This one took longer than expected! SUPER TALKY. So much talking.

EDIT: Late A/N, the newspaper article referred to at the end is in the original Saints Row game manual! I think it's on the wiki if you don't have a copy.

Kate winced as Donnie took a punch to the stomach and doubled over.

"And we're done!" she announced. She stood up from the marble step she'd been sitting on, and climbed down to the floor. They'd cleared a space behind the couches, where Donnie was standing, bent over with his hands on his knees as he tried to get his breath back. The Saints around him backed away.

"Little early," said Johnny. "Isn't it?"

She turned back, her eyes narrowed. "Is it?" she asked. "Or are you just making a fuss because I didn't let you play?"

He stood up. His grin was savage. "Slightly early," he said. "By my count."

She was uncomfortably aware of the amount of eyes on them. "Save it for the Ronin," she said. "We'll need you for that."

"If you say so," he said. "Boss."

She cast one dubious glance back over her shoulder, before dropping a hand lightly on Donnie's back. "You okay, buddy?" she asked.

"Yeah," he wheezed. "Okay."

"Take any blows to the head?"

"Nothing major," he managed. "Think I'm good."

"Good," she said. "I'm proud of you, okay? You're one of us, now."

"Th-thanks," he said.

She tapped him lightly, again, on the back and turned away to head back up to the surface. Johnny fell into step next to her.

"Still think it was a little early," he said.

"Pretty sure Julius called mine early," she said, once she was sure they were out of earshot of the others.

"He really shouldn't have," said Johnny. "Watching that was hilarious."

She stopped, halfway up the stairs, one hand on a rickety wooden handrail. She turned to look at him. "You got something on your mind, Johnny?" she asked, through clenched teeth.

"Yeah," he said, taking half a step towards her. "You don't have to treat me like a fucking kid."

It took all her willpower to not take a step back. "For fuck's sake," she said. "Okay, I get you want to fuck shit up, but if you had ripped a fucking stitch beating up a skinny Asian kid who I'm pretty sure couldn't hurt you if he had a fucking sledge hammer I would actually strangle you."

"You could try," he said.

"If you'd ripped your stitches I'd already have an advantage," she said. "And if – if you think I'd fucking push you around the cemetery in a wheelchair tomorrow-" She broke off, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth.

"Katie," he said, quietly.

"God damn it, Johnny," she said, unsteadily. Before he could reply, she started back up the stairs. He didn't follow her.

She took one of the cars in the lot outside and turned out onto the road, but only got as far as Sunnyville Gardens before she had to stop. She pulled over to the side of the road, wheels bumping up onto the curb, and switched off the engine. She stared at the steering wheel for almost a minute, then pulled out her phone.

It seemed to ring for a long time.

"Hey," said Troy, eventually. Cautiously.

"H-hey," she said back.

"Everything okay?"

"Can I just – talk to you?" she asked. "Things are-" She closed her eyes. "Just – fucked. I guess. Shit."

There was a long silence on the other end. "Yeah," he said, finally. "If you want."

"Can I see you?"

"Sure," he said. "But we can't meet in public any more. That shit you pulled with the Ronin has given you a profile."

"Well – what do we do instead?" she asked. "Like, rent a fucking motel room?"

"Jesus Christ," said Troy, quietly. "No. Look – I'll send you my address."

"Like – actually your real address?"

"Don't make me regret this," he said.

"I'm just – surprised that you trust me that much," she said.

"You think I shouldn't?"

"W-well, yeah, kind of?" she said. "I mean, shit, you just go around trusting everyone, you're going to get killed. And I'm not really okay with that."

There was a short silence. "Are – are you actually serious right now?" he asked.

"I – well, sort of, yes? Why not come to mine, or something?"

"Hotels have too many security cameras," he said. "Not a good idea."

She paused. "When did I tell you I live in a hotel?" she asked. "Christ, you don't have someone in the Saints, do you?"

He laughed humourlessly. "You think I'd do that to someone else? Strippers talk in this town, Katie."

"God fucking damn it," she said, smiling despite herself. "I am going to straight up murder Pierce."

"Come round anytime after seven. Wait, make it eight."

"Do you really work that late?" she asked.

"That's... not what I'd call late," he said.

"Really?" she asked. "I am so never getting a real job."

"Great," he said. "See you later."

It was after dark when she pulled up outside the apartment block. It was tall and grey, just opposite the rotunda at Brighton beach.

She kept her head down as she headed inside, but she didn't see a single person. She took the elevator to the thirtieth floor, and counted along the doors.

She knocked on the door and took a step back. After a moment she heard bolts shifting.

He opened it a crack. "You alone?"

"Yes? Who'd you think I was going to bring?" she asked. "Johnny? Jesus. If you didn't trust me then why would you give me-"

"Fine," he said, opening the door wider. "Come in."

The apartment was bigger than she'd been expecting, with a high ceiling and huge, sweeping glass windows, double doors leading out onto a balcony. The carpet and walls were cream, with black furniture.

"Oh. Wow," she said, taking a step inside.

"Nice view, huh?" he said.

She walked up to the glass doors. She could see the orange lights of the Philips tower as it reached into the sky; the huge neon advertisements on the buildings. "Nice view of the Row," she said, quietly. "What's left of it."

"Yeah," he said. "Long as I can't see the police station."

She managed a smile. "I was thinking of buying up some more real estate," she said. "Why's it so cheap here, anyway?"

"It's like Detroit," he said. "The city's halfway to bankrupt and no one wants to fucking live here. Drink?" He held up a bottle of whiskey.

"Yeah." She took a step back away from the windows. "Thanks."

"Ice?"

"Yeah," she said, again.

He put the glasses down on a glass coffee table in the middle of the room, and took a seat on the couch. "When's the funeral?"

"Tomorrow," she said, sitting down next to him. "It feels like it's been so long since it happened. Weeks."

"How's Johnny doing?"

"Not – great," she said, picking up her glass and looking down into the amber liquid. "Injury's healing alright, though."

"How about you?"

She looked up at him, but couldn't hold the gaze and looked back down. "I don't know," she said, looking down at her hands. "I just – I don't know."

Troy let the silence draw out.

"Julius told me," she said, finally. "Ages ago, now, I guess. That – well, it was pretty much along the lines of 'we all signed up for this'. I guess when you're fighting a war you take casualties." She glanced up. "I don't know why he told me this, maybe he thought that I was having trouble after Lin died, which, I mean, I was." She took a shaky breath. "But Aisha wasn't part of it. She wasn't. She didn't really know the risks."

"It's not that common to go through with killing gang associates," said Troy. "Especially women and children. They get intimidated, yeah. I guess sometimes it's an accident. Not often they get killed if they're clearly not a threat. Shit, she was still tied to the chair when I got to the scene."

"I forgot you were there too," she said, quietly.

"Yeah," he said. "One of the worst I've seen."

"Why would they do it then?" she asked.

"Well, either they thought they could deal with whatever you throw back at them, or someone made a bad judgement call. Or both."

"I didn't see it happen," she said. "Johnny did. And I wish he hadn't."

"Jesus." He sighed. "Look after him, okay? You don't really get over something like that."

"Yeah." She shook her head. "I just wish I could've- I don't know. Done something."

"Know the feeling."

"Do you know what bothers me?" she asked. "I don't remember why we blew up the VK's record company in the first place. I mean, all of that to get out of a recording contract? The whole fucking thing? It doesn't make sense."

Troy shrugged a shoulder. "Johnny plan. Killing the income stream for the VKs would probably factor in."

"But-" She looked up. "But after we got rid of them we just didn't do anything. Why couldn't we have just been all 'oh, she was in a coma and didn't remember her own identity, look here she is'?"

"Wasn't any time before –" Troy sighed. "Jesus. It was a mess."

"Why did Julius even approve it?" she asked. "I mean he got so mad at Dex for fucking talking to the Colombians and then Johnny comes along with a plan to blow up a huge office building and he's just like 'yeah, sounds good'? It doesn't make any sense."

"I wasn't making the decisions," he said. "Julius thought – thought we needed to send a message. I guess. He had some history with King. Maybe it was about that."

He reached into his pocket and brought out a pack of cigarettes. "Katie – if you don't mind me asking – why was it you wanted to talk to me about this?"

She shook her head when he offered the pack. "I don't know," she said, leaning back into the couch. "Probably – because you knew her too. Even just a little. I didn't really know her that well. And - maybe because of Lin, because you were there and you helped, and –" She shook her head. "I still can't believe you sent the fucking police dive squad."

"Yeah," he said. "Because I should have sent the Saints Row Olympic fucking swim team. I sent you the best I could, Katie. I thought they'd give Lin the best chance." He looked down at the glass on the table. "Didn't turn out that way."

"You never wanted any of us to die at all, did you?" she asked softly.

"Why would I?" he asked flatly.

"Would you have let Johnny go to the chair?"

He looked up at her. "Once it's hit the courts it's out of my hands." He paused. "But – if he'd wanted to take a plea deal for life instead, the prosecution might not have fought it so hard."

"Jesus Christ." She took a gulp of the whiskey, and winced at the burn.

"Take it easy," he said.

She looked at him sidelong. "Did you ever come see me?" she asked. "You know. After the explosion."

"Believe it or not, there aren't many places where a chief of police is less welcome than the inside of a prison," he said.

"You do that a lot," she said. "You know, make a joke or something instead of answering a question."

His eyes narrowed, then he looked away. "I saw you once," he said. "Before I took this job. It was just after the bomb. After you come off undercover you get a lot of leave. Helps you to wind down. Or they say it does, anyway. And you were – covered in bandages. Just lying there with a tube in your nose and one in your throat, hooked up to the respirator. And I couldn't even tell if it was you or not. So I left."

She touched her fingers to her lips. "Thank you," she said, quietly.

"It doesn't matter," he said. "It wasn't really you."

"If you didn't think it was me, why'd you keep me alive for so long?" she asked.

He looked down. "The doctors told me you wouldn't be coming back. That even if you did wake up you wouldn't be the same. I never thought I'd talk to you again."

"So – why?"

He looked up at her. "Because – things shouldn't have ended up that way. I never wanted to get you killed, or hurt, or anything like that. I think if you'd been taken off life support, it would have – would have meant that nothing I'd done that whole time would have been worth anything at all."

She blinked at him, stunned. "Um. I – uh, wow."

"Sorry," he said. "Forget it. Look – seeing you again has brought back a lot of weird shit I thought I'd dealt with."

"What?" she said, drawing out the word. "Weird like how?"

"Weird like I've been trying to forget about it for the past five years and can't anymore?"

She pulled back a little. "Sorry," she said.

He looked away. "Yeah," he said. "Whatever. It's not your fault. It's nothing to do with you. Not really."

"You okay?" she asked. The whiskey was slowly starting to relax her.

"Sure," he said. "I'm fine."

"I kind of don't believe you."

"Believe what you want." He drained the glass and set it on the table in front of him.

"Was it because of the undercover stuff you did?" she asked. "What was it like?"

He laughed hollowly. "I don't even know how to explain it to someone who hasn't done it," he said. "It's like – like living a lie. Like you know you're going to betray people that trusted you. It's no kind of life at all."

He stopped for a moment to light another cigarette. "You don't have 'friends', you just have enemies that don't know who you are yet. And you live this, 24/7. You have an operator you speak to twice a week, and he tells you you'll come out of it with a commendation."

"Were you scared?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said. "Well, at first. You wait – you just wait – for something that blows your cover. And when that day never comes, you start to relax a little." He looked down at the empty glass in front of him. "And then you realise one day that these guys have got your fucking back, and they've saved your ass more times than you can count. And you've drunk with them, and ridden with them, and bled with them, and then – then one day you have to forget everything you did with them except for names, places, and dates for the courtroom."

She finished her whiskey and got up to refill their glasses, then set them back on the table next to each other.

"And then," he said, quietly. "You realise that you didn't come out of it the same person as you were when you went in."

"Was that why you didn't come in that night?" she asked.

He frowned. "What night?"

She could feel her cheeks turning red. "You know, that night after the party at the church. And you walked me home, and I said-"

He looked at her incredulously. "Are you seriously asking me about this right now?"

She looked down. "Well, yeah. I felt shitty about it for a really long time, so-"

"Really?" his gaze seemed to soften.

"Well I guess it wasn't a really long time because I got blown up shortly after that, but, you know, otherwise yes." She looked down at her hands. "I mean, I guess it's been five years for you but it hasn't really been that long for me."

"Jesus," said Troy. "Well – okay, they do encourage agents to – to form relationships with people in the groups they're infiltrating. Helps with cover. But – on that night-" He sighed. "Okay, to start with, you were wasted. I mean, to the point of trying to pick a fight with Johnny. Doesn't matter what my fuckin' job is, I'm not going to go home with a girl that drunk."

She grinned, wrinkling her nose. "Really? That's so sweet."

"You know," he said. "It bothers me that you think that's 'sweet', as opposed to normal fucking human behaviour."

"Well, you know." She rolled her eyes. "College."

His expression didn't change, but his hands tightened around his glass, knuckles whitening.

"It's a motherfucking minefield of date rapists and warnings not to leave your drink unattended," she said.

"Kate-" he began, his eyes too concerned.

She grinned. "Let's just – why don't we move on from that?"

He looked at her for a moment more, then turned his gaze back to his glass. "Alright, well, the second part is – I was getting out. Pretty much the next day." He looked up. "And – I didn't know what was going to happen, I thought I might have to testify against you in court. And I thought that – that was the kind of thing that might fuck you up. And I didn't want to do that to you."

"That's – actually really nice," she said.

"Whatever," he said.

"You know," she said, sipping her drink. "I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you."

He looked over at her warily. "Yeah. Don't think I don't know that."

She gave him a half-smile. "Don't tell me you regret it?"

He looked back down into his glass. After a moment he shook his head, just once, barely enough to be noticeable.

"And then you took me to buy my first gun," she continued.

His head snapped back towards her. "There is no way in hell that was your first gun," he said. "I've seen you shoot."

She smiled. "Good catch," she said.

"And you have a fucked up shooting style as well," he said. "You lower the gun from your shoulder and you take a while to line up and you don't bother supporting your hand. Where'd you pick that up?"

She turned her smile towards him, although it wavered. "Womens 25 metre pistol," she said. "We were going to go to the ISSF championships."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Troy's eyes widened.

"Nope."

"So what happened?" he asked.

"Well, we didn't go," she said curtly.

"Why not?"

"That's as much as you get," she said. She could hear the strain in her voice. "Sorry."

"I think that's the most you've ever told me about yourself."

She smiled faintly. "Don't get used to it."

"Why do you keep everything such a secret?" he asked.

"It's a long and embarrassing story," she said. "And one I'm not going to tell you." She took a long swallow of her whiskey. Her head was starting to spin. "You haven't got anything for me to do lately, have you?" she asked. "I kind of like it because it makes me feel like Batman."

"Batman doesn't kill people."

She nodded. "Yeah, I know. Kind of dumb, really."

He sighed. "I shouldn't have taken you up on that in the first place," he said.

"It's no big deal," she said. "Not like that one guy was a great loss to society."

"That's not the point," said Troy, looking down at the glass in his hands. "Still shouldn't have asked you to do it."

Kate cocked her head. "Was he being investigated for drug manufacturing?" she asked. "Like, was that the reason? I only ask because he had a meth lab going on when I showed up."

"Among other things," he said. "Hardly seems worth it, now."

"I'm sorry," she said.

He didn't look up. "Yeah," he said. "Me too."

She swirled the ice cubes in her drink. "I got a call from Channel 6," she said. "Just after the building explosion. Jane Valderama wants to do an interview."

"No way." He shook his head. "Stay the fuck away from the media. They will fuck you every time."

She laughed, surprised. "Um, okay."

"I gotta show you something." He stood up and made his way over to a set of drawers in the corner. After a moment, he picked out an old newspaper clipping.

"Read this," he said, handing it to her. He sat back down.

The headline of the clipping was 'The Trojan Horse'. She looked up, incredulous. "Seriously?" she said.

"Great start, huh?" he said. "Real great."

She began to skim the page. "Chief Monroe has increased the use of undercover agents-" She read out loud. "Wait, what? There were more of you?"

He shrugged. "I guess. I didn't get told who they were, or anything."

"Like in the Saints or the other gangs?"

"I told you, I don't know."

"Because if it was like more than one gang, wouldn't you potentially end up shooting at each other?"

"I don't kn-" He broke off. "I heard there were a couple of incidents. No fatalities."

She nodded, looking back down at the page. "This is some shit journalism," she said. "I mean, it's pretty much just a transcript. Which is – bordering on identifiable, at that."

"Monroe didn't give me a choice," he said.

"Why not?" she asked. "I'd say this comes close to jeopardising the whole thing. Sure sounds like you. Aww, it even talks about you smoking."

"Visibility," said Troy, bitterly. "Gotta look like you're doing something."

She looked at the name in the byline. Xavier Silverman. "This guy still work in Stilwater?" she asked, tapping a finger against her lips.

"How would I-" he began, but he broke off, narrowing his eyes. "Don't try to find out."

"I wasn't going to do anything," she said, innocently.

"Good," he said. "Don't." He leaned forward to tap ash into the ashtray on the table.

Her eyes flicked down to the last question the reporter had asked. "What did you have to do to prove yourself to these people?" she read. "And then you stormed out. Christ."

"I wouldn't call it storming out," he said. "So much as not putting up with the reporter's shit."

She folded the paper back along the crease and handed it back to him. "Is this what you meant before?" she asked. "With the stuff you said you thought you'd put behind you? Things that you did?"

"Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

"Troy." She put her hand on his knee gently. "You-"

"Don't," he said, interrupting her.

She paused. "Don't what?"

"Don't – this," he said, gesturing at the air between them. "I don't know what you're trying to do but there is no way in hell this is going to end well."

She drew back, folding her hands in her lap. "I'm not trying to do anything."

He stared at the table in front of him, the glasses dripping condensation onto the surface. "Why are you here?" he asked, bleakly.

"I wanted to see you," she said.

"Why?" he asked again.

She frowned. "The hell do you want me to say, Troy?"

"Just the truth."

"Jesus," she said. "Actually?"

When she didn't get a response, she kept talking. "Well – I – I like seeing you. There aren't that many people I can talk to. Like this. I imagine you might have the same kind of – thing."

He looked up at her, his green eyes uncertain.

"I mean," she continued, defensively. "If you think I'm just trying to manipulate you – given our respective positions I can sort of understand that. But that's not why I'm here."

"Katie-" he began, but she stood up.

"Look," she said. "It's late. I should be going."

His eyes followed her as she moved to the door. She pulled it shut behind her with a click, then leaned against it. She closed her eyes for a moment, before walking back down the hall to the elevators.