A/N: So I ought to apologise for my tardy updates. Unfortunately life has been odd and I no longer have a beta to bounce off of. I shall try harder. Anyhoo, onward. Sorry.

Chapter 36: Head In Sand

"Puppy, we've been invited to a 'couple's dinner' with the Bradley's," I say. Casey looks up from the laptop she has been studiously tapping away at all evening, throwing me the occasional apologetic glance. I wonder if she really needs to work, or if she just needs the distraction. Our conversations have been awkward lately. Casey fills every silence with inane chatter about mundane things, barely taking a breath to avoid giving an opening to the elephant in the room.

"Have we used 'your Dad is ill' with them yet?" She asks quickly, seemingly relieved that I'm not bringing up the subject which is clearly still troubling her.

"Can't, they know my Dad, they'll probably show up to his house with flowers," I say.

Casey chews at her lip, "we should really have a kid, nothing beats 'I can't find a babysitter'."

I laugh, "so years from now we can tell our offspring how we decided to have them so we can easily avoid double dates with boring people."

"Still a better story than, 'I purchased you from your Mom with drugs so I could have a seemingly legitimate heir'," Casey mumbles. She shrugs me off when I put my hand on her shoulder. She has been moody, even by her standards, ever since meeting her real dad. Despite my attempts, she hasn't talked to or about him since and it's beginning to wear on me.

I know I should be patient, but I'm only human. I want my wife back. She's physically here but her head is a different thing entirely. Besides, she opened the door to this particular line of questioning, so she can't complain if I walk through it.

"You think you might want to…" I don't finish my sentence as Casey rises from the sofa, wandering over to the fireplace, absently thumbing a photo frame.

She doesn't want to talk about it, and I'm not surprised. As usual I can empathise but not sympathise and it's not enough.

Could anyone? Really?

I'm still lost in my internal world when I'm surprised by Casey pulling me into a tight hug. It's not a regular embrace, gentle and soft. She crushes me to her body like she's trying to pull me into her. For a moment I'm shocked but instead of pull away I bury my face in her neck, breathing hot against her skin. We stay that way for a few minutes and no words are necessary. I don't know what to say or do, but neither does Casey. We're lost, but we're lost in this together. I whisper that I love her and she says she loves me too. That's all we have and I hope it's enough.

Two weeks later

The weekend rolled around and Alex was up and away before Casey. She vaguely recalled a kiss on the forehead between dreams before her wife had departed, and a stretch across the bed confirmed she was alone.

Casey for her part had caught a few extra hours before deciding not to waste the day again. Against her better judgement, she dialled the number she'd considered throwing away more than a few times.

Appointment set and wheels in motion, Casey took her time getting ready, manufacturing reasons to drag her heels until she had no choice but to leave or be late.

Casey had carefully selected the bar, secluded spot, not frequented by her colleagues or her fathers associates and when she arrived she found it pleasantly abandoned. She finished her first drink before Shane O'Hara arrived and when he did, their conversation was clipped and to the point - though not entirely truthful.

She tried to ignore the hope in his eyes as he entered, and the subtle slump of his shoulders and absent nods as she told him she couldn't procure any information as to the whereabouts of his daughter.

It was easier if she detached herself from the situation, and it was easier than she would have liked for her to do just that. It was hard to imagine the man she was lying to was her father, and that she herself was the object of his decades long search. She hoped it was the dissonance and not the ever increasing sense of internal duplicity.

Their conversation flattened and faltered to that of strangers making small talk until Casey said she had to go. The relief was palpable from both parties.

She'd catch hell from Alex when she eventually told her what she's done, which was exactly why she had done it before letting her wife in on her plan. It was better this way. It had to be.

When I arrive home Casey is already here.

She smiles, but it's forced, and when I kiss her hello her mouth tastes of whisky and I know something is wrong.

She'll tell me, I know that, so I don't bother to press the issue right away. When I sink into the sofa next to her she wraps an arm around me and for a moment I'm taken in. It's nice, it's normal, and it's everything we haven't been lately but I know I have to ask,

"What's wrong baby?"

With my head resting on her shoulder, I not only hear but also feel her sigh heavy. I know she tries to keep me out to protect me, but I'm stronger than she thinks. Besides even if I wasn't when we said our vows we made my problems and her problems our problems, or at least I think that's how it's meant to work. I'm not exactly an expert.

I'm all set for a battle, the usual cajoling and back and forth we engage in before Casey tells me what's really going on when she just blurts out,

"I spoke to O'Hara. My Dad. I told him I couldn't find anything out about his daughter."

I carefully pick my tone, cool and ambiguous, "you mean you?"

"What?"

"You Casey, you're his daughter,"

Another sigh, this time I place my hand on her stomach and catch the corner of her jaw with a quick kiss. I'm not mad and I need her to know that, but saying it doesn't help. It's easy for me to pontificate, tell her she should be honest but I have no idea what I'd do in her situation. God knows all hell has broken loose since we met, I guess this is just another drop in the ocean, but it's the little increase that takes the water above your head.

She's dealing with it the only way she knows how, and I won't call her on it, but that doesn't mean I won't do anything.

It's a few days since Casey told me she'd lied to her real father, and I'm feeling edgy.

What I'm doing isn't against her expressed wishes but nevertheless she will not be pleased. I shouldn't interfere, it's her choice, etcetera, but all the same, here I am sitting in a bar waiting for her father to arrive.

It's for the best. Probably. Either way I've gone too far to back out.

When I called O'Hara he didn't ask too many questions; he was eager, perhaps too eager. I guess he really does want to find his daughter, but it strikes me for the first time that I'm meeting a man, a stranger, alone and without backup. I haven't even told anyone where I've gone, and I'm starting to get spooked.

I don't know this man. He could be anyone, anything.

This was a bad idea. What the hell was I thinking? I drain my glass quickly, and give an uneasy smile to the bartender.

"Another?" He asks. I'm about to ask for the check when a finger taps my shoulder and I nearly fall off my seat.

"Alex?" The man says, hesitant. I turn to face him. He's nervous, wincing almost, perhaps afraid he's approached the wrong person.

"You must be Shane," I say.

He nods, letting out a sigh of relief, "that's me."

He's tall, and he shifts his jaw idly when he's thinking in a habit so reminiscent of Casey that I'm a little taken aback.

I want to ask him a dozen questions but I put my curiosity on the back burner. He's come here for answers not questions.

"So, you've been looking for your daughter?" I say.

"That's why I'm here," he says, "you said you had information, but how did you know I was looking?"

I nod, "I have my contacts. You recently met with Casey Novak right?"

His brows furrow tight, "how did you know that? Who exactly do you…"

I cut in, "I'm… She's…" I pause, scrambling to pull my thoughts together. People always think coming out so to speak is a one off, but it's an almost daily occurrence. You're constantly assessing situations when people ask questions or make assumptions. Should I disclose? Is it safe? Will it make everything uncomfortable?

We shouldn't have to, but life isn't always fair.

This time I choose not. It's not my place to share that.

"She's a friend," I say.

"Oh," he says, and his hands he'd been wringing nervously unclasp.

"She's also your daughter," I say before I lose my nerve, and he looks predictably startled.

"She's...what? Are you sure? Does she know?"

I nod, "she only found out recently, her Mom, Erica gave her your name."

He takes a breath and rubs at his face as he tries to make sense of it all, "okay. Thank you, that helps."

He gets to his feet and starts for the door, and I call after him, "hey, do you want me to ask her to meet you?"

He turns back, "no, no, please don't." He slumps back onto his seat.

"I thought you wanted to find her?"

He throws a half smile, "yeah. And now I did. Is she happy?"

"Very much so," I add.

"That's good," he breathes, "that's good. That's all I wanted to know."

"Don't you want to get to know her?" I ask.

"After all this time?" He says, "thank you for your concern Alex, really. But it has been thirty years. I can't. I can't waltz back into her life now. No. She's happy, she's alive. That's all that matters."

This time when he walks away I don't stop him.

It seems he shares his daughter's stubborn streak.

I finish my drink and order another whilst I concoct a cover story for my absence. Casey doesn't question hard but she does worry, and she'll figure it out if I don't have my story straight.

Drinks with a city official. That'll keep her from prying. Petty local politics bore her senseless, she won't push for details.

I walk out of the bar my head still tumbling with thoughts.

That's why I don't see him, not until he's right next to me grabbing my arm and turning me to face him.

Casey arrived home to the loud chirps of Lamp careening around her ankles.

The apartment was silent and she checked her watch. Five past seven.

Alex should be home.

She shucked off her jacket and kicked her heels to the corner, consciously slowing her pace as she headed to the bedroom to get out of her work clothes.

Can't run in heels and a skirt her mind urged her.

No. It wouldn't come to that.

Alex was fine, everything was fine. She was just worrying, as usual.

People work late, it happens.

And given all that has happened and could happen, Alex always texts you to set your mind at ease the less rational part of her brain reminded her.

She gave a heavy sigh, getting dressed comfortably as quick as she could.

She wasn't paranoid or possessive. She was protective. Alex had to know that.

Sure Casey had caught the exasperation in Alex's tone when Casey always asked where she was going, how long she'd be, who would be there.

She'd seen the same story from the other side a million times and out of context, her behaviour was out of order. Paranoid.

But Casey was paranoid. It's just that her reasons were sincere.

She withdrew her cell from her pocket, hovering over the call button next to her wife's name.

No.

Too clingy.

Alex did not want to be coddled.

Casey settled instead on a text. Short, brief; too many words would give away her state of mind.

Hey Al, working late?

She set her cell on the coffee table and turned the TV set on. She needed a distraction. Baseball. That would help. That would stop her mind idling. Alex would be fine. Lightening doesn't strike twice.

"Don't panic," the man tells me, but there's a wildness in his eyes I can't ignore.

Why the hell didn't I tell Casey where I was going? How could I be so stupid. I want to run but his hand is still gripping my arm tight so instead I freeze.

I hear the chime of a message notification from my phone but I dare not reach for it.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice a quiet growl, "Shane O'Hara is not who you think he is. He's lied to you. If you know what's good for you, you'll stay away."

I want to ask why. I want to call out for help, but I'm frozen, I can't move, I can barely breathe.

I nod, and just like that he releases me and turns on his heel, jogging away into the dark and he's gone.

My legs feel like jello, but they somehow carry me to the sidewalk where I hail a taxi on autopilot.