Author's Note: Yes. I'm still working on this one. And we're getting to the more exciting bits…

Also, rereading what I've already written/posted, this still is going to take place about when I started it for the sake of consistency, about mid-season one, pre-Savannah whanot.

Sidney Vincent was a tall man, with mocha colored skin, and dark eyes that held a jovial light. It had surprised Merri to find that good-natured personality residing in the ex-con. Ten years in prison would be enough to take the good humor out of the bubbliest of personalities. Hell, Shirley Temple would come out a cranky old bat. A cheerful disposition was the first thing to die in prison, followed by compassion and empathy. But as the man had told his story, she could tell that it wasn't remotely an act. No wonder LaSalle had felt so betrayed, disillusioned, depressed even, when it turned out that his partner had been a dirty cop.

Only, Merri had found herself believing that the man just might be innocent, if her intuition was worth anything at all. Not to mention that of Agent Pride, and perhaps the man who was the most qualified to get a read on the convicted ex-cop, Chris LaSalle. Then again, Pride might be reluctant to involve his agents in matters beyond their jurisdiction. And she couldn't imagine the turmoil and confusion that must be rampant in the younger agent's mind.

Especially now.

And now she'd never have a chance to confirm her initial read on Sidney Vincent, to help LaSalle figure out the truth about his old partner.

No.

They could still get to the bottom of this.

She sighed, closing the dead man's empty, staring eyes before looking up at the shocked, hurt young man crouched on the other side of the body.

"We'll find who did this," she said, reaching out to squeeze LaSalle's arm.

"We gotta clear his name," the agent ground out, the muscles twitching in his clenched jaw, and in the taut bicep beneath her fingers.

"If he's innocent, we'll find the proof."

"Ya think he'd be dead right now if we hadna started pokin' around?" LaSalle gave her that intense look of his that never failed to raise the hairs on the back of her neck. In her career, she'd stared down many criminals, ranging from run-of-the-mill lowlifes to certifiably insane psychopaths. But none of them had possessed anything to compare to Chris LaSalle's poignant, almost primal, and yet intelligent, passionate deep blue stare. "If Sidney'd been guilty, then there wa'n't any reason to kill him now. He ain't never talked. So it couldn't be some partner afraid that he'd bring 'em down. An' the entire stash was seized, so there wouldn't be no reason to come after him for that. He's innocent, Brody. An' I didn' believe 'im. An' now he's dead."

"It's not your-" Merri's attempt to reassure her partner was cut off abruptly by a loud clatter from the back of the house. But they'd cleared the place... hadn't they?

Oh, shit.

She locked eyes with her partner for a moment, as they both reached for their side-arms. They'd stopped by Sidney's place to pick up the file he'd begun putting together, with all of the relevant information he could remember from back during his and LaSalle's vice days, including a list of potential suspects for the crime he'd been convicted of committing, some of which LaSalle had already been tracking down the previous week. There'd been no answer at the door. A check through the filmy curtains covering the front windows... and they'd had probable cause to break down the door.

It had been an unprofessional thing to do, but they had -both of them- succumbed to the shock, dropping to their knees beside the fallen man, scrambling to find a pulse, failing. Why hadn't they had the self-possession to clear the house first?

It was her bad. This man had been LaSalle's friend. It was only natural that Sidney was his first thought.

Her first thought should have been to secure the premises. But it had only been of LaSalle, a man far too young to have such loss and grief in his pretty blue eyes.

Now, now they fell back into their training, into 'federal agent' mode, rising to their feet, signaling to each other without words, communicating the familiar pattern their actions would take using only their eyes and quick, small gestures, the touch of a hand to a shoulder. They efficiently cleared the front two rooms, what must have been a parlor when the house was originally built but was now a sort of makeshift den, and the other an even more sparsely furnished dining room. But, really, why would Sidney Vincent have any belongings? Anything he had, had ended up in his wife's -eventually his ex-wife's… his widow's- possession when he went to prison.

They pushed quickly back, clearing towards the kitchen, and Merri used her multitasking ability to try to analyze the clatter. Had it been metallic? Heavy or light? How far away? And what direction? Which room- There was a loud bang that made her start, despite asserting the firm grip that she'd placed on her fight or flight response, as she always did when in the midst of a raid.

Be rational. Be level-headed.

LaSalle had swung around at the sudden noise, placing his back to the pantry he'd just checked, nodded at Merri, who turned and proceeded out into the hall, where the noise had emerged from. It had sounded rather like, in fact, precisely like a screen door slamming. She felt LaSalle's strong, warm back press against hers, as he covered her six.

She almost sagged in relief, or perhaps defeat, lowering her gun before suggesting they check the second floor next, but then she saw it, through the warped mesh of the screen door.

"LaSalle." She wasn't sure why she was whispering, since the figure was already running as fast as his/her legs could carry him/her from the scene. "Subject. Green jacket. Black pants. Twenty yards out and gaining."

"Go." How the man switched from devastating grief and such wild emotional intensity to cool and collected business-like badassery, was a little bit disturbing, as well as impressive. "I'll try'n' cut 'em off 'round the block."

Merri nodded once, and then she was hastily opening the screen door and running out into a tangled, unkempt yard, weapon trained on the fleeing figure. All evidence indicated that they'd been in the house, that they could be the potential killer, but there were so many other possibilities. There wasn't enough evidence to even just shoot the runner in the leg and put them down. Shoot first. Ask questions later. Not an option.

So instead, she wound her way around the random debitage, old tires, the remnants of a rusty swing set, cement blocks, broken bottles, all dangerously obscured by the tall grass. She had to look down at her feet as much as at the subject she was pursuing, just so she wouldn't trip and impale herself on something. When was the last time she'd had a tetanus booster?

"Federal agent! Stop!" She shouted, the gap closing as the fleeing individual was halted by a tall fence and scrambled to climb it. He... it was a male, thin but apparently wiry, for he did make it up and over the chipboard wall in rather impressive time.

Merri herself hesitated when she stopped a couple feet in front of the actually kind of daunting barrier (considering it was made out of hillbilly siding). Maybe she could find another way around. She'd done her part of pushing the suspect, flushing him out towards LaSalle who should be circling around just about now.

She closed her eyes. Took a breath. Saw Sidney Vincent's smile, full of warmth and geniality despite an unimaginably rough life. Saw his kind eyes. Saw them lifelessly staring.

Setting her jaw, Merri took a couple steps backward, holstering her Glock for the moment, and then ran at the wall, jumping and finding purchase, as well as several splinters in her fingers and the palms of her hands. She wasn't a petite woman, and she was quite glad of her longer limbs at the moment. Actually, she sort of wished she was even taller, as she pulled herself up the last foot and then swung a leg over the top, wincing as a nail caught her thigh, tearing her slacks and her skin.

Guess she definitely was due for that tetanus shot.

Her boots hit the uneven pavement with a thunk, which was shortly echoed by a gun shot that sent her already rapidly beating heart into overdrive.

LaSalle.

She wasn't good enough to tell whether the crack of a firearm discharging belonged to his P228 or another handgun, or even some other weapon, such as a rifle or a shotgun. Maybe in ideal circumstances... But not in these.

Merri could, however, tell where the report came from, and began running down the block towards its source, blood pounding in her ears. And a voice shouting, pleading in her head.

Let LaSalle be okay. She'd only just made up with him. She'd almost lost him, the crazy bastard going off half-cocked, trying to handle problems far too heavy for any one man to shoulder. She wasn't going to lose a member of this... this family that had taken her in.

LaSalle had to be okay. He had to…

A/N: How's that for some excitement? ;-)