AN: I'm being bad and posting this before it's finished, so updates may be sporadic. This fic will have both Demily and Dentiss in it, but I need your input to decide on the ending, so be sure to review and let me know which pairing you like better!

Also, I'm looking for someone to beta a new Demily fic I've written. Shoot me a PM if you're interested in giving it a read-through. I'll write you a short fic in return for the favour.

Ian emerged from the en-suite bathroom ready for his flight to Boston. He crossed to the farther side of the bed where his wife still lay, clutching the covers to her chest like they were protecting her, despite the fact that it was past noon.

"Emily, Love, are you going to get out of bed today? I have to go to Boston for work – you're welcome to come with me, if you feel so inclined."

She gave an indistinct noise in response and burrowed further under the quilt.

"Emily, it's been a month already…you've barely gotten out of bed for two weeks. I know it's been a very difficult time dealing with such a traumatic loss, but you can't live like this forever. You can't stop living just because Declan is gone."

"Just go…" she whispered.

"Emily, this isn't healthy and he wouldn't want you to live like this."

She sat up in bed suddenly, her eyes fiercely red from crying. "Just go!" she shouted, her voice choked with tears, "Please, just go!"

"Emily…" he started again.

She reached for the nearest thing on the nightstand and her fingers closed on her glass of water, which she threw in his direction. He managed to dodge it and it shattered against the wall by his head.

He sighed heavily and decided to table the issue until he got home. "I love you," he murmured quietly as he closed the door behind him.

Ian Doyle had already reached the conclusion that his contact wasn't going to be making an appearance.

He'd flown across the ocean to meet the bastard and left his wife at a time when she desperately needed him – purely because this guy was supposed to have the best merchandise – and he hadn't even had the decency to show up. At best, next time they crossed paths, he would have a few choice words for the asshole.

He finished his drink and stood up from his booth in a quiet back corner, dropping a hundred dollar bill on the table. He'd take an early night and make sure his wife was okay on her own, but he still had a day left in Boston before he could return.

As he crossed to the door, another patron who'd had a few drinks too many bumped into him and spilled his cheap beer on Ian's jacket. He turned around to tell the guy off, but was unable to get a word out before the man recognized him. "Hey, I know you," he said with a wink, "You're the guy with the very bangable wife. Tell her to give me a call when you're done with her…" He had approximately ten seconds to regret his words before Ian slugged him across the face.

The bartender had known Ian long enough to know better than to question him and was quick to eject the now bloodied man from the establishment.

When Ian exited shortly afterwards, the drunk was waiting for him, with a grudge to settle.

Before he even saw the blade of the knife, though, the attacker had already been disarmed and tackled to the ground by a dark man in a leather jacket who'd appeared out of the shadows, seemingly from thin air.

Recovering from his shock, he offered the stranger a hand to shake. "Seems I owe you one."

"No big deal," the dark man shrugged, accepting the handshake.

"So, you often hang around bars waiting to play the hero?"

"I go where I'm wanted."

Ian chuckled. "Only two types of people that hang around bars: drunks and criminals…and both are rather seedy. Which one are you?"

"What business is it of yours?"

"It's important to know who I'm doing business with," Ian replied, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lighting one.

"Since when am I doing business with you?"

"I haven't properly introduced myself," he offered with a smirk, "Ian Doyle. One thing you should know about me – people tend to do as I tell them."

"Derek Morgan. And you should know that I like to be left alone."

"Why don't I buy you a drink? I have a proposition that would be in your best interest to hear out."

Once they were back inside the Black Shamrock, both with a fresh drink in hand, Derek asked a little rudely, "What do you want from me?"

"I take it that if you've got the time to patrol outside local watering holes, you're lacking employment?" It was phrased like a question, but he already knew the answer.

"It's hard to find jobs in this economy," Derek sighed bitterly.

Ian's voice was low as he offered, "Not if you're willing to overlook certain things… How are you with a gun?"

"Well, I did grow up in the ghettos of Chicago, defending my white mama…" Ian grinned. "So, what is it that I'll be doing?"

"Recent events have found me in need of better security."

Derek slammed his glass onto the bar, getting annoyed and impatient. "Get to the point. I might be unemployed, but my time is still precious."

"Obviously, you've not heard of me or you wouldn't speak to me like that. I never waste time, especially not my own. And if you wish to work for me, you'd best learn to bite your tongue."

"Then hire someone else," he said, his words slow and measured.

"Don't speak so soon," Ian grinned smugly, "I run a very profitable enterprise and I don't see many other takers for a hired goon. But I can't hire just anyone…"

"What is it you want to know?"

Ian shook his head. "People lie. I'll be having an associate of mine find out everything I need to know. I can't risk having my organization compromised."

"Then I suppose we're done here."

"Here, perhaps. But I'll be returning to Ireland the day after tomorrow. And if my searches don't turn up anything unsavoury, you'll be coming with me."

"To Ireland?"

"It's a good position; you'll live on my estate in the most beautiful country in the world, travel with my wife and I to my other properties on occasion, and travel with me on business should the situation call for it. And as long as you mind your own business and keep your hands off my wife, you'll be paid more than fairly for your work."

"Cheers," Derek said, raising his glass and downing the rest of the amber liquid before slinking into the shadows of the bar and disappearing from sight.