Disclaimer – not mine.

A/N – This was kind of depressing as I wrote it, but then it's kind of meant to be! Thanks for reviews again, and I hope you enjoy this chapter. Once again, please let me know if there's anything I am missing. If you desperately want to see more of a particular character, I might be able to oblige.

Mac was loathe to admit how much the interview with Samuel Travis had taken out of him. He stood on the roof of the building, appreciating the peace and quiet. Here, he didn't have to think about how others might see him. It was windy, and a little cold, but there were no questions, no pressure. His mood veered alternately between the depression that had visited him after Claire's death and a sad yearning to speak to Peyton. It was natural, he supposed, but that didn't make it any less confusing. Mac gripped his wedding ring tightly in his hand. He longer wore it, but occasionally, when times seemed hardest, he liked to hold it and think of her.

The city was as busy as ever beneath him. Mac wondered how many of them were affected by Lara Williams' death. He wondered how the three men who loved her felt now, knowing that she had promised each of them everything. It was a situation he couldn't begin to understand, though he knew grief very well.

"You're hiding."

He smiled sadly, and turned to face his friend. Don Flack strode across the rooftop, his suit jacket fluttering in the wind. He joined Mac in watching over the city.

"Not hiding." He said, finally. "Just taking a break."

"Mac-"

"It's fine."

Flack sighed. He knew when he was beaten – but he had other questions to ask. "What's up with you and Peyton?"

He knew he'd hit the mark when Mac's expression darkened. His stormy eyes scanned the horizon as he told Flack a story. They had been arguing lately, but had resolved their issues more than a fortnight ago. Or so Mac had believed. The night they had all convened at Stella's apartment, he had received a call from Peyton, saying that she was planning to move back to England. Mac stopped there, and refused to look his friend in the eye.

"That's – that sucks, Mac."

"Thanks Don."

Flack shrugged. "Anytime." He clapped a hand on the CSI's shoulder. "Come on. Let's go speak to Pete Junior. Apparently he finally persuaded his mother he was fine to talk to us."

Pete Jr. was a very big guy. Standing at well over six feet tall, and of a very muscular build, he towered over everyone. He was dressed in casual clothes. Something told Flack that had a lot more to do with Betty Williams than it did with Pete Jr. himself. He sat down opposite the young man and waited for Danny to do the same. Mac had decided to sit it out, safe in the knowledge that the younger CSI was good at his job.

"Do you have any idea who it is yet? Who killed my sister?" Pete asked desperately.

"I'm sorry Mr Williams-"

"Pete."

"-we're still investigating." Flack said.

"You know she –" he stopped, biting his lip. "-she had a few boyfriends. Three that she told me about. She told me everything."

The detective waited, sensing that Pete probably knew an awful lot more about the life his sister was living than his parents did. If they were lucky, he knew something that could be useful in the investigation.

"Lara slept around." He said. "I didn't always want to know what she told me, but – God, I was glad that she was telling somebody. Figured I could pass the message on if she got herself into real trouble." His eyes filled up.

He told them about his baby sister's letters. Filled with news of the people she'd met, and the shows she was doing, they were always lively, sometimes to the point of being disturbing. Pete had never broken his promise to her – had always kept her secrets to himself – but he'd wanted to tell their parents about the drinking. The boyfriends. The drugs he suspected she had tried once or twice. The late night parties she went to. They were blissfully unaware of so much; he hadn't wanted to shatter their illusions.

"Lara was trouble. I know that." Pete said miserably. "God – when the guys found out she was my sister, they wouldn't shut up."

"The guys in your unit?"

The young soldier nodded, and started to talk again. Several times, guys he hardly knew came up to him and started talking about his sister. Mostly they were innocent enough, just asking if it was true, and seeing if he could get them an autograph. One or two wanted tickets to shows for their wives or girlfriends. The others, Pete had straightened out pretty fast.

"You beat them up?" Flack asked.

Pete looked nervously at the detective. He caught the gentle expression in the older man's eyes and nodded. "They didn't say anything. The guys knew what they'd said, and after I – hit them, it was settled. Done with."

"You sure they knew that?" Danny's tone was sharper, but not unkind.

"Yeah." Pete said. "There's – you have to know the rules, and they broke them."

Flack started to wrap things up, seeing that they were getting little useful information from the young man, when Pete produced a thick stack of letters. He pushed them across the table.

"Everything she sent me, over the last four years. From before she moved to New York." Pete rose to his feet. "I hope it helps."

He walked out, leaving Flack and Danny feeling a deep sense of melancholy as they looked at four years of Lara Williams' life. Danny was first to reach for the letters, pulling open the faded red ribbon that, unknown to either of them, she had used to decorate her brother's last birthday gift. He picked up a thick white envelope, and pulled out the letter. Decorated with doodles, colours and fancy writing, and smelling strongly of lavender, it seemed to be an embodiment of a child's character, before she had grown up too soon.