I MUST APOLOGIZE THAT THIS CHAPTER TOOK SO LONG. WHILE I'VE HAD MUCH INSPIRATION TO WRITE IN MY FREE TIME, I HAD TERRIBLE WRITER'S BLOCK WHEN IT CAME TO THIS STORY. IT'S BEEN ABOUT A YEAR AND A HALF SINCE I BEGAN WRITING THIS STORY, WHICH IS WHY I FEEL GUILTY FOR THE HIATUS WHEN I PROMISED MORE AND I'VE HAD SUCH A LOYAL FOLLOWING. I GUESS ALL I CAN SAY IN MY DEFENSE IS THAT LIFE HAS UPS AND DOWNS AND SOMETIMES WRITING ABOUT THE MOST TERRIBLE DOWN ANYONE COULD EVER GO THROUGH (like Shawn and Nicky) WHILE EXPERIENCING A TOUGH TIME IN YOUR LIFE IS UNDESIRABLE.

THAT BEING SAID, I'D LIKE TO GLADLY SAY THAT I HAVE COME UP WITH SOME NEW IDEAS THAT I HOPE TO MATERIALIZE AND POST VERY SOON. I WON'T GO MAKING PROMISES EXCEPT FOR MY ORIGINAL PROMISE: I WILL FINISH THIS STORY IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO.

I REALLY HOPE YOU GUYS LIKE THIS CHAPTER. PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK, IF YOU HAVE ANY IDEAS FOR THE PROGRESSION OF THE PLOT, OR IF YOU NEED SOME CLARIFICATION ABOUT SOMETHING. I'M AT YOUR DISPOSAL. :)

ENJOY!

Nicky stared at the vacant Church from the safety of his car. Fleeing from the confessional, he fell entranced at some point along the way. He had no recollection of ever reaching the car or the length of time that he stalled there, which would remain consigned to the oblivion.

Once he was sure that the Church would not blink first, he shut his eyes hard and reopened them. He expected his surroundings to change and so he wasn't disappointed when he realized that it was not his car that he was in, but a cab with an annoyed driver eyeing him through the rear view mirror.

"I'm gonna charge ya for my wasted time. I could've picked up and dropped off two other folks by now."

Nicky shook his head, as though to clear his mind. "What do you care? You get paid hourly."

"Maybe I pick up extra fares. I'm tryna put food on the table and I've gotta deal with knuckleheads like you who can't even figure out where he wants to go."

Nicky reached into his pocket, doubting that he would even find his wallet. His fingers grazed upon the cheap leather and he felt relief, in addition to frustration at his haze.

He flashed his badge high enough over his head that the cab driver could catch a glimpse of it in the rear view. He watched the driver's eyes widen, but lost interest too quickly to care about chastising him or listening to his excuses.

"That was just a joke. I just said that to—"

Nicky interrupted. "Take me to the bus station. I've got to get to Philly" while I still have a job, he added, neglecting to voice the last part. "And make sure the goddamn meter's on."

Chris pulled up in front of Nicky's building, imagining what he would do to Nicky when he finally found him. He tried to avoid thinking the worst, knowing that the longer that Nicky was missing the more reason there was for him to worry about his wellbeing.

Nicky was spiralling out of control and had been ever since Chris had brought up the night that Shawn tried to jump off the roof of the hospital. He realized that when Nicky admitted he'd been raped that he wasn't looking for sympathy or consolation. He was trying to save Shawn's life and it resulted in exchanging his own security by exposing himself.

He spotted Nicky's car in the parking lot, which sent a sickening feeling through him. There were only two explanations for Nicky to be home and not answering his phone. One was that he was ignoring Chris. The other is what made Chris feel like he was about to vomit.

Chris' legs carried him up to Nicky's doorstep. He moved slowly when he thought he should be running to mirror his inner panic. However, his legs would only move slowly as if to ensure he wouldn't pass out.

When Chris received no answer at the door, he backed himself several paces only to return with enough force to kick the door completely off its hinges.

He pictured Nicky laying on the floor in a pool of his own blood in every room and it only dissipated after he had scanned the entire apartment. He only felt slightly better than he had before, realizing as he clutched his breast and felt his racing heart that his anger had only deepened.

He stood over the busted down door and eventually, suppressing his anger enough to attempt at fixing it, he lifted it and turned to face the doorway.

Chris knew that if someone had asked him if he had ever seen a ghost, his mind would always flash to that moment. There, standing in the doorway was the palest complexion he had ever seen on a Latino-American. The look of shock on Nicky's face, as he watched Chris holding his front door in his living room, made Chris question for at least a second if he had actually found Nicky's dead body.

"The fuck you do to my door?" came tumbling out from the dead man's lips, obliterating the rest of Chris' patience, which had become infinitesimal.

Chris dropped the door, which slammed loudly against the linoleum tile. He lunged for Nicky, grabbing the collar of his t-shirt so roughly that both of his fists hit the wall with as much force as Nicky's head and back did. Despite the pain, Chris readjusted his hold on Nicky's collar and pressed his forearm painfully against his chest. "Where the HELL were you?!"

"Take it easy!"

Chris felt Nicky swallow against his fist, noticing his failure to reflexively defend himself. He wreaked of booze, which only angered him further. "Do you know what hell I've been going through these past 24 hours?"

"I told you I was taking a—"

"Don't you dare say 'personal day'!" Chris pulled him forward by his scruff and slammed him against the wall once again. "You didn't call it in! You weren't picking up the phone! I thought…" Chris shook his head, still not allowing himself to think what he feared had happened to Nicky.

"You thought what?" Nicky croaked, a haze falling over his face as blank as a sheet.

Chris grabbed Nicky's face, his large hands wrapping around to the back of his head so tight that he thought he could squeeze some sense into him. "What the fuck's the matter with you?" He studied him, looking from eye to eye wondering for the second time if Nicky weren't already dead.

Prepared to slam Nicky's tightly gripped head through the wall, Chris saw Nicky blink. Moisture appeared in his eyes and Chris wondered if it hadn't been there all along, which meant that the emergence of Chris' latent compassion had saved him.

"I told Pop!" The first bit of moisture to reach the brink was slow, but fell with twice the speed down Nicky's cheek. It was soon joined by several tears, which dampened Chris' thumbs as he still held Nicky's face. Chris could feel his partner sliding further down the wall and he soon released him, allowing him to collect himself like a puddle on the floor.

"You went home? To Jersey?" Chris sank to his knees, trying to gather Nicky's gaze. "What happened?"

"I told Pop!" Nicky repeated, as though he were confessing to a crime.

"And? What'd he say?"

The blankness in his eyes had reappeared and so did Chris' rage.

"Nicky!" Chris slammed his fist against the wall just inches above Nicky's head, causing him to jolt in fear. Again, another tear formed and fell over his eyelid, inviting more to follow suit. It reminded Chris of a sky opening up during a stubborn storm.

Nicky sucked his lower lip to stop it from quivering, it not doing him much good when he tried to speak. "I shouldn't have gone!" His voice shook.

Chris knew of several reasons why he shouldn't have gone. "What happened? Look at me!" He barked, noticing Nicky's falling gaze. He grabbed his chin and forced his head up, violently. "Stay with me, Nick! Tell me what happened!"

"I broke his heart!"

The nausea was back in Chris' stomach, as he watched his best friend agonizing over his abuse. "That's…that's not your fault. It hurt him because he loves you."

"The only ones I know how to hurt." Nicky's voice was a whisper, but Chris heard it and wished he hadn't.

Nicky raised his knee and lay his head against it, while Chris shifted his hand from clutching Nicky's chin to the back of Nicky's neck. He sobbed into his jeans and Chris found that his only use was gently massaging his neck.

After a few minutes, Nicky reached for Chris, gripping his shoulder tightly. He raised his head and looked at Chris through his tears. "I'm sorry, brother." He was nothing if not a sobbing mess. "I shouldn't have… I made you worry."

Chris was positive that it was his guilt that sent chills through his body. "No, brother, it's okay."

"Do me a favour." Nicky's grip on his shoulder grew firmer. "Hit me."

"What?" Chris removed his hand from Nicky's neck and cocked his head to the same angle as Nicky's. "I'm not gonna hit you, Nicky."

"You were gonna." Nicky told him, his sobbing finally breaking.

"I wa—I didn't." Chris figured that he owed him honesty, at the very least.

Nicky almost smiled. "Just beat me." The words flowed from his lips as though receiving Chris' punishment would bring him fulfillment.

Chris put his hand over Nicky's as it still grasped his shoulder. "You've never been a happy drunk." He patted it. "Come on. Get up. How much did you drink, anyway?"

Without a word, he put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a bag of marijuana.

Chris snorted, feeling both shock and awe. "You bought weed? We haven't done that since high school."

For the first time since Nicky had appeared, Chris' attention was drawn toward the doorway out of fear that their commotion had attracted a crowd. There was an older man standing there against the frame in place of the door, urging Chris to wonder if that was why he hadn't noticed him. He stood up quickly, preparing to tell the man to mind his own business before something triggered a smile to spread across his face.

"Mr. Adams?"

The man looked just as taken aback as Chris felt. He looked him up and down and returned a grim smile. "Chrissy." His voice was solemn when his eyes returned to his afflicted son, who was still curled up on the floor.

"He's had a little too much to drink." Chris warned him, watching the man edge carefully toward Nicky.

"Pop?"

Mr. Adams tried to crouch, but stopped as though the action had hurt him, but dismissed the pain. "My son." He said, sadly, clutching his wrist over his stomach.

"Looks like he gave you a scare, too." Chris observed, placing his hands on his hips.

"Stubborn kid took off on me. I was worried."

Chris glanced at Nicky, who was still holding the bag of weed. "Yeah, the son of a bitch skipped town without notifying anyone." Chris tried to sound mirthful.

Nicky was the only one who smiled. "Offer still stands," he croaked, referring to his earlier request that Chris beat his ass.

"No dice, buddy." He managed out, noting that the high level of discomfort was flooding the room. "C'mon, Nicky, get up."

"What for?" Nicky asked and Chris wondered why a man couldn't sit on his own floor if he wanted to, as well.

He realized his command was to do with making the situation less awkward and so he persisted. "Get up, Nick."

"I can't feel my legs." He laughed, prompting him to realize that it was pathetic and thus, urging more sobbing.

"Jesus Christ, Nicholas." Mr. Adams cursed, running a hand over his mouth. "I don't even know my own son."

Chris took hold of Nicky's wrist and yanked it over his neck until his entire arm was around Chris' shoulders. He lifted him to his feet, using his remaining anger as momentum.

The older man took his sons other arm. "Come home, kid. You owe your mother a talk."

Nicky choked as he tried to speak, breaking out coughing for a solid few minutes. He eventually got it out. "I can't go back to Jersey, Pop! I'll get fired."

Chris was surprised to hear him mention being terminated when he figured it had been the least of his worries.

Mr. Adams looked to Chris. "That bad?"

"Afraid so."

Mr. Adams shook his head disappointedly. "Well, I don't care what your boss thinks. Does he even know? You've gotta start dealin' with this, boy. Look at you, my God! Besides you can't sleep here. You don't even have a door."

"He can stay with me." Chris spoke almost automatically. "He can talk to the Captain in the morning."

"This guy…" Nicky slurred before engulfing in another coughing fit, falling limply against Chris' side.

Chris was planning an escape route around the fallen door when he heard the telltale sounds of vomit hitting the floor. His eyes cast down to his boots, which were layered with his partner's dark nauseant. "Give me a break! Scotch? Really, man?"

"Shit!" cried Mr. Adams, which would have made Chris break out laughing under any other circumstance. "How are we gonna get him out?"

Chris sighed. "Go ahead of me and get the doors. I swear to God, Nicky, if you puke on me, I'll leave you on the side of the road."

Still holding Nicky's waist, Chris dropped his hand from Nicky's arm, which was around Chris' neck and lifted him beneath the knees with his free arm. He jerked him to reposition his hold, releasing a groan. "You're heavier than you look, brother!"

Mr. Adams ran ahead; however, it was a struggle attempting to fit Nicky passed his father, who pressed against the wall of the narrow hallway, holding the door. The stairs were a similar story, each producing several bruises and curses along the way.

Nicky was in and out of consciousness, which made it easy when Chris miscalculated the amount of room he had passing through the final doorway and knocked Nicky's head off the door handle.

It was a cool night. So cool that when Chris stepped off the last staircase to the parking lot, the man in the wife beater, leaning against a Harley, stuck out.

PLEASE REVIEW! I KNOW IT SEEMS DUMB BUT IT MAKES ME FEEL LIKE I'M ACTUALLY WRITING TO AN AUDIENCE OF REAL PEOPLE. ASIDE FROM BOOSTING MY EGO, IT BETTERS THE QUALITY OF MY WORK IF I KNOW THERE'S A POINT TO WRITING THIS. THIS STORY IS FAR BEYOND BEING JUST A CREATIVE IDEA TO AMUSE MYSELF. THE REASON I CONTINUE IS FOR MY READERS, SO IT'D BE NICE TO HEAR FROM YOU. THANKS GUYS. YOU'VE REALLY BEEN GREAT.

HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT SUMMER!