Thank you for the reviews for chapter one, they were all lovely to receive.

Chapter 2

Mickey had been driving for ten minutes before he realised that there was nowhere to go - Jack was away on a course and wouldn't be back until Wednesday, three days away. He pulled over to the side of the road, exhaling deeply to try and calm himself down. Looking around he tried to figure out where he was. With a start, he realised that he was outside his old football club; he hadn't played since he had been transferred to MIT. He needed fresh air, needed to clear his head; he had his hand on the handle, about to open the door when he froze. He couldn't get out of the car - what if he was out there?

The hand moved from the handle to the lock and he pressed down, making sure that nobody could get into his car. He took out his phone and looked at the call history; he had withheld the number, which meant that the call hadn't come from the prison. Delaney was out. He brought Jack's mobile number up, his finger lingered over the call button. But before he could press it his phone began to ring once more. Once again the ID was withheld. Mickey hesitated for a moment; not sure whether he should just ignore it, but he pressed accept. He needed some answers.

"Mickey Webb." For the second time Mickey was greeted by silence. "D-delaney?" Mickey inwardly cursed himself for stuttering, for showing that he was frightened.

"Clever boy. Hanging up on me wasn't so clever. Aren't you going to congratulate me? I've been released; the funny thing is I wasn't supposed to be. It was a clerical error, but they can't put me back inside now, not for the same crime, and I've not even got any parole conditions because according to the database I've served my entire sentence."

"You'll be back inside b-before l-long, you c-can be sure about that."

Delaney laughed.

"But that's where you're wrong DC Webb, because according to the law, I'm a free man. I'll be in touch soon." There was a click and then Mickey heard the dial tone. He threw his phone onto the seat next to him and rested his head on the steering wheel, whimpering in terror.

Delaney had been let out, he had no parole conditions, and there was nothing he or anybody else could do about it.

He didn't want to go home; he had recently moved, but Delaney had found out where he lived before, and Mickey knew that he could do it again. Starting the engine once more Mickey began to drive, not really knowing where he was heading.


Smithy sat down on Mickey's front step, trying to figure out where his friend could be. When he had pulled up in front of the house he hadn't seen Mickey's car, but had rang the bell anyway, hoping that Mickey had just parked somewhere else. There had been no answer, and there were no lights on. The sergeant glanced at his watch, it was 3 am, so not many places would be open. He had tried calling Mickey's mobile, but had got no answer. The way Mickey had ran off worried him, what worried him even more was that the last time he had seen Mickey look so scared, Delaney had escaped from jail.

Smithy knew that if he did manage to find his friend it was going to be nearly impossible to get Mickey to open up to him; ever since Delaney Mickey had shut himself off, keeping his problems and feelings to himself. Smithy still considered Mickey to be one of his best friends, but he would be the first to admit that he didn't know the DC as well as he had used to. He wished he did.

He stood up, sighing as he did so and headed back to his car, he would drive around for a bit to see if he could see Mickey. If he couldn't find his friend he would just have to try again later in the morning.


Mickey had ended up back at the station, and was sitting at his desk in the empty CID office. He had spent the last hour clearing his desk and filing paperwork, a task that he hated and had been long overdue. The top of the desk had been scattered with paperwork on current cases, it was now clear apart from one file. The first drawer was where Mickey kept the memories: numbers of colleagues that he used to work with, along with scraps of paper telling him where they were now. A notebook with information on his informants – some of them old school friends of his. There were even a few photographs; Mickey with Duncan, Mickey with Jack, Mickey with Kate.

But it was the bottom drawer that had upset him. He had pulled it open, confident that all it contained was a few old case files and dust. Delaney's face had sneered out at him. He had forgotten that he had placed the file there a while back. The file was on his desk, in front of him. Mickey hadn't yet opened it, instead he was staring at the photo of Delaney, but he was seeing something else, something that had happened long ago. Mickey ran a shaky hand through his hair, and then grabbed the file, throwing it back into the drawer that it had come out of. He stood and walked over to the water dispenser, filling a cup and drinking it all down in one. Images of a warehouse flashed through Mickey's mind. The phone on his desk began to ring, startling Mickey out of his thoughts and he answered it, eager for a distraction.

"Yeah, DC Webb, how can I help?"

"You're all alone." Mickey trembled at Delaney's words, and then reasoned with himself. It was 4:30 in the morning, it was pretty obvious that he would be by himself; Delaney had just made a lucky guess. "You always were dedicated to your work." Mickey could have kicked himself; Delaney had known where to ring him, so of course he knew where he was. The phone fell from his hand as he rushed to the windows and pulled the blinds down. He got himself another glass of water and again, drank it down in one, trying to figure out what to do, and then it hit him.

Jack wasn't there, but there was still one place in the station that Mickey nearly always felt safe in. Years ago, when they had been trying to expose Chandler, Jack had given him a spare key to his office, just in case. Mickey always kept it in his desk and taking it out he headed for the office, unlocked the door and then locked himself inside. He sat down in Jack's chair and tried not to think about the bottle of whisky that he knew Jack kept hidden in one of the drawers. Looking around, Mickey shivered. The blinds were pulled down, and he was in a place where he usually felt safe but it didn't make him feel any better.

He was being watched.