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Chapter Eleven

The house was cold when she awoke, lying alone in their bed, the sheets wrapped around her, like a forgotten embrace, the noise of the television drifting in from the living room like a half remembered conversation.

"Danny?"

She got up, out of the bed, shivering as the cold brushed along her slight form, clutching the sheets around her, slipping quickly, quietly through the still unfamiliar house, drawn towards the faint noise.

"Danny?"

No answer, just the canned laughter from the television, echoing through the silence. Harsh and mocking.

"Danny?"

He was sleeping on the couch, still wearing his glasses. Sleeping alone, despite the noise from the television, despite the hard, uncomfortable couch, despite the cold, seeping through the apartment like a distant, forgotten lover.

Sleeping alone.

Alone.

She sighed, leaning against the door frame, watching him sleep, the cold forgotten as she ran her shaking hand through her hair, sudden tears making him blur in her vision.

When had things turned so cold and fragile?

He moved on the couch, struggling to get comfortable, murmuring in his sleep, reaching out his hand…

She stretched out her hand, just as his hand fell back on the couch, a resounding thud like the beating, shattering of her heart. The cold suddenly intense, an almost physical, lonely presence around her.

Laughter echoed again from the television, a horrible canned sound that made her want to stop her ears against the noise.

"Shut up, shut up!"

Her voice was too low, too soft, too desperate to silence the laughter.

He murmured again in his sleep, the sound lost beneath her pleas and the laughter of the television set.

Maybe he was saying her name.

Maybe.

xxxXXXxxx

"Where's Detective Flack?"

"He's dealing with another witness." The uniform cop glanced at his partner, hastily sweeping his hat from his head. "We're here about James Cassidy."

"Yes." Katherine paused, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. "He was badly beaten. By the McCanns."

"How do you know that, Dr. Callaghan?"

"Mr Cassidy told me. I think this might be something to do with the recent escalation down here."

The two cops exchanged glances again, half smiles barely concealed. "It's just another fight between a group of guys who've gotten their loads on, Dr. Callaghan. Nothing for you to worry about."

"Nothing for me to worry about? I'm a Doctor, officer. The health of my patients is something for me to worry about."

"We need to talk to James Cassidy."

She sighed, and stood. "I'll take you to him, now."

xxxXXXxxx

"It's 10am. I'm Detective Don Flack. This is the interview of Sean O'Neill. It's to be noted for the record that Mr. O'Neill has waived his right to have an attorney present during this interview."

Don leaned back, rolling his pen through his fingers, watching Sean across the table. Watching him shift nervously, guiltily, in his seat.

"Who is Michael Caffee?"

O'Neill leaned forward, eager, almost desperate to speak, the words seeming to spill out of him like blood pouring from a cut. "He's an old friend of the Cassidy family. The Auld Man brought him in when Declan got lifted." He laughed, nervously, his voice shaking. "He's a real piece of work, Detective. A real piece of work."

"How close is he in with the Auld Man?"

"Tight." His fingers drummed against the table. "Real tight. He's running everything, took over from Declan. The Auld Man's still in charge, but its Caffee who's calling all the shots."

"He's in charge now?"

"All but name, Detective."

"Who carried out the attack on the witness's house?"

"Caffee and Loughlin." For the first time, a quick nervous smile drifted across O'Neill's face. "You already have Loughlin in custody, don't you, Detective?"

Don ignored the question, glancing at his notebook. "What about McCann's bar?"

"What about it?"

"Someone shot it up real bad, Sean. Who ordered it?"

"The Auld Man."

"Who carried it out?"

"Caffee. I don't know who else was involved with that, I swear to God, Detective. But Caffee would have been there, pulling the trigger."

Cold hearted bastard that he was.

"Where can we find Caffee?"

"I don't know." He swallowed hard, nervously, his world hanging on the brink of destruction. "but I know a man who does."

"Who?"

"The Auld Man."

xxxXXXxxx

"Well?"

Steele sighed heavily, his breath frosting out in the chill air. "The Judge gave us a continuance."

"That's something anyway."

"Give us a chance to try and salvage something from this whole fucking mess." He sighed again, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. "Where are you on the shooting?"

"We're still working on it. There was a lot of evidence at the crime scene to collect and process. We have to do this right. I don't want these bastards to slip away any more than you do."

"Work faster, Detective Taylor."

xxxXXXxxx

She walked quickly into the darkened room, lifting the chart from the bottom of the bed, running her eyes across the orders and diagnosis written there. Glancing up at the man lying in the bed.

He looked so pale, so lifeless, his skin like wax, his hair lank and dark against the hospital pillows. Only the wheeze of the machines, the assisted, slow rise and fall of the machines showed that he was still alive.

"Hello, Doctor."

"Mrs. Potter." Katherine took a last glance at the chart, and reattached it to the bottom of the bed, putting her hands back in the pockets of her white coat. It was cold in the room, the air metallic, tasting of darkness, death and blood. "How are you holding up?"

"I'm okay, thank you, Doctor." The woman smiled, her face almost as pale as her son's, her eyes shrouded with grief and guilt, exhaustion warring with regret. She nodded at the bed. "I think he looks better today."

"He's still in there, fighting." Katherine knelt swiftly next to her, taking the woman's cold, fine boned hand in both of hers. "Do you want me to get a nurse to sit with you?"

"A nurse? No, no. They have better things to do than to sit with me."

"You shouldn't be here by yourself, Mrs Potter."

"Oh I wont be. My husband wont be long. He just had to step out for a business meeting. He's a lawyer, just like Nick."

"Is that right, Mrs Potter?" Still holding her hand, Katherine slid easily into the seat next to her, letting the woman talk, unburden her soul, ease her guilt and her grief.

"Yes." She smiled sadly, proudly, still watching the still, limp figure on the bed. "He wanted Nick to come work with him, but Nick is so stubborn. He wanted to be a trial lawyer. He wanted to stand up in court, and make sure that someone stood up for what was right."

"So he joined the DA's Office?"

"So he joined the DA's Office." The smile stayed, even as the tears slipped slowly, easily down her pale cheeks, her voice shaking through the memories and the grief. "He made his father so proud."

xxxXXXxxx

"I gave up the Auld Man and Michael Caffee!"

"You also gave our witness list to them. That makes you an accessory to murder, at the very least." billy leaned forward, his teeth glinting in a vicious, predatory smile. "And you know I just want to put you in front of a jury, tell them how you got a DA shot."

O'Neill swallowed hard, running his tongue around suddenly dry lips. "What's the deal?"

Desmond sat back. "Five to ten years."

"What?"

"That's the deal. Take it or leave it." He leaned forward again. "Personally, I hope you leave it. In my book, you got my friend shot, you sonofabitch. I want you for Murder One."

xxxXXXxxx

"You could have woke me."

He shrugged, rubbing at the back of his neck, the muscles still aching from trying to sleep on the couch. "You looked so peaceful." He tried to smile, tried to make her smile through the coldness and the growing distance. "I didn't want to disturb you."

"You wouldn't have…."

"I'm…"

His voice lost in the noise and the bustle of the lab, fading into the distance between them.

XxxXXXxxx

Their footsteps echoed outside his room, just as he was finishing his evening meal. He finished chewing, carefully crossing his cutlery on the plate, daubing at his lips with napkin.

He looked up just as they walked in through the door, shields pinned to the lapels of their coats, reflecting in the dim light of his room.

"Good evening, Don."

"Tommy."

"How's your family? I know your mother wasn't too well a few weeks ago. I hope she's feeling better."

"She's good, Tommy."

"And that pretty doctor girlfriend of yours? You broke my daughters heart, Don, you really did."

"I think it's time we had a chat, Tommy."

"About what?"

"About Michael Caffee."

End of Chapter Eleven.