Disclaimer: I don't own Hey Arnold.

Summary: A 26 year old Helga has a near death experience with a drug addiction that sends her into rehab. While there, Gerald begins to dig into the past and brings out a skeleton in her closet that has haunted the both of them. And what exactly does all of this have to do with Arnold anyway?

A/N: Alright then, well this was supposed to be one single chapter, but it ended up being so huge that I felt I needed to split it into two posts. Sorry I veered from reported schedule! My bad! Mostly because MRobitussin gave me the idea to do an Uncle Gerald/Sender story time. Incentivize that reviewer! Also I didn't feel like being that evil as to saddle you guys with one single monstrosity of a chapter. Part 2 will be posted probably by Sunday night, if not then then definitely by next Friday. If I wasn't still smoothing over the end part (which I just can't seem to be happy with) I would have thrown them up together. Anyway, with out further ado...Part 1!

John the Revelator: Pt. 1

"They found our city under the water,

Got to get my hands on something new,

You don't want to be without this,

Something isn't adding up,

Decide my past,

Define my life,

Don't ask questions,

'Cause I don't know why." -The Strokes (Tap Out)

"So how are we going to approach this?" Gerald asked. He and Peter were seated in the detective's office. So much for Gerald calling it a night.

"Monday, were going to subpoena bank records from both Reynolds and Underwood…see if there is any pattern to it or if it was a onetime thing. I don't want to bring her in just yet. If she really is blackmailing him over something, it could spook her and I don't want either one of them to know that they are at the top of the list."

Gerald nodded, "I'll run a background on her. See if there is anything that we could possibly pick her up on just to hold her. Outstanding warrant or something. Who knows if Reynolds may have said something to her by now."

"That's an excellent idea, Johanssen."

Going over to Brian's house had seemed straight forward enough. Pizza, soda and a thrilling movie about a serial killer who apparently vacuumed his crime scenes. How strange. No, the issue at hand didn't arise because there was a problem with any combination of those things, no, no, the issue at large was that Helga couldn't seem to keep her eyes on the screen. Somehow, those rebellious blue peepers kept wondering over to her blonde headed host sitting at the opposite end of the couch. Sometimes it'd be a corner glance, several times she'd found herself cocking her whole head at him, unabashedly raking her eyes over his physique like he was gardening soil. Of course, he seemed not to notice at all, and when he did by chance glance her way she was always quicker to nonchalantly look away.

He was definitely a well built specimen…if the peep show he'd flashed in the name of a tattoo—which she'd decided was incredibly hot—was anything to go off of. He looked like the type of guy who probably worked out, but then again...maybe not. He wasn't overly cut; just physical…like maybe he got it from throwing those tennis balls and playing with Lou dog in the park.

God almighty that shirt was just...just made for him too.

Go ahead, admit it, this guy used to bug the crap out of you and now...now he's the Jesus of cool, and you are way attracted. You know, he probably is a good lay too—ah crap.

Yeah, her eyes weren't quick enough that time. Traitors. She was caught. His blue orbs grabbed hers like a vice grip and held them while a smirk drew up on his lips. "Is something bothering you?" He finally asked.

You… Helga felt herself swallow. Whether she liked it or not, she'd been bothered ever since his little nerd rant. When words failed to leave her tongue his eyebrow arched a fraction of an inch and she bit her lip.

Kiss him. Do it…something tells me he won't have a problem with it.

-Yeah...right

-He practically called you a MILF earlier. How dense are you?

What good, exactly, was the mind if the body decided to act on its own accord before getting permission first? And that's exactly what happened. Before she'd even okayed it, she found herself sliding across the cushions, bringing her hand up to cup his mildly surprised face and pulling him into a lip lock. When she went to pull away he caught her, preventing her from moving, prolonging their connection for just a moment longer before pulling away, "Ah, I see. My lips are bothering you." He smiled, "Does this mean you're dating now?"

Helga's eyes thinned slightly, but a mischievous smirk enveloped her lips, "I've had a long week and I'm in the mood to be a bit of a tire kicker if you catch my drift."

"I do."

"Good. Now shut up and let me test drive your mouth."

The problem with test driving how good of a kisser he was was that it turned into a test drive of...everything else. Dear God, she really hated her spontaneity sometimes. It was a terrible habit, and one that had certainly gotten her into a position that night...or several. It was true, much like Alice, Helga stumbled from one nightmarish situation to the next, but unlike innocent little Alice, Helga always seemed to stumble into a different man's bed too. And she'd stumbled right off that couch, down those stairs and straight into Brian's plush king sized without a problem.

Stupid libido. Stupid lust.

But problem there was, as she was pretty sure she'd just screwed their budding friendship...and no, the pun wasn't lost on her either. Crimeny. Last week she'd told him that she wasn't interested in dating him, which was true, and then this week she just…hops in the sack with him. Talk about mixed signals…for him and her. The worst part, however, was that something happened for her, something she was afraid she might not be able to just take back, ignore and walk away from.

"That was…a lot more fun than the movie," Brian murmured against the side of her head, kissing her softly. Helga barely smiled, more caught up in her head than with anything he'd said. He wasn't keen to leave it alone either, immediately sensing her inner turmoil, "What's the matter?"

Helga quietly groaned, unwinding her limbs from his body and proceeding to prop herself up on her elbow, letting her head rest in her palm. Damage control time. The sooner the better, right? "What's the matter? How about this was a stupid, ill thought out idea for starters."

"What? Why?" Brian urgently said, immediately turning onto his side, facing her with a frown and a scrunched brow at which Helga could only look upon disparagingly. "You don't think this was all I was after…do you?" He whispered. Call her crazy but she actually thought he looked hurt.

"No, nothing like—"

"-It wasn't."

"-Right. I came onto you."

"True...but I have wanted to strip you down since the park though."

Helga was a little surprised by that, and she was sure her face gave it away because his eyes immediately softened with apology. "Sorry…" His voice feather quite.

"It's going to get really awkward between us now." Helga looked off, shaking her head. "And I'm in such a weird time in my life that having you around as a little slice of normalcy has been a breath of fresh air for me."

Brian gently smiled, quite pleased with that last part. Regardless, he appeared completely unfazed by her fear of awkwardness, and she could only imagine why. "Go on a date with me." His hand lifted and his fingers delicately wove through her hair. "A real one."

Helga laughed sardonically, "Wow. And that's an even worse idea."

"Why?"

Her eyes shot back to his, "Because," She exhaled, "Getting involved with someone is the last thing I need to be doing right now, especially somebody I've only been hanging around with for a hot minute. As if sleeping with you weren't bad enough," She finished reproachfully.

"So we had sex-really great sex-at least were not complete strangers, and here I am still trying to go on a regular old date with you," Brian defended. Helga said nothing, instead running her free hand through her bed hair, looking away again. Brian continued looking at her for a moment more before letting go of the air in his lungs and allowing his head to droop. "Look, I'm trying to be sorry about...doing this with you, but...I can't. The truth is...the truth is...look, I had such an…amazing connection with you tonight that I'm glad you came on to me and i don't want this to end," he confessed, and Helga felt her eyes creeping to their corners to catch the slightest glimpse of him, "I think maybe…I'm hoping that you felt that too and that's why you're panicking...because you don't think I did," He finished softly.

She had! She had felt something. And that was precisely the problem. She could blame her spontaneity and healthy sex drive all she wanted, but it didn't change the fact that she liked this guy, and part of what she'd liked about him so much was that he'd felt comfortable to her, familiar, he'd possessed that certain brand of warmth, that glowing aura of amber energy that Arnold used to positively radiate with when they were together.

Its sudden resurfacing in Brian had been downright greedy, demanding, forcefully forbidding her from holding anything back with him, and she hadn't, too powerless to ignore it even if she'd wanted to. She'd taken it much further though, squeezing every drop of his electric dayglo out onto the bed sheets and basking from head to toe in the rich, honey sweet radiation that kissed her soul. She hadn't given herself over to a single man so thoroughly, so unguarded than she had that night.

Not since Arnold.

She hadn't had sex with Brian, no...she'd made love to him, and she had no idea how she was supposed to feel about it. Thinking about it was putting her stomach in knots, and she couldn't bear to look at him, but she couldn't bear not to look at him either.

"I think that...it's possible for two people to click in one random, unexpected night." Her lover began scratching the back of his head slowly. Once again, Helga couldn't open her mouth, couldn't find a simple collection of letters to string together a few words. Brian sighed, disappointment dulling his eyes just enough to make her heart sink, "Or…maybe I'm wrong abou-"

It was a split second decision that she didn't even remember making, but the next thing she knew she'd attached herself to him, her mouth hungrily catching his words with a long kiss. "No, you aren't wrong," She finally breathed onto his lips. Without any further hesitation, they quickly wound around one another like hot coils, melding together under the magnetism of whatever was pulling them together. "I do like you…" She told him.

"I think it's pretty obvious that I like you too," He whispered, humming with desire.

"And I did feel something tonight. I just don't know what to do with it." She wanted to tell him that emotionally, she was covered with so much scar tissue that she wasn't sure that she'd ever be able to contribute anything more to a relationship than the physical portion. Then again, it wasn't as if she'd ever tried or anything, too hung up on Arnold and her quest to drown out the short comings of her life to want anything more than detached, meaningless flings. "It's just that-"

His mouth closed over hers and he pushed her back, moving on top of her before breaking off the kiss. "I'll be anything but a play toy," He said breathlessly into her ear. "You pick. You already know where I'm interested in taking us." Those pillow soft lips began trailing down the side of her neck and it made her moan softly. All she knew was that she wanted to hold on to the moment, to him, to that amber dayglo for as long as possible.

It was then, through the mist forming in her mind, that she realized what a hostage to her emotions she really was, and the sad fact was they'd left her with no other choices but the one right in from on her face. She finally nodded. "I want more of this," She breathed…or begged, she wasn't entirely sure which, but she arched her hips into him for good measure.

"Me too." His hand trailed down her side, her hip, her slender leg, hooking it behind her knee. "Now...no more talking." With one simple maneuver, he leaned forward and pushed himself inside of her.

"Mmm..." Her mind blanked completely in the bliss of him filling her, nodding when his mouth came up to reclaim hers, "No more talking."

Helga arrived home that night much later than expected and thoroughly spent no less. As she leaned against her vehicle, sucking down a couple of cigarettes, she couldn't help but focus on how much her body ached with that naughty, delicious brand of soreness. It had been a long while since she'd been worked over that well, and it was certainly worth the stupid grin on her face. The only part of that whole equation that she was struggling with was the part where she wasn't even remotely sated by their evening of ruckus love making. Crimney he was a good lover. She found herself just wanting him even more. She wanted to keep wringing him out, and to keep getting wrung out by him.

Damn, he's Pataki catnip too. Ah, I remember when you and Arnold used to have that unquenchable thirst for one anoth—

-Put a sock in it. Helga flicked her cigarette butt into the snow, mentally making a note to pick it up later as she wandered inside.

Sheesh, I was just making an observation is all…I was just saying...maybe you could be...you know, happy with this.

She was surprised to see a light still on in the living room, and even more surprised to see Olga curled up on the couch with the television still murmuring at such a late hour. She was startled awake when Helga came padding into the room. "Oh, hey..." She groggily greeted, sitting up against the cushions.

"Hey. What are you still doing up?"

"I fell asleep watching a movie. Are you just getting in?" Olga twisted her watch around on her wrist, eyes widening at the hour.

"Uh-huh." Helga lifted a brow suspiciously and crossed her arms. "Were you...waiting up for me?"

Realizing she was caught, Olga fessed up with a nod, "I hope you aren't mad."

Helga wasn't mad, a little caught off guard but not mad. "Of course not," She assured and took a seat next to her sister. "You really didn't have to, you know."

Olga only shrugged, "It's the worry-wort mother in me." She flashed a warm smile. "How was your night?"

"Great..." Helga nodded. "Pretty quiet evening."

HA! Quiet evening...you kill me...and I am you so...

"Mom called right after you left. She wanted to talk to you."

Helga had to suppress an eye roll and groan at that. "What did she want?" She dared to ask.

"She wanted to tell you that...if you want your apartment back to let her know and she'll remove the current residents." Olga didn't appear very keen on the idea, as much as she attempted to show otherwise. Helga couldn't blame her. It was a little off the wall, and it made her wonder what Bob's roll in it was.

"Nah." Helga shook her head, "I was tired of that place. I was planning on finding something new whenever I left anyway...and I'm not ready to leave yet."

Olga was relieved. "And I'm not ready for you to go anywhere either."

Helga tilted her head to look at Olga. The older woman shrugged, "Worry-wort mother," She replied with a smile.

"I wonder why she's being so...nice," Helga pondered aloud.

"I think she's just trying to be helpful. She does believe that you've turned over a new leaf," Olga explained.

"Hmm. She did pull Dad off my back when I went and got Sender's stuff."

"That's another thing. Do you think you could try to bite your tongue with him? Trust me, I get your animosity, but it always blows back on me."

Helga's eyes became sympathetic, "Sorry," She softly replied. "And I have no plans of talking to him again, so...no worries on that."

Olga sighed, "Don't you think this family has been fractured enough?"

"It's not like we've had too many kind words for one another anyway. He called my child a half orphaned bastard and thats where I draw the line. Insult me all you want, but don't you ever insult my kid, especially with something she has no control over. So can we please leave it at that?"

"It was an awful thing to say and he knows it. Mom said he is very upset that he got that mad."

Helga sighed, "Olga...please?"

Olga didn't want to, but she agreed to drop it...and change the subject. "I've finished reading that notebook you gave me."

Helga's brows rose up her forehead. Honestly, she'd completely forgotten about that. "Yeah?" She nodded.

"And out of all the shocking things you wrote, that I had no idea about, the thing that struck me most was the progression of it."

"The...progression?"

"The first part of it was bitter and bent out of shape, and then you got melancholy, then uncomfortably complacent towards the end. I feel like you've sort of become…okay with things." Olga grinned, "And the things you wrote about Sender were just…absolutely touching."

Helga cracked a small smile, "Sounds like I am dying, huh?" She shrugged and then looked down at her lap, "Though I suppose that it has been. A death of an obsession…a death of a former self."

Olga nodded, "I suppose it has."

"There isn't anything I'm...going at wrong...to you?"

"No. I think you've done a great job at answering your own questions and solving your own problems." Olga looked at her lovingly, "And you look...happy these days...minus the Sender episode."

Helga chortled, "I'm learning what being happy feels like again. It's kind of…addicting. I kind of like it."

The older blonde laughed too and rolled her eyes at her sister's pun, reaching out and giving her hand a squeeze. "I can't tell you enough how proud I am of you."

"I know." Helga pushed back into the cushions, stretching out her stiffening muscles in the silence that fell over them, "Did little miss give you any trouble tonight?" She asked after a minute.

Olga shook her head, "Never does, as usual. She's in your bed. She came down stairs about two hours ago and made a bee line for your room. I didn't see a point in putting her back in her own either."

Helga shook her head while letting a tired sigh leave her lips, "She does not trust me at all right now. She's determined to make sure that I am coming home at night, no matter how many times I promise her that I will."

"She'll re-bond with you. Just give it some time. She may only be six, but that doesn't mean she isn't working through her own little things too. Don't forget that."

"I know. It takes time," The younger blonde agreed and yawned, "I'm exhausted and I still need to grab a shower." She stood up. Olga switched off the television, tidying the cushions as she removed her person from the couch as well.

"I'm up well past my hour," Olga yawned herself. Helga walked off to the hallway, but stopped and turned back around.

"Hey, Olga, let me ask you something."

"Mmhm," Her sister nodded and crossed her arms.

"Do you think that…if you'd never met Grant, you would have met somebody else and been just as happy with them?"

"Well," Olga inhaled and exhaled deeply, "I'd like to think that he's my soul mate, but I also respect the idea that, perhaps love gives everyone blinders to feel like way." She smiled, "I have a client whose wife died of breast cancer when they were 32. He's 65 now and has been happily re-married for 9 years. Why do you ask?"

Helga shook her head, "No reason," She smiled.

Sunday – Afternoon

She didn't know what it was about seeing his car parked on the curb that made the most unpleasant feeling churn around in her stomach. Maybe it was because she never knew what to expect from him, or maybe she dreaded potential news from him, or maybe it was because she still wasn't all that fond of him, she didn't know. She just knew that she didn't like it. She'd been gone for about an hour, perhaps a little longer and this is what she had to come back to.

She groaned and popped the hatch and collected all of her bags from the store, trudging inside with in a newly unpleasant mood. Concerning enough, she didn't see him anywhere, dropping everything in the kitchen and going on the hunt, finding Olga and Grant in the living room as if nothing was wrong.

"Where's he at?" Helga asked.

"The room above with Sender," Olga replied.

Helga rolled her eyes, and headed off to where she'd been directed to, climbing up the flight of stairs, coming to a screeching stop at the top. Gerald was stretched out in Grant's old recliner with Sender squeezed in beside him, both flipping through a thick, glossy book tiled with pictures and who knows what else.

"What is that?" Sender pointed at the folded square of notebook paper shoved into the clear pocket in front of a picture of Gerald and Arnold.

The cop chuckled, digging out the paper, "That is the list."

"Of what?"

"The list for a kids perfect Saturday." He unfolded the worn item, "Watch every cartoon from 6:00a.m. till Dance Crazy, while eating three bowls of sugar chunk cereal, ride your bike down the steepest hill in the neighborhood, play catch with every kid in the park, and go to the movies and sit through it three times!"

Sender's eyes widened, "Whoa. Did you do all that when you were a kid?"

"No," Gerald laughed, "But once after school, your Dad came waving it around saying that he was going to do it all. I told him that he was tempting the fates but he wouldn't listen."

"So he did it all."

"Not exactly. It turned into a real rotten day for him, according to what he told me. He woke up late, ran out of cereal, couldn't watch cartoons, got his baseball stolen, his bike stuck in fresh tar and then the theatre closed for technical difficulties."

"Oh," Sender sighed, "That is a lot to do. Where's this from?" She pointed to another picture of Arnold, Gerald, Sid, Stinky and Harold all making faces with a backdrop that was clearly Arnold's child hood room.

"That is from a sleep over. Your Dad told one righteous urban legend that got us into a heap of an adventure that night."

At that, Sender was enthralled, "Oh! What happened?"

"Well, it started with the story of the headless cabbie, the horrible ghost lady, which as legend had it…or your Dad, could still be heard and seen roaming around city park at night looking for her demon Scottie dog. But see on that particular night we all decided to go for some ice cream and we had to cut through the park to get to where we were going and Harold was all like, 'I'm not cutting through the park and I was like, 'Harold, it's the fastest way'."

"So, did you guys go?"

"Of course we went. So were like walking along, and its foggy and creepy and Sid is trying to punk Harold and then we hear barking…and then…suddenly…this Scottie dog comes running out of nowhere, which, as Sid pointed out was a real coincidence, but Stinky insisted that we take it with us and your Dad is just like, 'it's cool man'."

By now Sender was really leaning in, completely absorbed in the tale.

"We're walking some more and then we hear a rattle on the cobble stone getting louder and louder and—"

"-The headless cabbie?!"

"No." Gerald eyeballed around dramatically, "Eugene…" He nodded at her.

Sender's little brow popped upwards, "Who's Eugene?"

"Ah…this danger prone kid that we once knew. He was tap dancing on the cobble stones for practice…don't ask." He waved it off.

"In the early evening?" Sender skeptically asked.

At that Gerald couldn't help but tilt his head at her in amazement, "You know that's exactly what I said. Anyway," He cleared his throat, "So Harold's like 'ahhh, I've had enough, I want some ice cream,' and your Dad's like, 'There's the tunnel were almost there,' and Eugene is like, 'Tell me the story of the Headless Cabbie,' but then we get to the end of the tunnel and out of the shadows comes…the man with the golden hook! And were all like 'ahhh!' and we run away 'cause this guy is going to kill us but then your Dad stops and says, 'Guys nobody is chasing us!' but then Stinky points up to a tree branch and we see…the cabbie's red scarf!"

"Oh no…"

"Your Dad is like, 'Cut it out, it's just some old scarf, there's nothing weird about it. Eugene would you stop that clogging?' but Eugene is like, 'I'm not clogging'," Gerald changed his voice for each person, "And then the Scottie dog jumps out of Stinky's arms and runs away because from out of the thick fog comes…the headless cabbie and the crazy lady!" He announced dramatically.

Sender had turned white, "I'm never going in the park again."

Gerald laughed, "Only at night."

"He had a go-cart too?" Sender pointed to another picture in the corner.

"Mmhmm. The Dark Avenger. I think he wrecked it or painted it mauve or something."

He continued flipping through the book to some of the later photos he had of them. One particular picture seemed to catch her eye. They were in high school, the month of graduation, sitting in a pizzeria. The four of them, Arnold, Helga, Gerald and Phoebe, crammed into one booth while Phoebe's arm could be seen arched upwards, obviously the one taking the picture. Gerald threw some cheesy sideways peace sign, looking like a bad ass while Arnold had his arm draped over Helga's shoulder, and her arm was wrapped around his waist.

He could still remember hating how absorbed in each other Helga and Arnold were, or 'shoved up each other's butts' as he said then. Especially in the early days, one minute they never spoke, the next they were connected at the hip.

"My Mom has that hat," Sender said after some time. Gerald looked at the old and worn blue garment that covered Arnold's unruly hair. NYPD was written in faded caps across it, barely legible. "I found it in one of her bedside drawers. She told me not to mess with it again."

Helga had stood there the entire time, hearing both stories and Sender's revelation about the hat. They hadn't noticed her and she was content with that, creeping back down the stairs, wiping a couple wayward tears from her eyes as she did.

Sender needed this, she knew it, and she wasn't about to interrupt.

Tuesday – Morning

"Oh, man you wouldn't believe the gold in these bank records," Gerald exclaimed the minute Detective Stockland leaned up against his desk. "Look at this," He shoved a piece of paper in the man's hands and pointed to a highlighted bar, "Five years ago there was a check for $4500 deposited into Underwood's account at Hillwood Bank and Trust written on the account of Reynold's." Gerald handed him another piece of paper, "A year later, $5000. Same account. Then it just stops until…" He passed him yet another piece of highlighted paper, "The check that Janna talked about for $9000 which was written out of Reynolds' personal expense account at his Father's firm."

"She is definitely bleeding him for something," Peter mused at the papers, "Usually with amounts this high, it means one thing. Hush money."

"You put a tail on her yet?"

Peter nodded, "She's done nothing that makes me think we've roused suspicion." The detective tossed the papers onto the desk, "I'm torn between keeping a low profile or ruffling her feathers to see if she makes a move."

"I've got one even better my man," He slapped another piece of paper in Peter's hands, "Here's your arrest warrant for a misdemeanor drug possession. She stopped showing up for community service 6 months ago."

"And they haven't picked her up yet?" Peter was astonished.

"Courts are clogged. Especially for small time criminal cases like that. With a little…help we could pop her for 60 days in jail and have plenty of time to grill her."

Peter smiled, "I'll make some phone calls."

Wednesday – Noon

"You know, when I asked you to go on a date, I should have specified that lunch didn't count," Brian said as he and Helga walked away from the quaint little Bistro they'd just finished up lunch at. He'd offered to walk her to her car, an offer she'd accepted. Taking his hand she'd led him off to the back of the parking lot.

Helga smirked up at him, "I guess you'll know better next time." She leaned back against the side of her vehicle, hooking her index finger into the belt loop of his pants and pulling him closer to her. Her free hand ran up his front, grabbing his shirt collar, guiding him down, her lips meeting his soundly while he pressed her into the cold metal. Having him touch her, feeling his body up against hers again had her mind going nuts. "We could always go out tonight," He said between them. "We can have dinner at Le Chez and then catch some poetry at the coffee shop."

"That sounds…like a great night, but I've already promised the munchkin that we'd make apple spice cupcakes tonight."

Brian pulled away, puckering his lip briefly and then smiled, "Mmm. That's a tasty excuse. Can't compete with a little girl and her cupcakes."

Helga chuckled, "Damn straight. But I assure you, I'll be in touch for a reschedule." She kissed him again and he purred.

"You better." Again, his mouth was hot and avid against her own, but as they say, idle hands are the devils play things, and his were less than content with innocently hanging out around her at her waist, instead falling till they reached the tip of her dress and met the warm spark of her thigh. It was freezing out, with snow on the ground and ice on the wet sidewalk, but she had never felt hotter to him. Their bubble was a blazing inferno. "I'm thinking…" That hand snaked up the front of her dress, quickly meeting the only other piece of fabric keeping him from her, "We crawl into your sled and have a little…dessert."

Her eyes nearly rolled, breath hitching, feeling those digits brush across her wonder area, "In broad day light?" She gasped. Said fingers wormed there way past her panties and when it finally clicked in her mind that they were still in a parking lot, she had to practically force herself to reach out and stop him. Boy was he brazen, she'd give him that, and that was coming from a chick who had an indecent exposure arrest on her rap sheet.

"Your windows look adequately tinted and I know these have...sizable back seats."

"And if I say no?"

Brian stopped, immediately withdrawing his hand and placing it inside of his coat pocket. "You're right." He smiled apologetically, taking a step back, and placing his other hand inside his coat pocket too, "I got carried away. Sorry."

Sorry? She wasn't sorry. She wasn't sorry at all. The craving for him to be all over her had been absolutely gnawing a hole in her insides since Friday. The only thing she was sorry about was being in a parking lot in the middle of the day. So help her, the reasonable adult half of her brain was trying to keep it together, to keep her person out of the grips of her own animalistic urges, but Lord knew, the more she thought about actually having to go back to work a flustered, dirty minded mess, with a craving that only a man-that man-could satisfy, the more her primal side took over…and won.

She opened up the back door, "Get your ass in there. Now."

"Is this it?" Gerald peered out the window at a seedy looking bar. It had no windows and hundreds of band fliers covering the door and walls, making a scaly collage of florescent pink, green and yellow that was peppered with white and black.

"Yep," Peter stepped out of the car and Gerald mimicked. The detective whisked open the door and the men stepped into a dank smelling, dimly lit music bar and reeked of spilt beer and sweat. A scattered amount of equally nefarious patrons lined the bar stools like breathing ornaments, casting shady eyes towards the cleanly dressed intruders. The dreadlocked clad maiden behind the bar wasn't who they were looking for, but Gerald quickly noticed a slender individual leaning against the back wall, wearing a beanie and chatting it up with the joint's sound guy. He pointed, Peter nodded and they calmly walked over to her.

"Aubrey Underwood?" Peter asked.

The girl lolled her head at them, cocking her eyebrows with attitude, "Yeah? What do you want?" She spat.

"My names Detective Stockland, this is Officer Johanssen," He flashed his badge quickly before going for his cuffs. "You are under arrest for failure to comply with your court ordered community service."

"Hey what the hel—" Peter turned her around and shoved her against the wall, snapping on a pair of metal bracelets. "This is bullshit!"

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have a right to an attorney…"

Thursday – Night

"Is that all you got? You hit like a Goddamn girl!" The brunette guy stumbled away from the bar stool, spitting blood onto the floor and flashing a ruby toothed smile which served only to insure that the same fist landed on his jaw for a second time. He lurched backwards, slumping over onto the bar sideways, "That's more like it," He laughed madly, "Come on, hit me again. Put me out of my misery!" He lunged at his attacker, and the guy slugged him a third time.

"Hey!" A very authoritative voice blasted through the room, "Break it up!"

The next thing the brunette knew a pair of hands were gripping around his arms and his bloody, beaten face went smacking against the bar, a set of cold steely bracelets coming to snap around his wrists while he was introduced to Ms. Miranda Rights. They were sure to meet up sooner than later, "I just…I didn't mean for it to happen! She wouldn't let me…she wouldn't let me!" He began crying over the officer's recital.

"Come on," The cop dragged him away from the counter and out into the cold night and pushed him into the back seat of his squad car. As he shut the door his partner came walking out of the watering hole, tucking a notepad back into his breast pocket.

"Rowdy, brawling drunk. Bar tender cut him off and he started trying to pick fights with everybody," He said and they both slid into the car.

Their passenger took his foot and kicked the cage as hard as he could, "Take me to the precinct and get me Johanssen…Gerald Johanssen and Peter Stockland! I need to…talk to them right now!" He yelled.

"Shut up!"

"I didn't…I didn't…I didn't mean to! They're going to find out," He began coughing miserably.

"Jeez, some guys just can't handle their liquor."

The ride was short, but noisy and the two officers couldn't wait to dispose of that loud mouth as quickly as possible. That didn't stop the loud mouth from being as unruly as possible as they dragged him through the precinct for booking.

"I want to talk to Johanssen!" He yelled at the top of his lungs and let his legs buckle so his captors were forced to physically drag him, "Peter Stockland! You're going to care—" He violently yanked his body to the side, "—what I have to say to you!"

"What the hell is all the commotion?!" On the other side of the precinct, Peter and Gerald had stuck their heads out of his office, the detective burning hot with annoyance, every bit of it evaporating the minute he laid eyes on the bloody, disheveled, bloody mess that two of his subordinates were dragging in. "Holy—"

"Reynolds…" Gerald said in disbelief.

"You need…to hear what I have to say! I know…what happened!" Casey shouted at them.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Peter was already blazing a trail towards the commotion, "You two, get him in interview room one. Now!" He barked.

"What in the hell just happened," Gerald walked up to Peter and whispered.

"Your guess is as good as mine. This is the last thing I expected today." The duo stalked off to the interview room were Casey was hunched over the table, still cuffed, with bloody spit drooling down off of his chin, smearing all over the table like paint.

"You want to tell us what that was all about man?" Gerald said, closing the door behind them. Casey looked up as much as his swollen eyes were allowing him to before his face contorted into a grimace, "She wouldn't let me save him," He choked in a whisper.

"Save who, Casey?" Peter asked softly.

The brunette shook his sobs, "I was just so mad. I didn't mean to. But it was her, she wouldn't…she wanted to watch. She wanted to see…she wanted to see." Sniffing, he gulped down some air. "I can't do this anymore. I'm tired living with this…with her. I know you've been following me."

"Who couldn't you save Casey?"

The man paused and cocked his head at the detective, face shiny with moisture, dyed red and purple from blood and bruises with a brow pulled down as tight as a hatch in a storm. "Arnold," They almost didn't hear him he said it so softly, "Aubrey wouldn't let me."