Author's Note: Angst. Angst. Review. Let me know someone out there reads this.

Chapter Four: Secrets

Vaughan was sitting once again in the conference room, sulking and listening to Michael. Angie was sitting across from him, in rapt attention. Pease, as was becoming the old man's habit, was absent. And only adding to his sour attitude was the cause for the meeting, it made Vaughan feel traitorous and backstabbing. He felt like a conspirator, plotting against his Caesar.

He was sure there was some place in hell for people who spied on their boss.

"In the cutthroat, oh-so-exciting world of antique dealing, the Farrell clan- Olivia and two sons: Colm and Philip-are new fish. All we have on them are about thirty years old, all pretty standard, and with the just right amount of angst and melodrama that works for the Irish." Michael deadpanned before rolling his eyes, and pushing on. "Olivia got some money from a private corporation to relocate in London. The move was involving the Troubles. No mention of a husband or child payments, so we think Daddy was killed during that time. He could have been anything from an Ulster, Provo or even constable for all we know…records from Ireland at that time are spotty at best. Son Philip was said to be a victim of one of the attacks: our fault, not the terrorists. He's a little unwell…and simple. Reclusive almost. Olivia dotes on him."

"And the other son?" Vaughan was staring at the file before him in his usual stony expression. "Colm. What do we have about him?"

"Yes…well. Colm is more cosmopolitan. He's done more then a few jobs for Bonham's but unlike he told you, he wasn't an auditor. He was a buyer. His pet hobby are coins, but he also dealt with unique artifacts…" Michael grimaced. This part he'd be willing to avoid. "Occult stuff from…indigenous peoples."

Angela had smelled his discomfort and caught on. She sat up a little, watching him coolly. "From where?"

"The Americas. Brazil."

Now even Vaughan tensed but eased in a nonchalant reply. "Could mean anything."

"It could, but probably doesn't. See, Colm was in Latin America when Hoyle was about causing his little fires. Now Brazil's a big place though, so don't delve too much into it…however, when Colm got back he quit Bonham's and began to pour money into his mom's shop. Despite being so small and unassuming Olivia's little place has gotten quite a reputation of carrying and transporting items all over the world in discretion. Colm does most of this business, and he's been investigated a few times for illegal stuff- pretty standard in the art business…no charges."

"Do we have cause to suspect Code V involvement?" Angie chirped.

"Do we ever let that stop us?" Michael cooed.

"See if you can find anything more about Colm's dealings in Brazil. If he worked for Bonham they had to have records. See if you can find out if he did any work around where we know Hoyle was."

"Aye ma'am."

"Are you going to tell Pearse?" Vaughan asked, easily. His eyes never once left the page before him.

There was a long pregnant pause between the three of them, but it was Michael who spoke first. "He does have a right to know what we're doing. I don't like going behind the man's back…" then there was the only softest of gazes at Vaughan. "again. And if this is something involving the Code V's…shouldn't he know before he gets hurt?"

"Pearse can handle himself in a fight."

Michael paused again, and seemed to shrink somehow. Vaughan sunk into his chair. It had been his personal maxim to never broach uncomfortable subjects with her. The woman had had too much pain for his brash mannerisms to harass. Michael, however, did not seem to have those qualms. He was a cop, though. They were use to harassing pain. The best answers came in those dark moments. "I didn't mean like that…"

Angie fixed in him in the darkness of glares. Vaughan had been on the receiving of the stare once or twice in his life and never wanted to see it again. This one burned, for two reasons: one because it meant Angie was hurting and he was powerless to fix it, and two because it was for Pearse that she hurt.

And he was powerless to fix it.

He could feel Michael's eyes on him, begging him to help him be the voice of reason. Vaughan stared down at the paper. He could not interfere. It hurt too much. He could hear Michael sigh and push on. "Come on, Ang. A blind man could see how Pearse's been the past week with Olivia. He's happy."

"He's found a confidant," Angie began easily, in the manner she would speak of blood samples and lab reports. "He's never been sick before…"

"He's dying." Vaughan flinched. Angie continued to stare into the corner. Only Michael had the will to continue. "And she's lost someone." He stopped then, and softened. "it wouldn't be the first time lost has birthed something more…"

"He's a priest, goddamnit."

"He's a man who's dying alone."

"He's not alone!" Angie hissed angrily.

"Everyone dies alone." Michael finished coolly. He remained quiet for a long time, trying desperately to keep whatever was on his mind firmly behind his teeth. He failed miserably. Pushing his papers together, he rose from the table again and all but ran to the door. "And he's going to one thing that's isn't reminding him of that! If you're right, she's also the one thing that makes it not matter- for a moment. Do you think he ever forgets it? Do you?"

Olivia watched Pearse twist in his sleep. The medication designed to make his body push on rather then surrender made his slumber fitful and nervous, and despite his clothing, she could feel his body warm against hers. It had been a long time since she had shared her bed with a man. But despite that, and the distance she knew existed between him and her, how right this felt struck her. This could have been a happy little family; Olivia found her thinking before she had time to dismiss the dream.

She moved slightly, and Pearse moaned in his sleep but kept his eyes shut. He maneuvered his arms around her waist and curled just enough to rest his head on her stomach.

Olivia swallowed and tensed.

"It's late." She told him, quietly.

"No it's not."

"The sun's out. You're already late for work, and then your friends will really hate me if I keep you."

"I can miss one day." Pearse continued. His voice was thick with sleep, and slow in formulating the words. She smiled. She braved reaching over and brushing the hair around his ear, tracing the streak of gray till it disappeared into his dark hair. He smiled, and cocked his head, folding his cheek and jaw into the palm of her hand.

She stared at his neck.

"I know." Pearse said suddenly and brightly, even though his eyes remained shut. Olivia could almost imagine him smiling, even though the man never smiled at anything but cruel irony. "We shall play a game. You do like games."

"A game, father?"

"A game." He intoned, ignoring his title, as he had never done before. She shivered and looked away. "What sort of game?"

"If I did, you would." He continued. "I'll begin. 'If I told you I've never been happier, you would…"

"Smile but know you were lying." She replied, softly. She stared at the wall, and the curtains that hid the sun. Her body trembled. "If I told you, you had important things to attend to at work…"

"I would say there's nothing important enough to tear me from here right now." He whispered. "If I asked if you wanted me to leave…"

"I would say no…" She turned and stared at his profile. "If I asked you to stay with me."

"I would agree."

"Forever."

Pearse laughed sleepily. He shifted, and hugged her tighter. "Forever. There's a concept I'm familiar with…"

"Me too."

There was a pause.

"If I agreed to forever?" He asked softly.

Olivia swallowed, fingers reaching down and grazed his neck. She continued to watch him for a long time. She could feel the pulse of his heart beating softly under her fingertips. She glanced to the table beside the bed and the peppering of pill bottles. Occasionally during the night, he had coughed and forced air into his lungs: and she, both ignorant and painfully aware of those mundane tasks, had known it was futile in the long run because of the silent virus that curled through his veins and blood.

Sighing, she pushed him till he rolled over, and rebuked her. "Hey!"

She was downstairs before he had the chance to sit up. "I'll make you breakfast, then off to work with you."

"Olivia?"

"Don't forget to take your pills, Pearse." She called back. "All of them."