years old! Goddamn you!"

Then the night air fills with gunshots once more. Had Amy been able to look out of the window, she would have seen a familiar figure standing outside.

Agent Justin Morris stands motionless, looking at the house in front of him, listening to Amy Roche finally get the justice both she and Lily deserve.

Agent Morris knew about Lily. He knew about Murray. But since Murray had immunity, he couldn't lay a finger on him without jeopardizing the Monaghan case.

But that all changed when the case file for Lily Roche dropped on his desk. And in that moment, Agent Morris knew what had to be done. There are levels of right and wrong.

And what Murray Roche did to his daughter, Lily, was unforgivable.

At least, that's what Agent Morris tells himself as he begins to walk away from the house with the white picket fence.

Fin.