"Jimmy?" Fred breathed, staring into his colleague's eyes as they stood in the dark warehouse. Jimmy chuckled, nodding slowly.

"Indeed. What were you expecting?" he asked, the same evil smirk on his face as he watched the detective stumble over his words.

"Jimmy... why...?" Fred could barely organise his thoughts, let alone construct sentences.

"Why? You want to know why? I thought that detectives were meant to ask better questions than 'why?'" Red questioned, running a hand through his short, auburn hair. Fred had taken a few more steps forwards, still aware that somewhere on the warehouse floor Daphne was possibly bleeding to death.

"Why?! Why did you do it, Jimmy?! WHY?!" Fred screamed, feeling sick in the pit of his stomach.

"I did it because I could. I did it because I wanted to get at you. I know that that stupid bitch lying in a pool of her own blood down there is the most important thing to you in your sorry little life!" he snapped, and Fred almost charged at him right there and then. But his fear stopped him. If he made one wrong move out there, he could fall to his death, leaving Daphne at the mercy of this psychopath he used to call a friend. And he didn't want Jimmy dead either, he wanted him alive.

"Then why all those other girls? Twelve people, Jimmy! Twelve fucking people!" Fred replied, wanting to know the answers to his questions. Jimmy laughed, stepping back slightly. How he hadn't slipped by now was a mystery to Fred.

"Well, I had to make it entertaining, didn't I?" he smiled, giggling like it was some sort of joke, "Kill one person, nobody takes you seriously any more. Kill twelve innocent young women, and you're a celebrity! I wanted revenge, sure, but I thought I'd have some fun too. You're so easy to manipulate, Freddie Jones, it's amazing!" he exclaimed, and Fred frowned.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, all I have to do to get you riled up is talk about poor little Daphne, or perhaps your dear old Daddy..." Fred's hand flew to his pistol, gripping the handle as he stared at the man.

"You leave my father out of this, Jimmy!"

Jimmy chuckled, swaying as he watched Fred with glee.

"Like father like son, I suppose. Always reaching for a gun," Jimmy smiled, delighted as Fred's frown worsened.

"I'm warning you. I'm not going to shoot you, so just surrender!" Fred growled, letting go of the pistol and returning to his previous stance.

At this statement Jimmy laughed heartily, finding the whole thing incredibly amusing.

"Surrender? I'm unarmed, and there's nothing to stop you from coming over here and arresting me," he pointed out, standing with his arms wide open, as if he were offering a hug.

"You can come to me, Jimmy." Fred's words were so direct, so crystal clear as he spoke, gesturing to the space directly in front of him. Jimmy didn't seem to react to his tone, still keeping up the devilish smile he had worn for the last ten minutes.

"But I'm right here! Surely you could just walk out here, handcuff me and lead me away?" he exclaimed, making Fred's frown worsen as he stood there, ever aware of the ticking time bomb that was Daphne Blake, "...or are you afraid? Are you afraid that you might slip and fall to your death? Are you afraid to feel your bones snap and your insides burst as you hit the concrete below? Tell me, Fred... what are you really afraid of?"

This question seemed so stir something deep inside of Fred, and he clenched his teeth.

"I'm not afraid of you, if that's what you're getting at," he replied bluntly, sounding almost animalistic as he spoke. God, he was so angry.

Jimmy's sinister smile widened, almost as if he had been expecting Fred to say that.

"Are you afraid that you'll have to shoot me? Are you afraid that you won't bring me back alive, robbing the families of those poor, young women of proper justice? Or are you afraid that you won't be able to avoid the reputation of your dear old Daddy?" as he said this, Fred felt his breath hitch in the back of his throat. He almost choked at Jimmy's words.

Jimmy winked, knowing that he had struck a nerve, "Your father was never one for negotiations, was he? The only time he would capture a suspect alive was if he had run out of bullets, wasn't it? I suppose that if you kill that many people, and watch the light fade from their eyes as the breath leaves their bodies... well, I suppose it turns you into a monster; eventually," he paused, noting how Fred's stance had tensed considerably, "I mean, you have to be a monster to do such a thing to your own family..." he trailed off, noticing that Fred was now pointing his pistol directly at him, the detective's breathing rapid and heavy.

They stood in silence for a few seconds, but it felt like decades. Fred was distraught, his conscience screaming at him to not pull the trigger. But it was so tempting.

"I..." Fred began, finding it difficult to speak, "I r-really... really don't want to s-shoot you, Jimmy," he stuttered, keeping a firm grip on the gun as he spoke. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes again, Jimmy's words stirring painful memories from deep inside him, ones he had trained himself to forget.

"But you will," Jimmy replied confidently, "You most definitely will shoot me, Fred Jones. Probably in the next few minutes, in fact."

Fred shook his head slightly, almost as if he were trying to convince himself it wasn't true.

"You fucking deserve it. If there's anyone who I'd rather shoot, it'd be you," he growled, gesturing with the pistol as he spoke, "I mean... after all of the shit you've put me through... all of the shit you've put Daphne through! Holy shit!" he screamed in a fit of rage, nearly pulling the trigger right there and then. He was an emotional wreck, "...you took so many lives... it only seems fair..." he breathed, calming himself as he stood completely still, rigid like a rock.

Jimmy was enjoying the spectacle, the same malicious grin on his face from before. He clapped his hands together, applauding the detective's words.

"I agree with you completely. I deserve it. So do it. Shoot me," he instructed, clasping his arms in front of him and keeping them there. Fred frowned, unable to believe the calmness of his former friend.

"I'm not... I'm not going to shoot you, Jimmy. Come with me... please," it was the first time Fred had sounded desperate for a long time, but he was, "Let me take you back to the station... it doesn't have to end this way..."

"You know that only one of us is going to leave this warehouse tonight, Fred! And it's not going to be me!" Jimmy screamed, looking furious as he stared at the detective with great intensity. Another few seconds passed, and Jimmy chuckled breathlessly, "You really are pathetic, aren't you? You're so afraid, and you don't even realise it. Your father was afraid, wasn't he? So he shot some people... why don't you do the same?"

Fred raised the pistol again, flicking the safety switch off.

"Please, Jimmy..." he whispered, closing his eyes tight and shutting the world out for a second. The memories were so strong now, threatening to overcome him. He could still hear himself as a child, begging with his father. Begging so desperately. He had never felt so torn.

"You try and act all tough, but you're still just a little boy inside... aren't you? You lock away the past thinking that you don't have to deal with it, but it's tormenting you everywhere you go! You can't expect to be able to face the present if you haven't faced the past!" Jimmy said, his emerald eyes dancing as the rain continued to pour, "Shoot me, Fred."

Fred stood, pistol aimed at the centre of Jimmy's bloodied jacket. He couldn't stall any more, there weren't any sirens to be heard and Daphne's life was hanging in the balance.

"Shoot me! Shoot me! Shoot me, Fred! Shoot me!" Jimmy screamed, his voice echoing off of the walls of the warehouse. Fred sighed deeply, closing eyes and taking in the sounds and sensations around him. It was over.

BANG!