Written to the musical score of…

'Broken Mirrors', Chromatics

Rick got dressed and Michonne put some clothes on, too.

She walked him to her front door, and his phone started buzzing in his back pocket as they reached the end of the foyer. He ignored it, knowing that the second he stepped out, he would be going to work.

He wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed with her, and he leaned into her, unable to keep his thoughts from controlling his body. "Can I see you again?"

Michonne didn't think she'd ever get over his voice, or that accent. Or those eyes. She nodded.

"Tonight?" He insisted. He knew she was being watched over, and that she wouldn't have to go into work today, making her vulnerable out in the open. But he didn't like the idea of being away from her all day.

Michonne couldn't wait to see him again. "Okay. I'll cook."

Rick kissed her lips a few times before letting her go, reaching into his pocket to retrieve his phone as she stepped out of his arms and opened the door. He backed up over the threshold and nodded awkwardly. "I'll see you tonight, then."

"Rick?"

He paused, standing on the porch in the sunlight. It was only around eight or nine in the morning, but it was already shaping up to be a hot ass day. Michonne stood in the cool shade of her foyer, leaning against the door, her shapely body tucked in a pair of tight, denim, high-waisted jeans. Her dark skin glowed gorgeously in a pale blue, pinstriped button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

His squinted over at her and swallowed down another swell of desire. "Yeah?"

"Thank you."

He felt he ought to be the one thanking her. She had no idea how lonely he'd been before she fed him breakfast in her kitchen.

There she was standing there, sexier and more intriguing than ever, especially as he was getting to know more about her. He hoped she'd let him spend much more time with her. He was already addicted to her.

"Anything you need, Michonne." He told her seriously, and turned to walk back to his house - headed to work.

He heard Michonne closing and locking the door behind him, and looked up to see the agents still parked across the street, this time in a different spot.

Somewhat satisfied, Rick finally looked at his phone as he made his way up his driveway and into his house. The blinds were closed, and it was still dark inside, making it blessedly cool against the rapidly descending summer heat.

He had missed four calls from Jessie. He immediately called her back, pacing in his kitchen, smelling Michonne all over his shirt and hands.

"Rick?" Jessie answered with a muffled hiss. He sighed hard at her tone. It was early in the morning, she was probably trying to get ready for work, and she'd been calling him all night. "Thanks for getting back to me."

The bite in her voice made him wince. Okay. Yeah. She was pissed. "Sorry, Jessie…" he attempted, making his voice conciliatory. "I got hung up last night, a neighbor of mine had a break-in."

There was silence for a moment as Jessie accepted his excuse, and when she spoke next her voice was much kinder. Much more like the Jessie he was used to, though she sounded pretty tired, herself. "Well, I hope no one got hurt."

"No, I got there in time. She's safe and sound now."

There was another bout of silence. "Oh. Of course you did, Rick. You're just a regular white knight in shining armor." And then: "Look, I got the information you wanted on those plates."

"Oh that's great, Jessie, thanks." He replied gratefully, glad to move on. That was exactly what he'd been hoping for. He stalked up the stairs in his hallway and immediately went to his favorite window once he'd crossed into his bedroom.

Jessie hesitated again, and he heard her messing around in her kitchen. No doubt her boys would be up soon. Rick didn't exactly want to have to listen to the sounds of her teenaged boys in the background, alive, growing, giving their mother hell. He didn't like the reluctance in Jessie's voice, either.

"What did you find?" He asked seriously, peering through his blinds to see Michonne cleaning up the dishes from their breakfast, smiling faintly to herself. He didn't intrude on her any longer, turning from the window to pay attention to Jessie again.

"The plates, Rick. They were stolen." He nodded to the shadows in his bedroom, figuring as much. "But...they don't belong to the car you described. And actually...uh...well, they're from King County."

Rick felt a brick land in his gut. "What was the name, Jessie?" He asked darkly.

When she spoke next, that brick sank further down his insides, and he stumbled back to sink down into the chair at the window table. "Rosita Espinosa. I looked her up."

She didn't need to tell him what else she'd found. He knew it already. He knew that name. He dreaded the sheer turmoil in Jessie's voice. He'd been obsessively looking for those plates, or the car attached to it, two years ago. Rosita was the -

" - first girl that went missing back in King County." Jessie's hushed voice interrupted (and confirmed) his fear. "One of the girls in that case you were working on."

Rick leaned back and ran a hand through his hair, dumbfounded. How had this crept up on him? Suddenly, after the amazing morning he'd had with Michonne, his mind was all foggy again. "Are you sure?" He growled, gripping the phone in his other hand.

"Yeah. I'm sure. I'm sorry." She confirmed again, sounding contrite. Then her voice stiffened as she continued: "And this has to be the last time, Rick. I can't help you anymore."

Rick crushed his eyes shut. How? How did those plates end up attached to this case? On the car that ran Amy Jones down a year ago? What the fuck was going on? He didn't even acknowledge Jessie's words. His mind was reeling. The thing that bothered him more was why this was considered a cold case. And furthermore, why the Atlanta P.D. was acting so hostile about him checking it out.

"Rick? Did you hear me?" Jessie cut into his thoughts again, sounding impatient now. "Rick?"

He needed answers. He needed help. Help he apparently wasn't going to get from Jessie Anderson anymore.

"Yeah, Jessie. I heard you." He rubbed his chin, feeling stubble developing. "I understand. Thanks for everything, okay?"

"Okay. Sure. I hope...I hope everything works out." He heard the sounds of her boys entering the room with her, and was glad when she muttered a hasty goodbye and hung up.

Rick sat in his chair for a long while, his mind still buzzing with what he'd just been told. He knew that something was pulling him toward this case, but he'd thought it was just the similarities between it and what happened to his family. Shaking off his shock, Rick stood up and dumped his phone on his table, headed to take a shower and think.

He needed someone on the inside to help him do some digging. That person wasn't going to be Jessie, and she'd get caught anyway. She didn't rank high enough or really have the gumption for the kind of dirty work Rick needed. He needed someone he could trust. Someone with steel nerves. Someone who knew the ins and outs of these kinds of cases.

Rick showered, his mind going back to the past. Someone who had experience with the very case he needed looking into. More dread gathered over him like a storm cloud as Rick got dressed in stony silence, already having made his decision while he'd been brushing his teeth.

He just didn't want to do it. With everything in him, he didn't want to call Shane Walsh.

Feeling all the warm, excited feelings from his time with Michonne slowly draining from his mood like sand from an hourglass, Rick slipped on his boots and stalked over to his table again. He picked up his phone and looked through his contacts until he came to Shane's name and number.

Knowing his old friend, that number was still his.

Rick dialed. After what felt like forever of hollow, dull ringing, Shane picked up. "Yeah, who's this?"

Rick took a deep breath and said matter-of-factly: "It's Rick."

There was very weighty pause, during which Rick might have stopped breathing all together. Come on, man he silently urged.

"Holy fuckin shit. Rick? Are you…" Shane was breathing hard, probably pacing around his bedroom, knowing him. Rick could hear the relief and emotion flooding his voice. "Are you fuckin' kidding me? Goddamned it, boy, it's been a YEAR!"

Rick winced and held the phone away from his ear, fighting off a smile. Shane could still yell like the devil, and his mouth was just as foul as ever. "Yeah, it's me."

Shane finally calmed down and got serious, though he was still pacing across the length of his bedroom. "Where've you been? You have no idea…" His voice shuddered, and Rick knew he was holding back tears. "I thought I'd never see you again, you selfish, crazy, depressed son-of-a-bitch!"

Rick laughed in earnest this time, and he found himself feeling better about calling. The past threatened to skewer him at any moment, but he was keeping it together okay. He had no choice. "I've been in Atlanta. And I'm not callin' to catch up, Shane."

Finally, he could tell that Shane had stopped pacing and was standing still. "What is it?"

The disgraced former sheriff's deputy shifted on his feet, placing a hand on his hip. "I need your help. I've been...workin' on a case."

"Jesus…" Shane breathed, sounding disappointed and nervous. "Still, Rick? You're still out chasin' ghosts?"

"You gonna shut up and listen to me? Or are we gonna make it another year before we speak again?" Rick growled, glaring at his window.

Shane grunted and rubbed his chin. "You know what? Sure. I'll listen to what you have to say. In person."

"What?" Rick drawled. Shit, he thought. This was exactly what he'd been dreading.

"You heard me, you stubborn prick." Shane doubled down. "Gimme an address. I'm comin' up to Atlanta, or there's no deal."

Rick clenched his jaw. Shane was the stubborn one here. But he needed his old friend, no matter how much he hated having to wade into the past to solve a mystery that was getting bigger and murkier by the day.

"All right. Grab a pen."

Michonne was proud of herself for managing not to look up through her windows every fifteen seconds.

If Rick was watching, she didn't want to know. It still gave her goosebumps to think of him over there, standing in his dark house that sat a little higher on the hill than hers. Watching her. Looking out for her. As silent and serious as always.

She cleaned her dishes and made a fresh, hot cup of coffee. Hercules made an appearance again as Michonne made her way up her stairs to the hall closet. She unlocked the safe that contained her gun and removed it, loading it and carrying it into her bedroom.

She put it into the drawer of her nightstand, smiling to herself when she saw that there were still three condoms left.

Then she called Sasha.

"Holy fuck, Michonne." Sasha uttered sharply, alarm coating her voice when Michonne had told her what happened. "Are you okay? What about Andre?"

"I'm fine. Andre's safe. The cops and the FBI are protecting us." She reassured her friend, curling up in her armchair. "Rick, my neighbor...he saved my life, Sasha."

"Wow." Sasha said quietly, seeming to be thinking of what else to say. "How'd he know? It sounds like he got there just in time."

Michonne hesitated. "He…" she shrugged slowly to no one, her eyes watching Hercules curl up on her bed. "He heard me scream, he says. He gave me a ride home and he was just going to bed, himself."

"He gave you a ride home?" Sasha pressed, her voice full of suspicion. Of course she was focusing on that.

"Yes. He gave me a ride." Michonne didn't explain any further, not wanting to lead Sasha deeper down whatever trail she thought she was following to some big revelation about Rick.

Her eyes drifted to her closet. The doors were wide open. The sun was shining. But she couldn't help picturing the man in black standing there, right where he was last night, glaring at her through his ski mask.

"It was really scary, Sash." She admitted. "The guy was in my house. I didn't even know it, until it was almost too late. All these years of being so careful…" Michonne shook her head, frustrated with herself. "And one slip up almost gets me killed. Puts my son in danger."

"It's my fault." Sasha offered guiltily, her attitude softening. "I shouldn't have forced you to get so drunk on a work night."

"It's not your fault, okay? He was coming for me anyway. He'd have found a way...Negan always does."

"You want me to come over?" Sasha spoke up more urgently, not liking the defeated, haunted tone of Michonne's voice one little bit. "I'm coming over."

"Okay." Michonne gave in easily, missing her friend, feeling lonely without Andre. Or Rick.

"Gimme a little while to see if I can get my shift covered, and I'm there. Don't drown yourself in the bathtub you hear me?"

Michonne laughed out loud, horrified, realizing that she'd been crying.

"Shut up. Just get your ass over here."

They hung up and Michonne took a deep breath, wiping her face. Her phone rang in her hand. It was Carol.

Two years ago, on another hot ass day in King County, Sheriff's Deputies Rick Grimes and Shane Walsh arrive at the train tracks along an off road near the highway.

They stand at the top of the hill leading down to the tracks. Rick takes off his hat to peer down into the large, hollow, makeshift gully that freight and oil trains use to pass through here day in and day out.

In the distance, on the other side of the tracks, dumped in a ditch, is the body of Rosita Espinosa.

A bunch of kids had been fuckin' around down here, cutting class, when they stumbled upon her mangled remains.

"They're down at the station gettin' their parents called right now. Already got their statements. They were chasin' after a hacky sack or some shit," Shane informs his partner, spitting to the gravel beneath their boots. "Found her just like that." He snaps his fingers, causing Rick to squint over at him. "Stupid kids. Coulda gotten themselves crushed on these damn tracks."

"How long she been missing?" Rick asks to remind himself, repositioning his hat on top of his thick, short hair and beginning the careful step-and-slide down the hill.

Shane follows after him, chewing on a piece of gum to stave of the nausea he usually gets from being around dead bodies. "Almost five months. No tellin' how long she's been down in that ditch. Those Forensics boys ain't here yet."

They finally make it to the crime scene, and Rick fights down a wave of sadness for the girl as they get closer to her final resting place. She is lying on her stomach, and although she is fully clothed, there is a fragment of what looks like women's underwear lying haphazardly in a bush near her body. Probably her underwear. It's an odd detail to an altogether tragic case.

No sign of her car. No tracks around the body. Nothing. Her plates are being tracked in a wide sweeping search, but so far they have no leads. Rick doesn't know it now, but they'll never find her killer.

He notices that Rosita, her eyes closed in eternal peace, her lips pale and ashen, has a small cut on her cheek. His stomach churns. What the fuck did this psycho do to this poor girl?

After taking note of everything on the scene, Rick and Shane sit in their cruiser at the top of the hill again, waiting for Forensics, reeling from it all.

This is a small town. Shit like this just doesn't happen in King County. Not only this, but another girl has gone missing in the five months since Rosita. They have serious work to do, and his small sheriff's office is already starting to struggle under the pressure to get this solved. The press are so far up their asses, half their time is spent fielding calls instead of searching for clues.

Rick takes off his hat and sighs, shaking his head. "This is bad. Lori's never gonna let me hear the end of it."

Shane nods, eyeing his partner with one hand resting on the steering wheel. "You know how she is, man. She worries about you out here, that's all."

The older man scoffs, clenching his jaw, but tries to hear his friend out. Shane is always defending Lori, and that's one of the things he both hates and appreciates about their cruiser talks. He doesn't know that Rick and his wife have started to fight more and more lately, and not just about him working so much. He decides to clue his best friend in a little. "She wants to feel safe, secure. She wants a normal, happy life. She wants all this to go away and to have me come home at a decent hour." He gazes through his windshield, where he can see the homicide team swirling around the crime scene down the hill like bees. "But she has no idea what it takes to achieve all that. And she resents me for it."

He thinks about the resentment in Lori's eyes. He sees it more and more lately. Resentment and loneliness. He didn't think it was possible for two people to be so lonely while married to one another. But he does now.

"She always wants me to talk about it. 'Speak, Rick! Say somethin'!' she says, all the time." He smiles bitterly, lost in thought. "Speak...she doesn't wanna hear what I see out here, day in and day out." His raspy drawl rises as he finds himself righteously angry. His wife cannot understand how hard he is trying to please her, and keep her firmly away from the mental, emotional, physical hell of being a cop. "But there's nothin' I can say to convince her of that."

Shane is silent. Rick knows he doesn't much know what to say, either. He's a bachelor and an easy-going kinda guy. He could never get tied down in the kind of domestic swamp Rick sometimes has to navigate through to keep his marriage alive.

"What about Carl? How's he dealin' with all this?"

Rick rubs his chin. "I think he's still with me. Truth is, with his school and baseball and this fuckin' case, I don't get to see him much. Another thing Lori's pissed at me for."

Sometimes Rick feels like he's holding the world on his shoulders and a breeze is gonna knock the whole thing down any moment. Shane reaches over and squeezes Rick's shoulder. "Let's solve this thang, man. Then we can work on fixin' your god-awful marriage."

They both laugh, and Rick punches at his friend's arm, glad for one moment of lightheartedness in all this gloom.

What they don't know is that Rick will never have the opportunity to fix his marriage. Not even close.

Rick was sitting in his Bronco, in the parking lot of the Funtime Bowling alley off the Buford highway.

It was still early so the place hadn't even opened yet. The parking lot was deserted. Shane was due any minute now. Rick had been parked there, off to the side of the building, for about half an hour. He held a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, smoking a cigarette out of his rolled down window with the other.

He was thinking of Michonne.

He almost didn't want to change shirts after his shower. He enjoyed the smell of her all over him. He'd only been apart from her for a couple of hours, but already he missed the hell out of her. He hadn't felt like this in a really long time. He found himself wanting to call her, but he had no idea what he would say.

He wasn't a teenager. He would sit on his desire, letting it hum inside him, until he could see her again. That was all there was to it. Until he could touch her soft skin again, and kiss her sweet lips, and smell her enticing smell, he would just have to focus on the job at hand and get on with it.

Speaking of the job, Rick snapped out of his thoughts when he noticed the King County Sheriff's Department cruiser pulling into the bowling alley parking lot.

He watched it advance slowly, instantly recognizing Shane's silhouette sitting in the driver's seat. He wasn't wearing his sheriff's hat, but he had on his aviators. Rick tossed his cigarette and opened the door of his truck, stepping out onto the blacktop in the shade of the building.

Shane parked and sat there staring straight ahead at the brick wall for a moment, taking a deep breath. Then he turned and got out of the car, leaving the door open, one leg propped up against the side. He peered over the top of the cruiser at his long lost best friend, and took off his sunglasses.

"Rick." His eyes were shining, but he didn't cry.

Rick nodded, swallowing, feeling the same. "Hey, Shane. It's been a long time."

"Too fuckin' long, brother." Shane declared, walking determinedly now around the front of the cruiser and barrelling into Rick with a big bear hug. "Goddamn, I'm so glad to see, you man!" He mumbled emotionally into Rick's shoulder, clapping him about the back and neck.

Rick accepted the hug, even giving Shane's neck an affectionate squeeze in return. They rested their foreheads against each other's, their eyes closed. "Me, too. I...I didn't think you'd wanna see me, but I'm glad you came."

Shane gave Rick one last squeeze and stepped back, sniffing and wiping his face. "Of course I came. I been worried sick about ya." He gestured to the parking lot at large, his jaw stiffening with a mixture of anger and anguish. "What the fuck did you go off and disappear for? We coulda worked it out, Rick."

Rick shook his head immediately, not raising his voice but making it clear that he did not intend to rehash the past, all the same. "No. Things turned out the way they needed to. Let's leave it at that. All right?"

Shane stood with his hands on his hips, looking like he wanted to argue. But he bit back his retort and nodded stiffly. After a pause in which they could hear the cars driving by on the highway in the distance, he jerked his head to the cruiser. "Get in, let's talk about what I'm here for, then."

Rick watched his best friend saunter around the front of the cruiser again. Shane looked almost exactly the same, except for some new lines around his eyes and a few errant gray hairs in his stubble. Rick imagined he probably looked a lot older by now. He had a lot more gray hair than Shane probably ever would, for one.

He got in the passenger seat and they closed their doors almost in sync, like in the old days. Rick found his ass fit down into the worn out groove of the passenger seat like the old days, too. It even smelled like he remembered - a mixture of coffee, leather, sweat, sun heat, and metal. That smell that only a police cruiser got from all the activity it saw; from its history.

It disturbed and comforted him, how familiar all this shit was. He shook off his nostalgia.

"When the hell are you gonna get a new cruiser?" Rick grunted, grinning over at his friend. Shane rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you're hangin' onto it for sentimental value."

"Fuck you, all right? Naw, I'm not hangin' onto it for sentimental value." The younger cop repeated Rick's words in a sarcastic sing-song, turning the engine on so he could roll down the windows. "If you're gonna be a prick, you should know funding's near-bout dried up down there. We're strugglin' man. We had to let a couple good guys go, too. Guys with families." Shane sighed, looking over at Rick seriously now.

Rick felt deja vu hit him again. He was as familiar with this exact look and position from Shane as he was with his own heartbeat. How many times had they sat like this in parking lots, in the cruiser, talkin' shit?

"What's goin' on, Shane?" He asked, despite not wanting to know.

"We haven't really recovered since you left." Shane shrugged sadly. "Since that goddamned case. The press ate us alive." Rick nodded, thinking. Shane moved on quickly, not wishing to raise Rick's hackles again by going too deep into the past. "So...how are you, man? You look like you aged a shit ton." They both chuckled, and Rick accepted the ribbing. Shane leaned back to study his old friend more thoughtfully. "But you look like bein' away's done you some good, too, maybe. Please tell me I'm right."

Rick thought of Michonne again. He found himself nodding slowly. "You're kinda right. It hasn't been easy, but I think things are turnin' around. Shit's still complicated, though."

Shane watched him, a slow grin developing. "Is that sex hair, then? Come on buddy...come on, you old dog, give it up!"

Rick laughed, floored by Shane's ability to peg him so perfectly. He'd completely forgotten. Or rather...he'd sort of blocked it out. It was painful, not having a best friend anymore. They'd grown up together. They were practically brothers. They'd been partners who saw each other every day, knew each other's lives intimately, would fight and die for each other.

He decided to relax a little, just for a minute, and ease back into their old routine again. He'd missed it.

So he gave it up.

"Yeah...there's a woman. My neighbor. She's...she's amazing."

Shane watched the look of dark lust cross Rick's face and grinned wider. "Good for you, brother. How come we couldn't meet at your place? I'd love to meet her."

Rick didn't answer, and Shane instantly realized why. They looked each other in the eyes across the small distance between their seats. Their reunion wasn't permanent. Rick had called him here for a specific purpose. He'd always been a forthright guy, Shane remembered. When he'd said he hadn't called to catch up, he meant it. That included letting anyone from his past know anything about where he lived, or how he lived, or who he associated with, aside from basic, untraceable details.

The younger man's heart sank, but he simply let the truth sink into the air.

Rick tried to lighten the mood once again. He still needed Shane's help.

"I really like her, Shane. A lot. She's a beautiful, incredibly strong woman. All right? That's all you get, you nosey fucker."

"That's really good to hear." Shane spoke after a moment. "I was worried you'd just wither away out here on your own. Why'd you have to go and leave, Rick?"

Okay. He could give his friend this, at least. Fighting off the pain that threatened him, like always, Rick told him the truth. "You saw me right before I left, Shane. I couldn't stay there." He could see that Shane knew exactly what he was talking about. "If I stayed there, I'd have died right along with them, it was just too much." He rasped, hoping that it would be enough and they could move on.

"All right, buddy. All right." Shane sighed hard again, clapping his friend empathetically on the shoulder. "So what's this all about? What am I out here for?"

"You're out here cause you're a manipulative asshole, but...I need your help."

Shane scoffed and smirked, but sat back and listened. It was Rick's turn to get serious.

"That case we were workin' on, Shane…the one that drove me off the force. I think...I think I just found out that it's connected to the case I'm workin' right now." There was dead silence as Shane blinked and the color drained from his cheeks. "I'm trackin' a missing girl, Amy Jones. She's been missing since I left King County. At first I thought - well her sister thought - it was sex traffickers. But now I ain't so sure.

"It seemed like just a coincidence, but this mornin' I found out the plates on the car that belongs to whoever took her came from King County." Shane's lips parted, but he didn't speak. He looked absolutely scandalized. "They belonged to Rosita Espinosa, Shane." Rick shook his head, as if shaking it clear of a dense fog. "I thought...it couldn't be. I should've recognized those plates. But you know Jessie Anderson?"

Shane cleared his throat, snapping himself out of his shock. "Yeah. She...she got let go last year. Left her husband, moved on out. Just like you."

Rick blinked. Jessie never told him she moved because she was let go. He kept on: "Well, she works for Atlanta P.D. now. She traced 'em back to Rosita for me. But she can't help me anymore. She's riskin' her job. That's why I need you."

"Fuck me." Shane groaned, crushing his eyes shut and leaning his head of thick black hair against his steering wheel. "You can't be serious. Do you hear what you're sayin' to me, man?" He sat upright again and glared over at Rick. It was his turn to be forbidding, now. "What the fuck, Rick? You're chasin' ghosts again!"

"That is not what this is." Rick growled. "Someone had her plates. Rosita Espinosa's plates. Not some random local. That ain't a coincidence. Someone used them to confuse the police. And someone is covering his tracks, Shane. Use your fuckin' gut for once!"

They glared at each other. Rick continued.

"This could be him. He could be keeping her somewhere. Or she's dead already and he's plannin' his next one. You know what I'm talkin' about."

"Yeah, or it could be nothin' like that at all." Shane breathed, his face still pale. "You could be just as paranoid and obsessed as you used to be. Maybe Atlanta hasn't done your ass any good, Rick, ever stop to think o'that?"

"They are Rosita's plates, Shane." Rick reached into his back jeans pocket and pulled out a printed photo of the road Amy Jones disappeared on a year ago. The black truck was a dark streak zooming across the frame. The plates had just caught the light as the photo was captured. The numbers were visible. "The police had this information all along and they did nothing. I wanna know why. And I wanna know how deep this shit goes." He leaned forward, getting right in his friend's face. Looking him square in the eyes. "We vowed to catch this guy, Shane. Now it's possible he's taken another girl. Please. Help me prove this isn't what I think it is."

He watched as Shane studied the photo in silence. Finally, he folded it again and slipped it into the shirt pocket of his uniform. "All right. I'll look into it. Let you know what I find."

Rick felt relief flood him, and he nodded gratefully, leaning back in the worn-in leather seat again. "Thank you."

Shane put on his aviators again, only able to offer a tight nod. "Boy, I hope this is nothin'."

"To tell you the truth, I hope it's nothin' too. It was good to see you, Shane." Rick said, opening the passenger door and climbing out of the cruiser. "Call me when you've got news."

Shane watched him go, then rolled down his window and called out to him, one last time. "Hey, Rick do yourself a favor and go surprise that incredibly strong lady of yours, all right? You're less of an asshole when you get laid, remember?"

Rick found himself grinning widely, turning on his heel as he backed up toward his truck. It felt easy and right, having Shane taunt him like he used to. "Yeah, I remember."

"So, put on a decent shirt, bring her some flowers, and wipe that sad ass look off your face, will ya? Has The Beast taught you nothin'? If you're gonna be a bachelor, you gotta act like one, brother!"

Rick laughed good naturedly at Shane's ridiculous old nickname, and just like that, all was forgiven - their past, their estrangement. Shane used to be a stone cold ladies man, and Rick the shy family man. They fell into their roles easily, now. They made a great team, once upon a time. They trusted each other and had each other's backs. It was good to know that it was still the case, after all this time.

"Yeah, yeah. Just call me." Rick gave his friend a salute, then turned and made his way the final few steps to his Bronco. His heart clenched as he said goodbye again to the familiar sight of Shane in the cruiser.

Shane watched Rick drive off first, waiting until he was a good distance away before he pulled the photograph he'd been given from his shirt pocket. He unfolded it again and stared down at it, his hands trembling with fear and rage.

How. In. The. Fuck?

He let the photo fall open, glaring up at him accusatorily in his lap as reached into his other shirt pocket to retrieve his cell phone. He sat in his cruiser and dialed, scooting down in the seat, hot with anxiety.

What the fuck were they gonna do? How did Rick find this out? Why hadn't he kept tabs on Jessie Anderson?!

The Master picked up after three rings, his voice as low and deadly as ever. "Why are you calling me at this number?"

Shane shook off the huge chill hearing his master's cold, deep southern drawl caused him. He surged ahead, letting the truth spill from his lips. "We got a problem. Rick found somethin' out. It ain't good."