A/N: In the other story 'ADiP' I had it placed in the Bronx, however, with this story I changed its location to Brooklyn because I wanted to explore those neighborhoods.

Don't hate, enjoy.

Even though he had fallen asleep peacefully, he didn't stay that way. He'd woken several times through the night in fits of confusion and pain. His dreams, dark and troubling, kept him from sleeping more than twenty or thirty minutes at a time. It had been cool in the room with the window closed and air blowing through the vents but he had broken out in a sweat. He had grown so uncomfortable that he actually got up and took a shower before he could lay back down.

He had changed the damp sheets and turned the fan on before climbing back into bed dressed only in boxers. That had been around four in the morning; it was now after nine and he hadn't been back to sleep. Instead, he had laid awake all morning thinking.

Through all the thoughts that swirled around his aching head, he couldn't help but think of the night before and woman in his apartment. He wondered if she was okay and if the money he had given her helped or not. The people he worked with tried a few times to talk him out of helping those women. Yeah, doing that on a daily basis wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done, and there've been times when he got picked up by the police, but he felt he had to do something. When he helped them, he was helping himself…It was a win-win when he got it right and the woman he was trying to help got off the street for good.

Deciding it was time to actually get out of bed, he sat up on the edge of the mattress and rubbed at his pounding head and tired eyes. There was some light coming through the blinds but not much. His bedroom was in the back of the apartment, facing the 'backyard' behind the buildings. It wasn't actually a yard because there was no grass, just fenced in cement slabs to park your car.

Groaning into his hands, he stifled a yawn before standing and going over to the dresser. He slid on a pair of basketball shorts then left the bedroom for the bathroom.

He was just about to lather on shaving cream when he heard a knock on the front door. Hardly anyone showed up at his place during the day, and those who did were never anyone he wanted to see. Quickly washing his hands, he went into the kitchen and grabbed his gun off the top of the cabinet. Then, instead of going to the door, he grabbed the remote off the coffee table and turned on the TV. What came up wasn't a television channel but the view bird's eye view of outside his front door.

At seeing who was knocking, he became concerned but no longer alarmed. Tucking the gun into the back of his shorts, he went to the door and unlocked it. He leaned against the frame, right arm over his head, as he opened the door to reveal the woman standing there looking incredibly pissed off. Unlike last night, her hair was no longer blond as she let her natural dark-brown hair hang loosely over her shoulders. The dark hair matched perfectly with her brown eyes and Italian complexion.

She looked him over, seeing how he wasn't wearing anything but a pair of shorts that hung past his knees, then cleared her throat. When she spoke, that put-on foreign accent was gone and instead what came through was her street-tough New Yorker attitude. "Well, you can take the convict out of prison but not the prison out of the convict. I didn't take you for a Syracuse fan."

He didn't know much about the woman, but from talking to her he knew she was born and bred in Brooklyn.

Bobby smirked but didn't move to let her in. "I'm not, but my brother went there. He played for 'em."

"Which one, Frank or Mickey?"

Shrugging, he told her, "Does it matter? And what're you doing here anyway, Medea, aren't you going to blow your cover? I mean, you don't even look like a hooker anymore…surprisingly."

"Don't make me shoot you, because I will."

"I have no doubt in that."

"And don't call me Medea. That's solely for the street. I'm here on official business, jackass, so move already," she bit out as she shoved pass him, making him stumble off the top step as she charged into this apartment. "Got any coffee made yet?"

He pushed the door close and locked it as he told her, "My apologies, Agent Barek," he half-heartily told her. "I just woke up, but go ahead and help yourself. Coffee's in the cabinet above the stove."

She shot him a look before rolling her eyes and going into the kitchen to make the coffee. Bobby went back into the bathroom and took his time shaving. As he was finishing up, Barek appeared in the doorway and looked him over again. It was slightly unnerving but he figured she had a fascination with tattoos or something.

"I like that one," she said, pointing to his left side.

Bobby stared at her for a moment before raising his left arm and looking down at his side. Tattooed down his ribcage to his hip was a gun. Part of the barrel was hidden by the waistband of his shorts, like it was tucked in like his real gun, but what was shown was the important part of the tattoo. Bounded to the handle of the gun was the image of a man, hands tied, mouth gagged, with his eyes the only thing able to move. Coming off the handle, and what had bound the man to the weapon, was a single wing that went the rest of the length up his side to just under his arm.

"The detail is impressive, definitely not a prison tat. When'd you get it?"

Not answering, he flicked the light off and walked by her to kitchen. Barek followed close behind.

"Do you regret any of them?"

Bobby shrugged a little as he went to get himself a cup of coffee while she sat at the small table against the wall. "Only one," he finally answered.

He could give her the silent treatment all day but honestly, he felt like talking. He felt like maybe making some sort of connection to another human being who wasn't a criminal.

Sitting down across from her at the table, he reached out his right arm and turned it over. "This one," he pointed to the tattoo of the clock with no hands.

"Of course you do, it's an indicator that you've done time in prison."

Bobby nodded slightly. "It's not only that but it's so…dull. I'm going to make something else out of it. Something I'm proud of."

Barek smiled something that looked genuine and nice as she said, "You do tattoos?"

He couldn't help but smile back. "While I was locked up, another inmate taught me. He was a tattoo artist but couldn't lay off the drugs. Ruined his life for a eight-ball a day habit."

"Nothing like you then, huh?"

Bobby looked over at the undercover FBI agent as he told her, "Read my record. I've never done drugs, never sold them, and never bought them."

She sat back and searched his eyes before saying, "I did read your record. Agent Norton made sure I did."

"How is Steve?" Bobby asked as he sipped on the coffee and got more comfortable with her in his kitchen.

"Better," she answered. "He can't return to full duty yet. So he's doing all the bureaucratic work that no one else wants to do."

Nodding at that, he felt a little better knowing Steve was still out there working on this. Steve Norton was the only agent he trusted and when he had to stop being his contact last month due to an injury, he nearly threw in the towel out of pure fear. Barek was proving to be a suitable replacement, even though this was their first talk off the clock, so to speak. The only time he had ever talked or made contact with her has been either on the street or on the phone. That was why he was confused with her showing up at his apartment.

Which brought him around to asking again, "So, why're you here?"

Barek hesitated for a fraction of a second; it was that hesitation that sent him on high alert and made him tense up. She immediately read him, telling him, "Calm down, it's not anything bad. Word came down this morning that we're pulling more people in."

Bobby thought about that in the time it took her to regroup and decide on what to tell him. "You mean more people undercover?"

She gave a nod. "A joint task force is the best way to put it. There will be an undercover from OCCB, Narcotics, and Vice."

Not seeing the problem, he asked, "Okay, so why the hesitation?"

"The thing is I can't inform you on who these people are. I can't even tell you when or if they are already working it or not."

"So, you're telling me that there'll be three undercover officers out there, working with me or against me, and I'm not going to know who? Isn't that dangerous? I could kill one of them and not know it."

Barek sighed and leaned over the table as she told him, "It's not like we haven't already been doing this. Over eight years, how many undercover cops have you ran across? And how many of those have you gotten out of the situation and saved? All of them, because you inform us what's going on and who's all involved and we tell you if any of them are one of us or not. There's nothing different except now we're putting them in place instead of them just showing up. We're controlling who's in this and who's not."

Feeling his irritation coming back, he snapped, "Why the fuck didn't you do that eight years ago then? Maybe this thing would've been over with by now."

She narrowed her eyes at him and he knew she wanted to tell him off, but she breathed out and shook her head. "Are you that desperate for a new life in witness protection?"

Bobby eyed the table as she said that. Right. He always seemed to forget about that part of the deal. The last thing he wanted to do was go off to some new city with a new name and a fake past in the pretense of living happily ever after. He would rather take his chances on the streets of Brooklyn than do that.

He really needed to talk to Steve. Downing the rest of the coffee, he got up for a refill.

"Do you mind, since you're up?" Barek asked as she held her cup up for him to take.

Taking the cup after a brief hesitation, he gave her a small smile. "You're right."

"About what?"

As he refilled their cups, he told her, "I'm in no hurry to go anywhere. In fact, I wouldn't mind doing this forever."

"Well, it's not like you wouldn't have been doing this anyway."

Handing her the cup then sitting down, he corrected himself, "I didn't mean working for Vincennes. That's not who I am. It used to be, but…I haven't been that guy for a very long time. The only reason I'm in this now is because I had no choice."

Barek looked surprised by that as she studied him again. "Then you're talking about working undercover for the FBI."

He shrugged, saying, "For anyone if...if it's for the greater good of society, than yeah." At seeing her expression unwavering, he added, "Don't look so surprised. Beyond popular belief, I'm not all bad. I do have a conscious...Just ask Steve."

"I don't need to, I know you saved his life. We all know that. It's one of the reasons the bureau's been lenient with you all these years, that and you get results."

"Yeah, but do you think I did it for him...or for myself?" He could tell she either didn't know how to answer that, or she was unsure of his reaction to her answer. After taking a big gulp of the coffee, Bobby sat the cup down as he leaned on the table, getting fractionally in her personal space. "I know what you're thinking. You're wondering if you can trust me, or if I'm just in this for myself…because you're right. I mean, I am a convict, but after eight years of working for the FBI, and not once betrayed you...It has to tell you something other than here's a guy trying to save his own ass."

"But you did agree to do this to save your own ass," she reminded him.

"Hey, I'm not saying it isn't a motivator, but there've been times where I've gone above-and-beyond what I've been asked or told to do, like saving Steve's life. I could've died too, but I took that chance to save him."

Barek finally relaxed a little as she seemed to accept that he was someone she could eventually trust. He wasn't expecting any promises, but Steve trusted him for a reason and so to him that should be enough for Barek to trust him as well. "Why haven't you dealt out of this already? There are only so many ways this can end for you. I'm sure the bureau would understand if you couldn't handle it anymore. Eight years is a long time."

Bobby rolled his cup in his hands as he gave a nod, telling her, "I had a chance, uh…five years ago. It was after I got shot. Steve, he uh…he came to me with a deal. I could've taken it, got a-a, uh, lesser sentence, uh, five years, serve two."

Barek raised her eyes in surprise, saying incredibly, "You had the chance to only do two years and then disappear? You would've been out by now, gone. Why-"

"Why didn't I take it and move to Idaho?" he said, cutting her off. "Other than I didn't want to? Look, as long as I'm doing this, I know I'm making a difference…I'm helping. My life has meaning, you know, a, uh…a purpose. Fixing car engines in Boise doesn't give me a purpose."

She was quiet for a long moment, then asked, "What the hell's in Idaho anyway?"

Bobby smiled slightly, and answered with a shrug, "I don't know...Potato chip factories?"

Barek got up and her cup to the sink. As she passed by him to leave the kitchen, she said, "Okay, I gotta say that for a convict, you're a decent guy with a conscious. Maybe I can trust you, one day."

Bobby smiled as he said, "Fair enough. Oh, and Barek," he called after her as she headed for the front door. When she turned to face him, he said, "If you want one…I'll be happy to do it, free of charge." At seeing the confusion on her face, he explained, "A tattoo."

She gave him a smirk and shook her head. "I don't think so," she said as she walked to the door and left.

They called her in on her day off; what a surprise. What made it worse was that she had a massive headache from drinking too much wine last night. Joe had already gone to work by the time she rolled out of bed and took a nice long hot bath for once. She had been in the middle of relaxing on the couch in nothing but a pair of sweats and tank-top, cup of coffee in one hand, remote in the other with her wet hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, and no intentions of doing anything except watching mindless TV. Then she got that fucking phone call.

Alex huffed out a breath of air as she entered the busy lobby of the 65th Precinct and stalked her way up the flight of stairs to the fourth floor. The 6-5's Vice Squad worked all of the surrounding neighborhoods of Southwest Brooklyn, from Bay Ridge to Gravesend, and on south to Coney Island. It also just so happened that those neighborhoods were territory belonging to Mack Vincennes. Sure, a couple of other precincts worked those neighborhoods as well, but none of them held a Vice Squad unit.

Subsequently, the fourth floor of the 6-5 was home to twenty-some detectives whose main job was to work those neighborhoods. That amounted to a lot of streets, clubs, bars, houses, and individual entrepreneurs thinking they could score some quick cash with their own sleaze business. It didn't surprise her really, only built her frustration, to get that call on her first 'volun-told' day off in weeks. What did surprise her was the fact that she was being pulled into a meeting with one other person besides her Lieu.

She didn't know who the guy was, but he was already in the office when she was let in by Lieutenant Brantley. The man's suit was tailor made and expensive, shoes shined and buffed, and he had a visitors badge clipped to the breast pocket. At his feet, leaning up against the chair he stood up from, was a black leather briefcase. The man reeked FBI.

A few seconds later she was proven right.

"Detective Eames," Brantley told her, "this is FBI Agent Steven Norton."

"It's Steve," Agent Norton corrected. "You can call me Steve." When he said that, he was looking right at her.

Alex wanted to roll her eyes but instead she only smiled and nodded slightly before saying, "And you can call me Eames, or Detective, or both put together, Agent Norton." That got the reaction she was hoping for as she watched as Norton blushed and gave a slight nod.

Brantley shook his head and sighed while sitting back in his chair. "Okay, now that the introductions are over with, we can get down to business." He gestured for the FBI agent to take over.

Turning to her, Norton gave her an easy smile as he told her, "First off, I'm with the Organized Crime Unit of the FBI and the reason we're here is to conduct a joint operation with the NYPD. We're to place several officers undercover from the NYPD along with several of our own field agents, and working together we are to infiltrate various mob organizations and gangs around New York. We already have field agents in place and undercover officers from Narcotics and OCCB. We have yet to get anyone from Vice…that was until your name came up in a big way."

Alex stiffened as she took all that in and gave a nod. "You're talking about what happened last night," she stated as she looked from Norton to Brantley.

Norton gave a nod as he got her attention again. "Yes, exactly. When the FBI got word that you were taken in by Donovan, that he was talking to you, we immediately contacted your Lieutenant, your Captain, and asked about you."

"We couldn't agree more that you'll be the best one to put under for this operation, Eames," Brantley told her with a look of pride on his face.

Alex didn't know what to think of that look, other than she knew she had the confidence and the support from the brass. She had to admit, it felt good. "What would I have to do? Is my partner going to be in on this as well?"

"No," Brantley said as he sat forward, resting his arms on the desk. "Stash will be partnered with someone else while you go undercover."

Norton picked up from there as he informed her, "Your contact will be one of our agents. In fact, you'll be rooming with her at the decoy apartment we're setting you up in."

Alex sighed heavily and rolled her eyes. Just great. "I can hear my husband now," she muttered to herself as she thought about the idea of living in a decoy apartment.

Then she saw the look on Norton's face and froze in anticipation as what he was about to say. "Speaking of that, we're asking you not to tell him the particulars of this operation."

"You want me to lie to him?"

"No, you can tell him that you're going undercover but not about who you're working for, who's all involved, and you are not to mention anything to him about Donovan."

Alex sat back in the chair as she thought that over. She had never once kept anything like this from her husband. Yeah, she didn't tell him everything but she told him enough to where he wouldn't be worried. She always told him what the plan was and who she would be with, and he always did the same. It was always just in case. Especially since two years ago when he was nearly killed while working undercover. They told each other that there would be no more secrets.

"If you can't do it, we can find someone else," she heard Norton tell her.

Releasing a deep breath, she shook her head. Damn. "There won't be a need. I'll do it."

Norton nearly beamed at her as he said, "Great. Okay. I need to brief you, if…"

Brantley got up as he told them, "There's an empty interview room you can use; Eames will show you."

"Do I still answer to you?" she asked her Lieu as she went to stand.

"Only if you need too. Eames," Brantley told her, "from now until this is over with, you don't report here for work. You don't contact me unless it's a dire emergency; all this is confidential and need-to-know basis only."

Alex hesitated as she felt a sense of fear grip her gut. She had never been undercover like this before. All contact with the NYPD, her partner, the brass was to be severed. This was going deep, but despite her fear she was also excited. If she did this and they succeeded, she could only imagine what it would do for her career…Not like that really mattered. She didn't take the job to get noticed, but if it helped to move her up the chain to where she really wanted to be, Major Case, then she would take it.

Giving a nod, she said, "All right. Agent Norton," she said as she started out of the office, "follow me."

She led him to the empty interview room that was down the hall. It was small and stuffy with no windows but it was adequate. There was a table in the middle with four chairs around it, file cabinets on one wall and on the other was a white board.

The door was shut, and locked by Norton while she sat down at the table. He put the briefcase on the table and popped it open. It was filled with file folders and notebooks, a camera, and a tape recorder. Getting only three of the files out, he shut the case before addressing her.

"This is going to be very quick. Here," he said as he handed her one of the folders. "That's yours to keep. After you read it, and collect all the necessary paperwork inside of it, put it somewhere for safe keeping."

She went to ask what he meant by that when he held up his hand, cutting her off. The man was rigid, but he did look in a hurry…especially after he checked his watch. It was a Rolex.

Norton opened one file folder as he said, "Okay, first off, I'm going to give you a run down of Donovan and the family he works for."

"I know the basics of Donovan already. His upbringing, the Donovan's, both Paddy and Mickey, and then his military service. After that…" she shrugged.

The agent stilled for a moment then smiled slightly. "Of course. I should've known you would've done your own research."

"Well, all I did was ask my husband. He's a mafia buff."

Norton just nodded as he sorted through some photos. Taking a marker in hand, he turned to the white board and wrote as he spoke. "I'm sure you know that there are five Italian mob families."

"The Five Families: Giaccone, Masucci, Bianchi, De Luca, and Carpino," she stated and was surprised that she actually remembered how to pronounce them all. "I'm not sure which one Vincennes is boss of."

"The Giaccone family," Norton told her. "Now, each family has an hierarchical structure to it. The boss, aka the Don, the Godfather, whatever you want to call the guy, he's in charge. So that's Mack Vincennes," he said as he placed Mack's picture up on the board under the word 'Boss'. Norton continued to do that with each member of the hierarchy. "Now," he continued, "the boss always has a consigliere, which is his 'right-hand man'."

With that, Norton placed Donovan's photo on the board right next to Mack's. "Ladies and Gentlemen, meet Bobby Donovan."

Alex looked at the actual mug shot of Bobby and inwardly cringed. She couldn't believe that the man she met last night was a harden criminal. The right-hand man to the Don. The Consigliere. "What's his job," she asked as she looked away from the photo.

Norton must have seen her look as he gave her a weary smile, but he didn't say anything about it as he dove into the job description. "He's an advisor, mediator, negotiator for the family. If Mack's not able to attend a meeting, Donovan stands in his place. You get the job by being the only one in the world the boss can trust whole-heartily with everything. The job used to belong to Ralph Vincennes, Mack's other older brother."

"And what happened to Ralph?"

"We don't know," Norton told her. "His body has yet to be found. The important thing is, instead of turning to his other brother, Demarco Vincennes, who is also the underboss by-the-way, Mack turned to Bobby Donovan to take Ralph's place."

Alex raised her eyes at that, saying, "I bet brother Demarco was none too happy about that decision."

Norton just shrugged. "Yeah, but with being the underboss," he continued on, "Demarco is heir to the throne if something were to ever happen to Mack. But, what I think is that if something were to happen, Bobby Donovan would take over as the head of the family. He has more loyalty from the family than Demarco could ever have. Hell, Demarco can't even buy himself loyalty. Anyway, Demarco's main job is to oversee the financials and make sure all the money is going where its supposed to be going."

As Alex thought about that, Norton continued on.

"This is where it starts to branch out and get tricky. Below the underboss, there are Caporegimes. A caporgime, or capo for short, is a person in charge of a crew, which consists of about ten to twenty soldiers depending. Now, Mack has territory all around New York, places in Flordia, Nevada, even in Milwaukee. However, our main focus is here in New York and the three boroughs of the Bronx, Manhattan, and here in Brooklyn. For each borough, there's a capo running a crew of soldiers. You have Al Bracco in the Bronx, Samuel 'Sonny' Orlando in Manhattan," Norton explained as he put the other two men's photos up on the board under Demarco's picture. "And Brooklyn's capo is none-other-than…Bobby Donovan," he said while tapping Bobby's picture.

"I thought Donovan had the other job?"

"I told you it got tricky," Norton smiled a little as he leaned over the table. It seemed he was enjoying his presentation. "Okay, here's Donovan's history. He started off eight years ago as an associate. Took him only a year to work his way up to being a soldier, which is the lowest made man on the totem pole. After two more years, he's a capo. The best crew boss in the family and also the number one guy to go to if they needed a hit done properly. So, Donovan at this point has two jobs: capo and Vincennes trusted hit-man. Over the course of the next four years, he becomes the most powerful, most respected, and most feared man in the family besides Mack Vincennes himself. Like I said, when Mack goes, Bobby's next in line for sure. Then a year ago, Ralph gets himself mixed up in drugs and during a cocaine induced rage, kills a soldier for the Bianchi family. That's a big no-no. The Italians have this rule about not being allowed to kill another made man unless it's approved first by the head of that family. Less than an hour after the killing, Ralph disappears off the face of the planet never to be heard from again. The very next day, Bobby Donovan has three jobs: capo, hit-man, and consigliere. He is one busy boy."

Alex shook her head as she looked over the photos on the board; her focus always returning to Bobby Donovan's mug shot as she processed everything that has been told to her. Finally, she asked, "And my role in all this?"

Norton tapped the file folder laying in front of her on the desk. "It's all in there. I don't even know some of the details. It's for your eyes only." He then reached into his suit pocket. "Here's my card," he said as he pulled it out and handed it to her. "My cell number and email in case you have to get a hold of me, but the number you really need is on the back."

Looking at the cell phone number on the back, Alex realized that this was it. Once she made that phone call her life would drastically change for however long it took to complete this undercover operation. She would be cut off from the NYPD, her husband, even her family.

It wasn't until she was out of the department, sitting in her car, that she pulled out her cell and flipped it open.

Hours later, after having gone home to pack a bag and call up Joe to tell him not to be expecting her home for a while, she was standing on 3rd Avenue near the corner of 93rd Street in Bay Ridge staring up at the apartment building that would become her new home. Looking around the block, she took in the unisex barber shop, the health foods store, the pharmacy, the Chinese restaurant, the 24-hour laundry, the coffee shop and diner, the bodegas that advertised gourmet groceries, and the discount store across from the hardware store on the corners and sighed.

It wasn't unlike any other neighborhood in the borough but it wasn't home. Up in that apartment wasn't Joe waiting on her but another cop or FBI agent living undercover. Steadying her nerves, she used the key that had been in a small envelope along with her new address, and unlocked the lobby door. At least it was locked. The lock on her lobby door had been broken so many times that the super was putting a chain on the door and issuing out mountain climbing gloves for the residents to use to scale the fire escape.

Okay, that wasn't true, but he was going to extremes in trying to keep people from breaking the lock off the door again.

Entering the lobby, she saw the role of mailboxes and spotted her apartment number. She didn't have a key to it yet but it wasn't like she was expecting any kind of mail either. The building had a smell that she couldn't place, but she wondered if there had once been a poultry shop next door. Or was someone running their own poultry shop out of their apartment. This was New York and she wouldn't be surprised to hear chickens clucking around the hallways during the night.

It was a walkup, no elevator, and she was glad she only brought one suitcase and even gladder that it had wheels. Going up four flights lugging that would have only pissed her off even more. At each landing to a new floor, she would open the stairwell door and peer out into the hallway. On the third floor she saw a couple of kids running around the hall with toy guns shooting at one another. There were four of them in all and only one was playing 'cop' while the other three were 'robbers'. The cop didn't make it; his friends that were the robbers got the jump on him and used his own toy handcuffs to cuff him and then they took his gun. Poor kid.

Getting to the fourth floor, she huffed out a breath as she pulled open the door and stepped into the hallway. Taking in the number and letter on the doors, she headed toward apartment 4F. It was on the other side of the building, facing out into the back lots and alleyways behind the buildings. It was the last apartment, by the south stairwell, and she could have cursed herself for not taking that stairwell instead.

She didn't know if her roommate would be home or not, but she decided to knock first. After three knocks, she went to use her key when the bolt turned and the door opened to reveal a very familiar face.

At seeing the shock on her face, the woman smiled at her and opened the door a little more to let her in. "I didn't know it was going to be you. Come in."

Alex rolled her suitcase into the apartment as she said, "I can't believe it. You had me convinced you were a pro." Not wanting to call her by her street name, knowing that it wasn't her real name, she asked, "Can we use each other's real names or-"

"Of course we can," she told her as she closed and locked the door. "We're on the same team." Approaching her, she held out her hand, "Carolyn Barek, FBI."

Alex shook her hand as she introduced herself, "Alex Eames, Vice. I like your natural hair by the way, that wig looked horrible."

Carolyn gave a laugh as she headed toward the kitchen. "I know it! I protested for hours over having to wear it but it helped to preserve my identity. Want anything to drink?"

"That'll be great. I think I dehydrated myself on the climb up."

"The bureau thought at this would be better suited for a hookers salary and lifestyle. I mean, we couldn't exactly get a room at the Ritz. I got beer."

Alex leaned against the entryway, saying, "And I got a hand for it to go in." Taking the offered bottle, she took a sip as she looked around the small kitchen. It had the necessities: refrigerator, stove, microwave, and working faucets and running water.

Carolyn gestured around. "What you see is what you get. Living room, kitchen, something the constitutes as a dining area," she said as she pointed to an area by the window where a two seated table sat. "Two bedrooms, one bath…sorry, looks like we'll be fighting over bathroom time."

Shrugging, Alex explained, "I'm four of five kids. I know all about managing bathroom time."

"Wow, five kids huh? I was the only child."

"Lucky you," Alex snarked as she stopped in front of what appeared to be her bedroom.

"All the furniture is new. They just delivered it this morning and set everything up for you. We can go shopping to get you a bed set and comforter if you want?"

She had the basics, a bare bed, dresser, night table, and an empty closet with no hangers. "I'm going to need hangers."

"Yeah," Carolyn said with a chuckle. "They always forget to supply hangers, making you go out to get your own. Have you had lunch yet?"

Shaking her head, she said, "I barely had time to think about food since this morning."

"I was about to go across the street and pickup some Chinese."

Leaving her suitcase in the middle of the room, Alex smiled at her and started for the door. "Sounds great. I could go for some teriyaki beef and fried rice. Then afterwards, we can go in search of bed sheets and hangers."

TBC…