A/N: I included a character in this chapter that I wasn't too sure about. Let me know if you guys think I could improve on his character; I'd love your honest opinions about it. When I think about it, the scenario might've worked better with Gwen, but whatever. I don't feel like changing all the 'he's to 'she's and so forth. xP You'll like the ending, though, I'm sure. Anyway, I don't own The Killing, and please enjoy!

When he signed up for the campaign, he'd never imaged he would have to deal with this. Lying politicians, yes. Cheating millionaires, yes. Maybe even the occasional scandal or cover-up. But never, in a million years, did he expect this.

Darren Richmond was one hundred percent respectable in his books. It had been a horrendous shock when he'd first found out the police were investigating Richmond, but he'd laughed it off then. The man was pretty much bulletproof. The police couldn't touch him, not without solid evidence that he was sure was not there.

Okay, so finding the girl in the campaign car had been incriminating, but there had to be hundreds who worked for or supported the campaign and could access those vehicles. Finding out that Richmond had actually met Rosie was surprising, but even then he knew they were safe. It wasn't until the word of an affair - of many disturbing affairs - surfaced that he began to worry. Still, he didn't expect the Seattle police apartment to blaze in and actually arrest Richmond.

Naturally, he should've switched sides right away. It would've saved his carrier to just join the mayor - to really join him this time, instead of playing spy for two different allegiances. But no one said that being a politician meant his heart would be made of ice (though, now that he thought about it, even he thought politicians were unfeeling). No one said he wasn't allowed to collapse against the wall of his apartment, staring at everything and not taking any of it in.

No one prevented him for doing this for an entire night, and straight into the next morning.

Because Richmond was dead. The more he repeated this in his mind, the more real it felt, and the more of a failure he became. Maybe he wasn't meant to be a security guard, but he should've found some way to protect the man, to maybe - just maybe - get him out of the situation alive.

And then there was Seattle PD. If anything, his rage for them had doubled over the hours he'd spent collapsed against the wall. Even if he'd been helpless - weak, stupid, cowardly - they shouldn't have been. They had guns, he was sure. They had guns and authority and enough strength to take people out. At least, they were supposed to.

Apparently not.

After all, they'd let Belko in. They'd watched, shocked, as he'd raised the gun, and they didn't do so much as twitch their hands towards their own firearms. Instead, they'd let the bullet fly.

They'd watched it hit Richmond.

They'd let him die.

"I'm gonna get fired," Holder groans, rubbing his hands over his face. Oaks had ordered them to the conference room and simply left them there about ten minutes ago. After ten minutes filled with insubstantial silence, he's tired of not talking. Even if she won't speak a word to him, he will talk for the both of them. As he'd predicted, she doesn't answer him, but she does give him a fleeting glance, and it says everything.

Shut up, Holder, he reads in those eyes - maybe incorrectly; when he thinks about it, he really doesn't know her. Deciding to weigh in on the side of incompetence (because, after all, that would be her thoughts of him), he cocks his head and grins at her. "Hey, but, on the bright side… we're still alive, Lin-den." He purposely draws out her name to get a rise out of her, but she doesn't even give him a look this time. Sighing, he folds his arms on the table and mutters, "Fine. I try to lighten the mood, you ignore me. Sounds good. I screwed up enough already." After a moment, he drops his head on his arms, looking completely defeated.

He's just staring at a table now, but she's actually looking at him. She looks torn between fleeing the room, fighting him, and keeping silent. However, her decision is none of the three. Reluctantly, she reaches forward and rests her hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently. She wrinkles her nose when she realizes he's still wearing that dirty old hoodie, but doesn't say a word. He must've felt her attempt at a comforting gesture, however, because she can see his lips turn up just a little bit from where his face is peeking out from under his arms.

"Yo, Linden, while I appreciate… um, that," his words are halting, awkward, when he speaks, heartbeats later. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd say somethin', y'know? I know I screwed up bad, but… I dunno, it would just be…"

He trails off, but she gets the idea and nods despite herself. She really doesn't want to be here. She definitely doesn't want to be comforting him, but somehow loyalty to a partner always wins over doubt and frustration. So she nods, draws a deep breath, and says, "You know, I bet Jack's awake by now."

"Didja leave him in Sonoma, Linden?" Puzzled, he raises his head a little bit. She smiles at the confusion on his face, but it's more a depressive frown than anything. At first, she only shrugs awkwardly and moves her hand to his hair, not sure how long she can keep it there considering his obvious issues and the extraordinary amount of dirt in his hair. He looks kinda cute when he's confused, she decides, but in the same way a monkey at the zoo might be cute. After a moment of thinking this, she shakes her head, and answers him.

"Yeah, Holder. I couldn't wake him that early, and I didn't have enough money to get both of us up here. Not to mention…" her voice quiets, and he suddenly looks both sheepish and guilty. "If he's there, Rick's more likely to not hate me."

He opens his mouth to apologize for all of it when the door opens and Oaks walks in, his hands clenched at his sides. Behind him, a blonde man walks. They recognize him immediately, and both of their eyes are wide. Linden's hand moves instantly from Holder's hair to her lap, hoping that nobody had noticed the odd moment shared. She makes a mental memo to clean that hand later, and then focusses her full attention on the two men entering the room.

"Detective Sarah Linden, Detective Steven Holder," Oaks points to each of them in turn. "I believe you've already met Jamie Wright."

The pair nod, confused by Jamie's presence but neither bold enough to voice their thoughts. Oaks and Jamie take seats across from them; Oaks's gaze is perpetually on Holder, but Jamie's never seems to leave her face. She shifts uncomfortably, and so does Holder. The room is silent for several minutes before a restless Holder begins to drum his feet on the floor (at which point, of course, she has to elbow him, and he has to yelp).

Irritated by the sudden commotion, Oaks clears his throat. "We'd best get down to business, then. Mr. Wright, I suppose you have some comments for our detectives. Please, allow them to explain their story before posing questions or making comments, just to ensure we get the whole story."

He's dealt with politicians and their wordsmiths before, obviously. Jamie looks like he's swallowed something disgusting, but he nods anyway, and Oaks nods as well, though his is accompanied with a glare. Holder throws his hands in front of him on the table as to not distract himself, and begins by saying, "Uh… thanks for coming… Mr. Wright. We got a problem, and it concerns your boy Richmond."

He must sound like he's a delusional twelve-year-old still thinking he's gangster, because Linden rolls her eyes at him and cuts him off before he can say more. "What he means to say, Mr. Wright, is that we have some bad news and believe it may be important that you know this before it reaches the press. Your campaign will have to react accordingly." She flushes guiltily, and looks angrier still. "If you choose to still run it, in favour of a - a new candidate."

Oaks's glare is telling them to spit it out already, so Holder takes charge. With a glance in Linden's direction to stop anymore words, he actually manages to open his mouth and get a semi-intelligent sentence out. He'd be proud of himself if the situation wasn't so dire. "It turns out Richmond might be innocent. The - the evidence was forged."

It's suddenly so silent that one could hear a pin drop. Jamie's eyes widen in both relief and rage. Richmond died - slain by the hand of a psycho martyr for the Larsens - yet he was innocent? And Seattle PD actually thought it mattered to the campaign, thought it would be best if he knew before the press? Frustration causes his hands to clench into fists on the table, but his eyes are the indicators to the real internal battle. He's relieved; Richmond really was the integrity candidate. Of course, his reputation is ruined now (and he's dead), but it's somehow nice to know that he was right: Richmond wasn't capable of the accused crimes.

Still… he could be alive, if it wasn't for poor detective work and forged evidence. He stops at that thought, and dwells on it for a few moments before asking, "Has the person who faked the evidence been caught?" The subtext 'can I have a very polite word with him?' was incredibly obvious in his tone of voice.

Holder and Linden both look at each other, their eyes silently fighting wars they cannot speak aloud. It's funny, really, how two people in such a dysfunctional and new relationship could communicate when they really need to. Though, their communication must've been a struggle, because Oaks cleared his throat suddenly - subsequently causing them both to jump - and smoothly declared, "The perpetrators have not been found yet, Mr. Wright. If you have no more questions, thank you for coming in. I hope this can aid you, your campaign, and Richmond's memory before the news hits the press." He pauses, and Linden takes the time to add, "We're sorry for your loss."

Jamie's eyes flash but he nods and slinks out of the room, not even bothering for a handshake. Linden's eyes trail him; she's only met him once, maybe twice, and he's rarely seen without a smile or smirk on his face. To see him torn and upset throws her off her game a little bit (not that Holder hadn't already done so). She vaguely considers following the man, perhaps having a private word with him the way that she did with Richmond, but her subconscious reminds her: Jamie Wright could still be a suspect. And, as she'd learned through her "sharing" with Richmond, giving information to a suspect could go terribly, terribly wrong.

Oaks's attention is suddenly back on them, and she forces herself to listen as he talks. To be honest, she doesn't want to hear it. Her mind is floating back to Sonoma, to the possibilities there, to everything she should have right now but doesn't. All because of Holder.

Somehow, she's not sure she hates him. Somehow, she thinks their odd - insane, dysfunctional, mismatched - partnership might just be worth it in the end.

But she forces herself to forget that and makes sure she listens when Oaks finishes his speech with a, "I hope you're proud of yourselves. Until I can decide what to do with you, go home."

She doesn't have a home, but somehow she ends up at Holder's. It's better than some of her other possibilities, but not by much. She might've been able to handle it better if it wasn't for his incessant pacing; he's nervous, obviously, and pacing somehow makes him feel better. She doesn't understand how, but she does watch him from the dusty old chair she's claimed as her own. Occasionally, he stops, sneaking a glance in her direction that he doesn't think she sees, but she always does. It's a perk of being a detective, she decides; she notices the small details, and maybe this one isn't so bad.

They're both exhausted, but not tired enough to fight over who sleeps where. She's pretty sure he knows that sharing a bed of any kind is completely off limits, but she knows better than to expect he'll try to convince her to go that way. She's frankly scared of sleeping on the chair - it's comfortable enough and, yes, she's had worse, but her mind is telling her horror stories of bacteria that might be living there. She's positive his bed isn't much better, but she isn't going to take it.

There's nowhere else to sleep.

After what seems to be forever, Holder suddenly stops his incessant pacing, shoves his hands into his pockets, and disappears. She turns to look at him, but he's already down the hallway and out of sight. A still swinging door is the only clue as to where he'd disappeared to; she immediately realizes he was probably in his bedroom. Sleeping. Just like she should be.

Linden is incredibly surprised when he appears a few minutes later, his arms around a huge bundle that looks like blankets and pillows. She raises an eyebrow at him but decides not to ask, preferring to watch as he carefully sets things up in the open space between the chairs and the wall. He doesn't even offer her a smile, though he does glance at her occasionally, as if unsure of what he's doing. Two blankets are laid across the floor, accompanied by two rather ugly pillows, by the time he's emptied his arms. Though she expects he's done, he disappears back into his bedroom and reappears with one more blanket - this one, thankfully, looked cleaner than the rest - which he proceeds to drape across one of the chairs and tack to the wall in multiple places. When he's done, there's a strangely boyish grin on his face that she's never seen before.

"Holder," Linden asks, barely able to keep back her own smile, "what, exactly, is this?"

"You need somewhere to sleep, right?" He looks a little bit lost, glancing between her and the makeshift fort. "I know you won't take my bed, Linden, and I ain't putting you on the floor. Well, I am, but…" He actually stops and blushes, which she finds far more entertaining than his construction. Sighing, Holder rolls his eyes at himself, points to the fort, and says, "This is the best I can offer you. We can - we can share the floor."

She raises an eyebrow. "Why don't I just sleep on the floor and you sleep in your bed?"

"Because," he deadpans, "all my blankets are on the floor, and I don't want to freeze, y'know?"

Linden looks as though she's seriously considering leaving - which actually does upset him - before her solemn face breaks into the tiniest of smiles. He can't help but smile with her; it's been a long, hard day, filled with rage and stupidity, but they're on the fast track to righting things. Righting themselves, anyway. Instead of answering him, she nimbly climbs down from her chair and settles under one of the blankets, though she does move back quite a bit to give him space. She may be getting used to him as a partner, but she doesn't want to inadvertently end up too close, especially when she's supposed to be planning a wedding.

That's when it hits her: Rick should've called. But, before she can really think about it, Holder's removed his hoodie and haphazardly falls down to his side of the blanket. Thankfully, he also pushes himself quite far away from her. After an awkward second, he snorts and says, "Y'know, it woulda been the same if we'd shared a bed."

"Yeah, but it's the principle behind it," she offers. "Floor - fort - is better than bed."

Holder shrugs, and she quirks an eyebrow before declaring, "No funny stuff, Holder. I came here to get closure for Rosie's family, not to get taken advantage of."

"Wait, you mean you didn't come back because you wanted a piece of this?" He grins, but it disappears when she glares. "A'right, Lin-den, I can keep my hands to myself. No problems."

She rolls her eyes at him, and his smiling face is the last thing she sees before unconsciousness takes hold.

It's odd, but they've never really felt like partners before. Now, laying just inches away on a dirty floor, their bond is stronger than ever, and he's glad for it.

Secretly, so is she.