A/N: This is a remake, or as I said before, an Alternate Universe of the Alternate Universe I created in the story 'Another Day in Paradise'. You do not have to read that to read this, but go ahead if you want. This story unravels completely differently than that story. Some characters are the same, many are different. And, oh, yeah, Joe Dutton is still alive!

Rating: T (M for selected chapters)

Warnings: AU of an AU, language, adult situations and themes, adults consenting to doing very adult things, violence, murder, mayhem, confusion and all the usual.

Pairings: A/J, B/C…wait, what? Not B/A, are you serious?…I'm serious. I gave myself a B/A break. (I'm saving all the B/A-ness for my follow up to 'Forgive Us'.) Plus, I never ventured down B/C before because they were both profilers and cops and yeah, no. But with this story, well…you'll see.

Summary: Bobby Donovan is back, but not in the way you remember him. Alex is still undercover with Vice but finds herself in the middle of a mob war and unbeknown to the both of them is a web of lies, secrets and deceit.

Hope you all enjoy!


She felt the first trickle of rain drops splash up from the pavement onto her feet, her legs that were barely covered by the fishnet stockings, and groaned. This couldn't be happening. Looking up toward the sky that was dominated by the tall buildings around her, Alex sighed as the rain started falling harder onto her face. Pulling the thin leather jacket around her slight frame tighter she cursed the weather before she cursed her boss for giving her this assignment.

Tonight was supposed to have been her night off. She had plans with family until she had to cancel for the third time that month. Good thing it was late June, the rain actually felt good and it was exciting most of the men walking by. One man caught her attention as he glanced up from lighting a cigarette and didn't look away.

That's right, creep, keep looking. Make my day and let me bust your ass for solicitation, slime-ball, she thought with a flirty smile that drew eyes. And this guy was being drawn in as he continued watching her even after he put the lighter away. She took him in as his eyes took her in.

He was tall, really tall, about Joe's height…Six foot three, maybe four when he wasn't slouching? Dark hair, slightly graying, and his eyes were impossibly dark. A deep brown that made her squirm as if he could see into her very soul. Pushing that thought down, Alex looked for the tell-tell signs of the man being a drug user or dealer. There were no obvious, outer signs, but that didn't mean anything.

What she did notice was that he was hiding a gun in the back of his loose fitting blue jeans, under the long-sleeved button down green Army jacket that was over the black t-shirt. It was the kind of jacket anyone could pick up from any thrift store or salvation army, but she was almost certain it wasn't bought secondhand. Something about him spoke to her that he was a veteran; probably the dark haunted look that seemed permanate in his eyes even as he smiled, a bit shyly she would add, before ducking his head away.

Damn, maybe he was too shy of a guy to pick her up. Time to do a little encouraging act. She did have a job to do, no matter how demeaning it was to her, to any woman. Strolling up to the tall, shy smiling guy on the corner, Alex leaned against the light post and asked, "Can I get a smoke?"

Even as he pulled out the pack from his jacket pocket, the guy didn't take his eyes off hers. That deep focus, his staring, was unnerving. Handing her the cigarette she really didn't want, he flicked the lighter open, saying, "Your eyes, they're very…nice."

Giving him a 'what the hell' look, Alex asked, "See anything else you like?"

That caused a deep red of blush to heat his face as he looked away, toward the pavement, as he answered rather nervously, "I-I, uh…I don't see anything I don't like."

Yeah, real creep. "Uh-huh, so you've got your pick of the litter."

He looked taken back by that as he glanced around, a hand going to the back of his neck. Rubbing at it, he lowered his voice slightly as he told her, "I wa-, was, uh, only talkin' about you. You're new." She stared up at him and he must have realized how that sounded before he quickly, and nervously, explained, "That's, uh, that's not…I mean, I, uh, I walk by here every day, and night, to and from work and it's just, I've, um…I've come to notice the regulars, you know…Not," he shook his head slightly as the red got deeper. "Not that kind of knowing, but…I work at-at a, uh, a club and a few waitress and dancers used to be out here…"

Alex caught movement out of the corner of her eye, and so did the man as he turned and smiled expectantly at the woman who approached them. She recognized her as a regular working girl on that corner. The name she went by on the street was Medea, like the Greek mythological character, and she was slightly taller than her, blond hair, brown eyes, and she had an accent she couldn't quite place. Out of all the pros on she had to come in contact with on the job, Medea was one of the most cooperative and supportive. She also watched her back and informed with about the regular customers, updated her on rumors circulating around the girls, and who had a rep for being, according to her, 'good guys' and 'bad guys'.

It seemed she knew the man very well as she eased up to him and actually leaned into his side; which he didn't object to as he gave her a sideways hug before letting her go. He pulled out the pack of cigarettes and gave one to her without prompting and lit it.

Medea winked at her before saying, "This guy here, he's one of the good guys. Smart, charming, protective," she said as she looked up at him with a look that cause him to laugh a little as his blush deepened. "A john was hassling me one night, and I thought he was going to start hitting me. As he raised his hand to actually do it, this guy showed up."

"What happened to the john?" she asked as she glanced up at the man the story was about.

Medea shrugged nonchalantly as she told her, "Two broken wrists."

Alex flinched a little but she couldn't help but be slightly impressed.

"Be nice to her, Bobby," Medea told the man before leaning into say something into his ear before giving him a friendly kiss on the cheek.

Bobby smiled slightly as he watched her walk away then he suddenly looked around like he was searching for something he lost. Looking up, he frowned slightly before looking back at her, "W-would uh, would you like to get out of the rain?"

Alex gapped at him slightly, stunned, as she took a moment to get her mind to catch up to what he had hastily told her and then that question. What was she supposed to say to that? It seemed that he didn't need that much encouragement as she thought. "Sure. What'd you have in mind?"

Looking her over again, Bobby said, "Well, um…It's, it's that…The thing is, I'm not asking you to have sex with me."

O-kay, this guy is getting weirder by the second. Where's my backup? Looking around, she spotted another woman cop down the block and in the maroon mercury across the street was her partner, Stash Barium. "But you want me to leave with you? It's still gonna cost."

Shrugging, he told her with that shy smile again, "That won't be a problem. My, um, my apartment's this way."

And he was taking her to his apartment? That would be the first and her senses went on high alert as she gave him a friendly, sexy smile, hooked her arm in the one he offered, and started walking with him across the street. God, she hoped Stash was doing his fucking job and trying to figure who in the hell this creep was. If they tried to arrest Bobby now, he would be out in no time. He hadn't specifically solicited her, and no money had been exchanged yet. Plus, he did say that he wasn't paying her for sex. She was going to have to take her time with this guy.

With each step she took away from the block the more nervous she became but she couldn't let it show. He kept watching her, asking if she was okay, if she was cold, or if her feet hurt from the high-heels. His concern would have been sweet if she wasn't pretending to be a hooker and if he hadn't just picked her up off the corner.

Glancing down the street, she saw the maroon mercury coming toward them and then pass. It was Stash; he was letting her know that he was on it and that he wasn't leaving her alone with the guy. Bobby suddenly stopped and gestured to the apartment building. "Which floor?" she asked as she stomped on the barely smoked cigarette then started for the steps.

Slightly gripping her arm, he stopped her. Alex immediately froze, stiffened her muscles and prepared to kick his ass until he let her arm go as he stepped over to the iron gate. He opened it and stepped down, going to the basement apartment. Oh. Breathing out, but barely, she followed.

Bobby held out his hand for her to take as she stumbled slightly on the broken concrete steps. "You can take those off, if…You seem uncomfortable," he said before taking one last drag off his cigarette before putting it out with his shoes.

As Alex looked more closely, she saw that they weren't shoes but boots, steel-toed, and black. Looking into his sincere dark eyes, she smiled slightly. "I'm fine. The steps need fixing."

"Been on the super about those for years," he said while offering her his hand again as they walked down to the entrance under the stairs.

She looked up toward the street and saw her partners' car parking in front of the building. The door unlocked and was pushed open; gesturing for her to enter first, Alex hesitantly stepped forward into the apartment.

"Watch your step, there're two steps leading down from the door," he told her as he continued to hold the door open.

Keeping her awareness focused on him as she walked, she didn't notice the table until she hit it with her knee. "Oww! Son-of-a-bitch!"

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked as a light clicked on. It was from the lamp on the end table. "Here, sit down." He helped her to ease down on the couch. "Sorry, I should've...I wasn't thinking. My, uh, my coffee table's higher than most…Hate leaning over, hurts my back," he absently told her as he headed out of the room, to the kitchen. "I, uh…I didn't get a name?" he called from the other room.

She could see him through the space between the counter and the cabinets. Not wanting to give the creep her real name, Alex stuck with her undercover, hooker name, as she told him, "Lexus, Lexie…or Lex…Whatever you want to call me is fine."

"Lexus…That's like the car, right?"

Shaking her head, she said, "Yeah, right." Rubbing at the red tender skin on her knee, she took the time with him out of the room to take in her surroundings.

The basement apartment had been renovated and it actually looked decent. She could tell that the building had once been either townhouses or a brownstone; the building was made of brick and limestone and so were the walls. No drywall or plaster had been used, except for the ceiling, which held a fan that was spinning around above the middle of the room. In a corner was a fireplace but it looked rarely used; the mantle held a row of books and bookends, nothing else.

Hardwood covered the floors and oriental rugs were placed around the room. The entertainment center was new but there were hardly any DVD's or VCR tapes. What he did have plenty of were books, and there were at least three bookcases that she could see; all which were packed full, some even with books stacked on top of each other. The long couch she was sitting on, four seats, was a brown suede and quite comfortable as she found herself leaning back into the cushions and letting out a deep sigh. Directly across from the door was an overstuffed armchair the same color and made from the same material as the couch.

What the apartment, or at least the living room, lacked was personal affects. There were no photos of anything, not even scenery on the walls. No pictures of family, friends, or even himself. On the other end table, in the corner between the couch and the armchair, was a clock and phone. Two remotes were on the coffee table along with stacks of magazines all of which were of sports, cars or…The Smithsonian?

"Since I'm in here, would you like a drink?"

He glanced over at her as she dropped the magazine back onto the coffee table. "What'd ya got?" she asked, trying not to show her disappointment that not a single magazine held a mailing address or name.

After slipping off her heels, she stood and eased as quietly as she could around the room. If the guy decided to look over, he would see her walking around.

"Well, uh, I've got a lot. If you want wine, or a beer…scotch, but um, you don't have to drink. I can make coffee, or put water on for, uh…for some tea. I'm a fan of, uh, of Earl Grey. Water if you're dehydrated."

She would have laughed at his attempt at humor if she wasn't too busy trying to find evidence that he was a murderer, or rapist, drug dealer or a weird sexual freak as she visually searched around the room. Peering into the kitchen, she saw that he was too busy putting ice in a zip-lock bag to notice what she was doing. Huh, that ice must be for her knee.

Knowing she couldn't go too further into the apartment without him hearing her voice coming from down the hall instead of the living room, she cleared her throat and watched as he nearly dropped the ice as he whipped his head around. "Water's fine."

Eyeing her, he shifted his eyes down to her legs and she visibly flinched at his wandering eyes. Then he was approaching her and she tried to hide the tension in her body as he knelt down in front of her. If she wanted to drop kick him in-between his eyes it would have been so easy.

"I don't mean to make you nervous," he told her as he reached out to touch her. His touch was gentle, barely even there, but she nearly pulled away until she realized what he was doing. Lifting her leg up so it bent at the knee, he pulled a hand towel off the counter, wrapped the bag of ice in it, and then placed it on the sore spot that would be bruised by tomorrow. "I should have walked in first."

Her breath caught at the care he took with her but also the amount of honesty, and regret, his voice held. If this guy was a killer or rapist, he could have fooled her. "It might be easier if I sat. That way you won't be kneeling in front of me all night."

Bobby was blushing again as he let her leg go. Handing her the towel and bag of ice, he stood and ducked his head away again before moving back into the kitchen. "Why do I make you nervous?"

Alex didn't know how to answer that. She was supposed to be a woman who didn't mind physical contact, she was a fucking prostitute after all. "You have a gun."

She saw him still, hands flat on the counter, before he turned and eyed her. Tilting his head to one side, he smiled slightly, "You're very observant."

"Gotta be in my line of work. A lot of crazies out there," she justified herself as she rolled the bag on ice in her hand.

Reaching around his back, he very slowly removed the gun. She could tell it was a berretta 9mm. He reached up and placed it on top of the row of cabinets; with his height it was no problem. "I'll get that water for you. Ice, in a glass?"

She gave a nod while she watched as he pulled a clean glass from the cabinet the gun was sitting on top of, filled it with ice from the freezer, and then took out a jug of water from the refrigerator. It wasn't until he was handing her the glass that she said, "So, is your name really Bobby?"

The look of surprise crossed his face before he smiled slightly. "It's Robert, but, yeah, that's what people call me…friends, um-"

"Prostitutes," she dryly snarked when he hesitated. "What have you decided to call me?" she asked as she took a sip of the water. She knew it wasn't laced with anything, having watched him very closely as he made it.

Bobby stared down at her like she should have known the answer to that before saying, "Lexus, unless you really prefer Lexie…That sounds…"

"Intimate?" she offered up. "Guess that's not what tonight's all about, is it. So," she asked as she sat back down on the couch. "What are you paying me for, exactly?" Her cell phone was hidden in her jacket pocket and she hadn't heard it ring yet; that meant Stash still hadn't gotten anything on the guy yet.

Bobby leaned against the entrance to the kitchen as he told her, "I guess, a, uh, a place to stay. A place…out of the rain."

She didn't know what to think or say to that. Is this guy for real? "What if I don't want to stay the whole night?"

He shrugged. "I'm not going to force you. I, uh,…I don't mind offering my place as…as somewhere people, um, women like uh, like you can…stay. There're no expectations here…" he seemed to stare off as he was talking, his mind drifting, and she frowned slightly at that. The guy was sending signals all over the place but she couldn't make heads or tails of any of them. "It's nice, you know, to have somewhere safe to go, I guess. A place where you don't have to fear being hurt…And, you know, I'll pay for my time so," he shrugged as he left it at that.

He didn't want her to get hurt? But, was Bobby a guy that would hurt her? Taking a bigger drink of the water, Alex sat it down and said a little too sternly, trying to gauge a reaction, "You pulled me away from my job to sit here all night? I've got things to do. Money to make, people to answer to." She went to stand and surprisingly enough, he didn't try to stop her, not with any form of violence anyway.

"Don't, please…"

Looking over at him as he gave that soft plea, she felt suddenly uncomfortable by what she saw in his eyes. It wasn't the look of a man ready to attack; instead, it was the deep longing of a man who didn't want to be alone. Alex froze at that look and was at a loss of what to say or do until she had a thought. "Bathroom; where is it?"

Bobby hesitated for a moment before gesturing down the hall. "First door on the right."

She went to walk by him when he reached out and stopped her with a hand on her arm. Stiffing at the contact, she went to pull away when he dropped his hand immediately at feeling her reaction.

Not looking the least bit apologetic, Bobby told her, "Leave your jacket." She went to protest when he cut her off. "I don't allow drug use in my home."

Staring up at him, Alex wanted to laugh at the absurdity of that seeing how she would never do a thing like that. "You think I'm going to 'powder' my nose?"

Shrugging, he said, "I don't know what you're going to do, and since I can't exactly search you…Leave the jacket or you're not using my bathroom."

Just her luck that Stash chose that moment to call.

In the quiet apartment, Bobby heard it as well. Shifting against the wall, he asked, "Your, um…employer?"

"It's not common for customers to take us back to their own place. He's probably just worried."

"I understand," he said as he stepped away from the wall. "I'll give you some privacy." Bobby surprised her again by heading down the hallway.

For all she knew he was getting another gun, or a knife, or duct tape and rope. Calm it down, she told herself as she pulled the phone out and flipped it open. "Yeah?"

"Alex, are you okay?" Stash immediately asked.

"I'm fine actually."

"Is he in the room? Can you talk?"

Alex looked down the hall and saw that the bedroom door was shut when it had previously been wide open. "I can talk, he's in the bedroom."

"Christ."

"It's not like that. All we've done so far is talk." And he put ice on my knee…She wasn't about to tell Stash that. "So, who is he?"

Stash let out a sigh and told her, "A big problem. You, my dear, have walked into something that's bigger than just busting a john."

"What are you talking about?" Alex asked, getting more than a little frustrated.

"His name is Robert Donovan. Sound familiar?"

Her breath caught as the name registered. Shit. "Are you certain it's the same guy. This guy is…He doesn't strike me as the right hand man to the Don of the Italian Mafia." She kept her voice low as she kept her eye on the hallway and the door to the bedroom.

"I don't care what he strikes you as; he's a killer, Alex. A hit-man for the Vincennes family. We need to back off and regroup. I had to call it in and the Lieu told me to pull you out. For fuck's sake, Eames, if anything happens-"

"I hear you, Stash," she said as she glanced toward the door. "I saw you park outside. Give me at least ten."

"You've got five."

"Ten, and I'll buy you breakfast in the morning."

Stash was silent for a long moment before utter, "Dammit, why can't you be just like every other woman cop and run screaming from that apartment."

"For that remark you can buy your own breakfast. See you in ten," she told him before snapping the phone shut. Taking a moment to breathe, she called down the hall, "You can come out now."

The door didn't open immediately but when it did she held her breath as she looked him over, especially his hands. Even in the dark hallway she could tell that they were empty. Bobby had discarded his jacket and when he came into view she saw how built he really was.

Not only was Bobby tall but he was built like a fucking brick wall; all solid and muscle. On his arms she took in the signs of his once imprisonment. Tattoos colored both arms up and under the sleeves of his black t-shirt. She noticed a few were Army tattoos but the ones that weren't were either gang related or prison related, like the clock with no hands on the underside of his forearm.

"Your boss isn't too mad at you is he?" he suddenly asked as he stopped in the middle of the room, crossing his arms over his chest.

Shaking her head, she smiled slightly, "No, not too mad. When I told him that you didn't want sex, he told me to get the hell back to work. I owe him more than one pay a night."

Bobby took that in and gave a nod. Reaching around his back, she braced herself but then saw he had grabbed his wallet. Opening it, he asked, "How much you owe him?"

"I wasn't even with you for an hour, that's not even-"

"No," he said, cutting her off. "I mean…For him, how much do you owe."

Alex's jaw nearly dropped. Was he offering to pay her boss off for her? She didn't even have a boss to pay off! Shit, and she couldn't exactly take his money. "Really, Bobby, I appreciate it, I do, but…I have to earn my pay."

That seemed to shock him just as much as it shocked her. Stepping back, he shook his head but still pulled out enough bills to warrant a check of his sanity. Handing the money out to her, he said, "Take it, if you want to keep what I don't owe you, for, uh…for yourself, he won't know…right?"

She eyed the money and then him. If she declined that then it would be a sure give away. She might as well announce that she was a cop. Giving in, she took the money as she worked up some tears in her eyes. Oh, yeah, that should work. And it did as Bobby looked away with an uncomfortable frown on his face. For a criminal, and a supposed mob hit-man, the guy had a heart. At least a heart for prostitutes. Or was this just part of his game? Gain her trust so the next time they meet, he would get the jump on her when he strangles her, or stabs her in the chest with a knife.

The signals she had been feeling earlier made sense to her now. There wasn't something quite right with this man and it was no wonder he was mixed up in the life he was currently living. According to the reports, this guy was the most feared man in the Italian mob. He was even more feared than his boss, Michelangelo 'Mack' Vincennes. The nickname was a play on Vincennes' family and the fact that his mother was Irish and his father was Italian. The things she learned from Joe and his obsession with organized crime. She would have to ask him what he knew of Robert 'Bobby' Donovan.

Smiling to herself for not blowing her cover, she slipped her heels back on and started for the door. Bobby was immediately heading for it. Fearing he had changed his mind and was going to keep her there against her will, she was once again relieved when he opened it for her.

"Have a, uh, a good night," he softly told her as she walked by him. "Try to-to, uh, to keep…dry." His smile was a little awkward but so was his comment to her.

She actually would have found it rather cute if the thought of a psychopathic mobster killer flirting with her hadn't repulsed her. Bristling at the remark, and the fact that he was probably watching her walk up the steps onto the sidewalk, she tried not to pull out her gun and shoot him right then and back down the steps her suspicions were right, he was watching her with a light glint in his eyes.

Fucking creep. Why couldn't Stash just let her bust him? It would have at least gotten him off the street that night. Now that she was gone would he go out and try to get some other girl to come back to his place?

Looking back down, she stared at the closed door and the empty spot where he had stood. Sighing, she walked over to the awaiting car and got in. Stash didn't wait long before he pulled away from the curb and drove her back to the department.


Leaning his forehead against the door, he let out the breath that had been strangling his chest. In the quiet that followed her absence the voices that he had been able to keep at bay engulfed his head. All his thoughts spurred thunderously inside his mind, collided against his control, and filled his world. For a moment, in a small glimpse of his existence, he had felt calmer, stable…centered. She had helped, like they all helped to keep his mind focused on something outside of his own self.

He was missing her already. Lexus…That wasn't her real name, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the fact that she stilled his thoughts. That she allowed him to talk to her, look at her. That was all he needed and wanted.

It had helped, he repeated to himself, for a moment.

Pushing off the door, he grabbed her glass off the table, took it to the sink in the kitchen, and then pulled down the bottle of scotch from above the sink. He didn't bother with a glass as he sipped out of the bottle while skimming over the titles of his books. Finding one with a post-it note stuck in it for a bookmark, he took it along with the bottle to his bedroom. It wasn't the distraction he wanted or needed tonight but it would have to suffice. He wasn't in the mood to go out and get someone else.

It wasn't something that happened often but once in a while, about every few months, he yearned for someone to talk to. Someone not associated with his job, and especially someone who wouldn't ask him any questions about it or himself. If he tried to pick up an actual date, questions would be asked. Expectations would exist; they would want to talk about him with other people and he wasn't comfortable with the idea of that.

He could always lie of course, having done it before, but it caused too many problems. Picking up working girls was a problem as well. She could have been an undercover cop, or he could have been arrested anyway from being seen picking her up. She could have been a druggie and tried to run something by him. That wasn't even the most problematic thing about picking up a girl off the street. The thing was that since he refused to have sex with any of them, sometimes their bosses, their pimps, didn't like that, especially when they found out that he got a few of them off the street and off their payroll. He'd encountered a few who actually demanded that he keep away from their girls; that was until he informed them who it was they were threatening.

The name Robert Donovan could instill fear more quickly than a gun in their face. He never had to buy a woman out once they told him that they wanted to leave that life. All it took were a few words to whoever her boss was and she was out. Just like that. No one wanted to deal with him, no one wanted to confront him, and no one wanted to deny him anything he wanted.

It had been that way for eight years. Eight long years to the day. That was one of the reasons he needed to distract himself. Eight years ago on that exact day he had entered that world as Donovan. He had no idea then that he would be catapulted into a fucking legend.

Sitting on his bed, he tossed the book on the mattress, downed a gulp of the scotch, then held his aching head in his right hand as he tried to stop it from pounding. Nearly a decade spent in this life; gaining trusts, friendships, enemies…a lot of enemies, and with each passing year the more isolated he felt. The more distance he put between himself and his real life…

His real life. There were times when he forgot what that life actually was; if it had actually once existed. Friends and family, all faces forgotten, voices lost, connections broken. The most devastating part was that he lived in the same state, city, that most of them lived in as well, but he couldn't contact any of them. Only a phone call a day to his mother, and if it was an emergency only then could he visit.

Frank, his brother, had vanished completely until by chance they had accidentally run into each other on the street. Their exchange was brief yet as they talked the more he felt it. What they once had as kids was gone. They were brothers, but it had seemed as if in that moment to be nothing but a word. A description to call each other because it had felt like he was talking to a stranger.

He still loved his brother, or at least thought he did, but it felt as only out of obligation. It also didn't help that he knew Frank was high at the time. He could have overlooked that flaw in his brother if he wanted to. Yet, he couldn't. It had pissed him off, infuriated him, but he kept it to himself as he tried to be happy just being able to talk to Frank. To know that his brother was still alive. He wondered if Frank was happy to see him. If Frank cared to know that he was also still breathing.

Eight years. He couldn't get that out of his head. In all actuality, he was shocked he had lasted that long. With the job he had, it was practically a miracle. He even had a few scars to prove just how close he had come to losing his life since taking on the assignment. Shot three times in two years spanning from 1993 to 1995: one in his side that barely missed a lung, once in the shoulder from a ricochet, and once in the knee. He had to have reconstructive surgery and four bolts put in his leg. Running was hell sometimes and when it rained, like it had tonight, the pain was nearly intolerable.

None of that pain was compared to what he felt every day in his heart, in his soul, as he fell deeper and deeper into the chaotic world around him. All the lies, secrets, and the times when he had to take a life, all in the name of his job. It was enough to destroy a man. Or, to make a man go crazy.

Laying back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling as the room tilted and swirled around him. Resting his right foot on the floor, he steadied the spinning as he grabbed for his book. Clicking on the lamp light, he turned to the page he had left off and started reading. Less than thirty minutes later, he was asleep.


Leaning back against her front door, she took a deep breath in as her eyes slid close. Tossing her purse across the room toward the couch, she heard it hit the cushions then land on the floor. Steadying her breathing, she headed into the kitchen. It had been a long night and she was in need of a drink.

The rain was coming down harder, tapping against the window over the sink as she poured herself a glass of wine. Leaning against the counter while taking small sips she thought about what happened once Stash took her back to the department. Her Lieu didn't tell her a lot before sending her home for the rest of the night, but what she had been told, and from all the sudden tension spreading around the Vice squad when she left, her encounter with Robert Donovan that night had stirred up heat all the way around the entire NYPD.

Things were starting to happen and she knew it was big when Lieutenant Brantley woke up the Chief of D's. Brantley had sent her home after telling her to take a day tomorrow. That was worrying her; granted she was happy for the time off, but the circumstances which led to it were making her head ache and stomach churn.

As she was thinking about what it could all mean, she heard the lock on the front door click then the creak of the door opening. They really needed to get that fixed, she smirked to herself as she saw her husband, hair and face wet from the rain, appear in the archway. A look of surprise crossed his face as he saw her standing there before he walked up to her.

Sliding his arm around her waist, pulling her toward him, he asked, "Hey, babe, what're you doing home so early?"

Kissing his lips, she sighed as she pulled away. "The Lieu sent me home early and gave me tomorrow off. I guess he realized how hard I've been working."

"I'd say, three canceled dates in a month, but who am I to complain? When I'm undercover my track record's worse than yours." Joe leaned down and captured her lips in another, deeper, kiss. After extracting a moan from her, he chuckled and pulled away. "That the new bottle of wine?"

Alex nodded as she took a heftier drink, nearly emptying it. She refilled her glass as Joe grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"No work for you tomorrow, huh? Wanna get drunk and fool around?" he asked before taking a sip of the beer.

"What're you, a mind reader?" she said as she moved up against him, feeling his warmth engulf her.

Joe smiled down at her as he slid his hand down to her ass, lifting the skirt she had on up so he could caress the inside of her thigh. "Hum, have I told you that I love it when you wear a skirt?"

Alex chuckled a little as she moved away, making her husband groan in frustration. "Actually, before we lose ourselves in drunken passion, I want to ask you something?"

Joe raised his eyebrows and took a sip of the beer. "Work related?"

Alex shrugged as she leaned against counter and sipped the wine. Not wanting to tell him about her run in with Donovan, she said instead, "There was talk going around the squad about a mob guy, Robert Donovan. Something's going on and I knew that if anyone could tell me about him, it's you."

His eyes lit up as he looked pleased and excited as he said, "The guy's a real whack-job, completely heartless. He's a stone-cold killer, Alex."

She thought about that as she remembered the way Bobby had treated her just hours before. There was no hint of that stone-cold evil her husband was describing to her. It wasn't that she doubted him, but that she was confused with the man they were talking about. Bobby Donovan could have very well been heartless; the gentle, sweet yet weird guy who picked up hookers could have been just a façade.

"The story goes," Joe was saying, "or legend, as it were, that Robert was born in Brooklyn to an Italian family. Now you're thinking: but the last name Donovan's Irish."

She smiled because he was right. The last name didn't fit the family history.

Joe downed half the beer before he continued, "His family was real nuts. His father left, abandoned them and his mother was insane. I mean, she was literally insane. Schizophrenic, I think. He has a brother, but they aren't close. Hell, I actually busted his brother a few times. Frank Goren."

"Goren? So he changed his last name?" she asked as she added the name Robert Goren to her list of people to lookup once back at work. Maybe the guy was even on the internet.

"Sure, after he was adopted by the Donovan family when he was fourteen." Joe went to the table and sat down. Looking up at her, he explained, "See, Robert took off when he was a teenager and who could blame the guy with the family he had. He fell in with a gang of kids, a Brooklyn gang, and started getting into trouble which eventually led to his arrests for fighting, stealing cars, you know, just a lot of it was typical teenage bullshit. It was just that every time he got arrested he was always with this other kid, Mickey Donovan who was the leader of the gang. Turned out, Mickey's pops was Patrick 'Paddy' Donovan; you might have heard of him."

She thought of the name as she moved to the table and sat across from him. Then she remembered. "We read about him at the academy. He was a loan shark for the Irish mob in the '70's. When the Westies were still going strong in Hell's Kitchen. Coonan and 'Eddie the Butcher' and all those guys, right?"

Joe smiled as he started to peel off the label from the bottle. "I love it when you do that; it let's me know that you actually listen to me."

Alex laughed at her husband. "So, I'm guessing Paddy was the one who got Robert into the business."

"That's to be assumed, but no one knows for sure if Robert had already been doing stuff for the Donovan's or the Irish mob since he was running with Mickey all that time before then. Anyway, after that, Robert stopped getting arrested and got an education. Him and Mickey went to school together and they both graduated high school; Robert was older than Mickey by a year but hadn't been to school since he ran away from home when he was thirteen, but he ended up graduating a year earlier than Mickey if you can believe it; real smart guy. After graduating, Mickey went to college but Robert continued working until he was nineteen, and that's when he joined the Army."

Bobby was a veteran, she had been right. Alex took another sip of the wine before asking, "How did a guy who was taken in by an Irish family, who worked for the Irish mob, end up working for Vincennes."

Joe was practically bursting as he continued with the tale, "Because like I told you, Vincennes is half-Irish. Once everything settled from the mob wars in the seventies and eighties, Vincennes came out on his own as the head of the Italian mob by way of forming an alliance with the Irish. There's some family relation between the Connolly's who now runs the Irish mob and the Vincennes family. And when Robert returned from serving his country, just like Michael Corleone in 'The Godfather', he went right back to work. Only this time, it was with Vincennes. The Connolly's already had, and still have, their feared hit-man in Joey 'The Ripper' Sullivan. Plus, Vincennes asked for Robert personally, said something like he was born an Italian so he should work for an Italian."

The more she was learning about the families, the history, and who Donovan was, the more she was starting to know why the entire NYPD was on edge. What this could mean for her since she accidentally entered Bobby Donovan's world. Alex finished her glass then got up to refilling it. "So, what's folklore and what's real?"

Joe shrugged as he told her, "A lot can be proven, like the arrest records and his military service. He's been under surveillance by us a few times, and I'm sure by a lot of different departments all the up to the FBI. I heard some stories about what Robert's done to enemies of the Vincennes family. Brutal, crazy stuff he learned in the Army and maybe even thoughts he had created in his own twisted head. Like I said, he's a whacko. I wouldn't be surprised to learn that he was also crazy like his mother."

Alex realized that it could be true seeing how he had seemed like a completely different person than from this brutal hit-man tale Joe was telling her. If the guy was insane, even schizophrenic like his mother, it might explain that shift in character. She had no idea since she didn't know much to anything about mental illnesses. Curious, she asked, "I know he goes by 'Bobby', but does he have one of those mob nicknames?"

Joe laughed as he got up from the table and grabbed another beer bottle out of the refrigerator. "Yeah, and seeing how the man personifies death, most just call him 'The Devil'. Bobby 'the Devil' Donovan. It doesn't help that he always wears black." Moving over to her, he looked down at her as he said, "Like I said, he's a killer. That's all he does; it's who he is. I heard that he hasn't just murdered men, but also women…It doesn't matter."

Alex bristled at that as her anger and hatred with Robert Donovan grew inside of her. "How come no one has arrested him yet."

"That's like asking why the mob's still in existence. This guy's really smart, and he's really good at what he does. Proof is hard to find, and you can't arrest someone and lock them up based on stories. Informants come and go, and believe me when it comes to trying to get anyone to rat on Robert, you might as well be asking a dead man. The PD got close once, but before they could get anything substantial the guy, John, was never seen from again. No body, no nothing. Word is Robert dismembered him then burned the parts of his body that he didn't send out to other informants as a warning. An informant I came across claims that he has John's dick in a jar under his kitchen sink."

"That's disgusting."

Joe groaned. "Tell me about it. I nearly lost my lunch when he told me the whole story. That was just the overview. Anyway, if it's true, I doubt the parts that were saved and given out could be used to I.D. who the guy was. No fingers, or teeth, and it was also said that he drained the body of blood. It doesn't matter if when got skin scrapings or DNA because the only thing we have of John to identify him are his fingerprints and dental records."

Alex gave a nod as she took all this new information in and then shook her head. She was done with taking about Robert Donovan for the night. Downing half her glass, she wrapped her arm around Joe's waist and pulled her closer to her.

He seemed to get the idea as he said, "Enough about Donovan…I've missed you."

Smiling up at him, she pulled him down for a kiss then took his hand and led him out of the kitchen. Joe wrapped her in his arms as he sat on the couch, bringing her down into his lap as he kissed her neck. While he played with her hair and drank the beer, she played with the hem of his shirt and drank her wine. Running her fingers above the waistband of his jeans, she heard his breath hitch as he shifted under her. Downing her second glass, she put it down before turning her full attention to her husbands' body.

She knew he loved having his abdomen caressed, kissed, licked, it didn't matter. It turned him on faster than almost anything. Her fingers slid over his skin and the groan she heard rumble deep within his chest excited her as she kissed over his neck, up to his jaw-line, and then over to his soft lips. Shifting against him, to straddle his legs, she felt how hard he was as she pressed down into him.

When her fingers skimmed over a long thick line of scar tissue, she involuntarily stiffened, like she always did.

His hand grabbed hers, bringing it away from his stomach and up to his lips. Joe kissed her palm then said, "Alex, babe, it's been two years. I'm fine."

She knew that, but every time she felt the scar from where he had been shot, she couldn't help but react to it. She remembered all too well the sounds of the monitors, the sound of the respirator keeping him breathing, and the total devastation in knowing that he might not wake up from the coma he had slipped into. The scar was a constant reminder to how close she had come to losing him. "I know, its just I can't help but to remember how close you were-"

Joe sat his empty beer bottle down then pulled her into a hug. Whispering in her ear, he told her, "But I didn't. I'm alive and I'm here. I love you, and I'm not planning on putting you through that ever again."

She wanted to believe that; to accept it as the truth and to never doubt it, but they had been close once and they were both still cops. Every day was another day to live but also another chance to be killed. It was the nature of the beast.

She let him hold her for a long time as they caressed each other while softly, and slowly, kissing. Then, having enough of the gentleness, she kissed him hard and deep before slipping off his lap. Pulling him with her, she led him down the hall to the bedroom where she screamed out her love for him over and over before collapsing into a deeply sated sleep.

TBC...