Okay, so I have now taken leave of my sanity and am attempting to write two stories at the same time. Here's a response to another poll choice.

Un-beta'ed, as always.

Chapter one: He's alive…

Vince took a deep breath as he dialed an all-too-familiar number from memory. The last time he'd had to do this, he'd…well; he'd been calling to tell Dana that the captain had ordered him to work overtime on their wedding anniversary. (That had been a fun conversation he thought wryly, listening to the phone ring. Dana hadn't spoken to him for a month.)

He'd been with the circus for a little over a month now. His "remains" had been released to Dana the week before. Today had been his funeral. Vince sighed and tightened his grip on the shabby black phone a little more. God, how was Dana taking this?

The former cop heard a distinctive click as someone on the other end picked up. Oh God. That was her voice! Vince took a shaky breath and swallowed, trying to stall the tears again.

-Hello?- Dana's voice over the phone had a tinny, metallic tone to it. That was wrong. Her voice should be light, vibrant. Why did the phone have to distort that? -Hello? Who's calling?-

Vince swallowed nervously, catching a glimpse of Max out of the corner of his eye. The old carnie was looking on disapprovingly as Vince held the receiver to his ear. Why didn't the old man understand? Why didn't Max understand that he had to do this? If not for his sake, then for Dana's. His wife had to know… Didn't she?

-Who is this?- Dana's voice had gotten cold, hard. She wasn't happy, but at least she didn't sound weepy and sad anymore. –I'm hanging—

"No!" Vince yelped, panicked at the thought. There was a little quiver of energy. No going back now, not now. He saw Max frown, and turned his attention back to the phone now clasped tightly in both hands. It was his lifeline now. God it was good to hear Dana's voice again, even if she was mad.

"No," Vince repeated, a little more calmly. Realizing that she'd probably recognize his voice, Vince pitched it a little lower. "Are you Dana Faraday?" Please God, don't let Marty be there. Please God, let Dana be alone…

-Yes… Who is this?- Again, her tone was accusatory, angry. It wasn't a surprise, given that she'd just had to attend a funeral for her husband. A husband, Vince thought sullenly as he mentally composed a reply, who wasn't even dead.

"I…" Vince stuttered, unsure of how to reply. How was he going to…? "My name is Max," he said, grasping at straws. "I have information regarding your husband's murder."

He heard the skeptical bark of laughter, and felt his heart break at Dana's next words.

-Listen here, you feckless son of a…- Trip must have come in, Vince thought as his wife trailed off mid-swear. She continued in a harsh whisper. –I don't know what kind of sick game you think you're playing, you bastard, but—

Vince couldn't help but cut her off before she could start chewing him out again. "He's not dead." There was some harsh breathing on the other end. As Dana took a deep breath, no doubt to start screaming at him, Vince interrupted her again. "He said…" Vince gave a shaky sob of laughter. "He said that the Jackals were coming in from play."

There was a shaky sob from Dana. It was no surprise, really. He could count on one hand the number of "outsiders" that knew his unit's unofficial designation. Even fewer knew that his wife had been the one to pin it on them, and later come up with most of their codes. Jackals returning from play meant that the deployment was ending and they were coming home (or Hanson had blackmailed someone into getting them a three-week pass).

-Who are you…?- Dana whispered over the line, sounding like she was about to start weeping again.

Vince smiled sadly, wishing his wife could see him through the phone. "Just a friend," he murmured. "The jackal's father will be in Trolley Park; nine a.m. sharp tomorrow." He heard Dana mutter something under her breath, followed by a clatter.

She'd be in the kitchen now, opening one of the drawers on the table to find a pen and paper. Dana always had something to write with (or on) within grabbing distance. She liked writing—even if no one else could decipher the incomprehensible legal code she liked to use.

-Trolley Park. Right. If this is a joke, you'll regret it…Max.-

Vince stared at his phone in frank surprise as Dana hung up. Wow. She'd never really reacted like that to any phone call he could remember… Well, okay, maybe the one time. An ex-boyfriend had called once, shortly after Trip had been born. The shouting match had gone on for over an hour. Vince had retreated to the garage with a fussy baby Trip after it'd passed the fifteen-minute mark.

After that, she'd refused to say anything more on the subject. Trying to bring it up had earned Vince a week on the couch and a month of diaper duty.

He didn't even realize that Dana had hung up until Max was tugging the phone out of his grip. Vince looked up at the old carnie, who had a disapproving look on his face.

"I…I had to do something…" Vince muttered, feeling more drained than he ever had.

Max sighed and led Vince over to the makeshift d-hall outside the big top. He sat down and steepled his fingers. After a few minutes uncomfortable silence, he spoke. "Do you have any idea what you're doing, Vincent?"

Vince grinned and shook his head. "No." His relief at the fact that Max wasn't throwing him out on the streets was almost palpable. "I have no idea, but all I know is that it was the right thing to do."

Max smiled grimly. "I hope you're right, Vincent."

- o -

Dana sat at the kitchen table, staring at the phone in her hands. A man named Max, who somehow knew the codes she'd helped her husband create… Oh God. She gave a watery chuckle, and sniffed back some tears. Her husband was alive, and this "Max" fellow knew where he was. Even if it was a complete and utter lie, she could at least pretend—until tomorrow morning—that it was true. A little ray of hope…

She looked up to see Trip standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His hair was mussed up, and he looked tired. Dana smiled sadly and held her arms out. Like he had when he was younger, Trip fell into the hug. Even if the call was a lie, it was nice for some hope…

- o – o -

Vince sat on a picnic table near the entrance to Trolley Park, trying to focus on something other than his anxiety. His wife was probably going to be mad as hell when he told her what had happened. Why hadn't he thought to make that call from Angola, or somewhere equally far away?

But, it was too late to take that course of action, because there was Dana. She'd pulled into the lot in his truck. From this distance, Vince couldn't tell if she was crying or about to start screaming at him when she got over there. He prayed to whatever deity was listening that she was just crying. When Dana was mad, she was scarier than most of the people his team had been sent after…

Vince sighed as Dana came to a halt in front of him. She was wearing jeans and a t-shirt (one of his, it looked like), and looked mad enough to kill. Well, time to get this over with… Vince stood up and walked over to Dana. She looked up at him, eyes widening in surprise and recognition.

"Vince…?"

The former cop couldn't exactly blame his wife for fainting.

- - o - -

So, there you have it. I throw my hat into the AU ring and proudly support the canon-friendly ship.

What did you think? Like it, hate it? Think it should have happened differently? Drop a line and let me know!