All of you are amazing! Thank you so much for the response on chapter 1! I'm humbled by it, truly.

Thank you so much to Fran S. Flower, who is truly a phenomenal beta. I do tend to tinker with things up until the very end, so any outstanding mistakes are all on me.

Then of course, my awesome pre-reads for this chapter: PearlyFox and my lil sis, who is probably too young to be reading this story, but loves it anyway.

II

Le Chasseur

Anthony

Il ne faut rien laisser au hasard.

My knuckles nearly split as they come into contact with the punching bag. The heavy thump of my fist and the subsequent groan of the apparatus holding it up, satisfies me.

I drop my arms, keeping on my toes as I pace away.

Rolling my neck, I try to imagine the bag as a thug, some lowlife profiting off the exploitation of the weak and naive.

My fists come back up, and I deliver a series of hits to the bag that has the whole device shaking. "Wasser!" I pause, looking up from the punching bag to see my CO watching me from the edge of the room. I loosen my stance, dropping my hands by my side as I head over to him.

"Sir," I acknowledge, dipping my head in a slight nod. His light blue eyes are watching me critically, assessing.

"I just finished reading your report on the Morton bust," he pauses, his head tilting slightly as his eyes narrow. "He's in pretty rough shape."

I don't say anything. Morton is scum, and sure, maybe his arrest was a little more aggressive than most arrests, but the little shit had it coming.

When it's clear I'm not going to take the bait, Captain Cullen nods. "It's good work. Should keep the DA happy," he continues. I swallow, my hands flexing into fists at the mention of that piece of shit, DA. I do my fucking job, and I do it well. It pisses me the hell off when that lazy son of a bitch throws out our hard work because he thinks it's insufficient.

Captain Cullen's sharp eyes narrow on me. He knows me well enough to know I'm thinking of the last case I had that the DA threw out. I'm still furious about it. It doesn't matter that the dumbass lowlife got himself killed two weeks later; I want justice.

"Morton will be facing life," Captain continues, eyeing me for my reaction. My jaw ticks.

"He should be dead," I mutter. Carlisle watches me, and it's only the slight tightening of his eyes and the very small nod of his head that tells me he privately agrees.

"We uphold the law," he reminds me. "Semper Aequus."

I let out a harsh breath, nodding. "Semper Aequus," I repeat.

Always Just.

It is the motto we live by daily, to uphold the law and deliver it justly. The problem is, what is just and what is legal isn't always aligned. Thinking about the number of scumbags who have gotten away with shit because the law was on their side makes my fists clench tighter.

Carlisle's sharp blue eyes assess me, reading me better than anyone can. He's been my commanding officer for six years, but he's been a mentor to me even before that. He took me under his wing my first day out of the academy, back when I was a beat cop. He and his wife Esme are the closest things to family I have left in this world.

"Are you sleeping?" It's clear by the softening of his tone that Carlisle is asking as a friend now, not a boss. I roll my shoulders, cracking my neck.

"I get a couple hours each night," I say, wanting to brush off his concern. His eyes tighten slightly.

"I'm doing what I can to get you back on a case," he says after a long moment. I stop my anxious fidgeting and look at him. He's found the root of my anxious energy, the reason he's found me beating up a punching bag. I've been doing undercover work now for almost two full years. It's where I thrive. I love slipping into the darkest corners of this fucking city, kicking from the inside out. They never see me coming, and I always, always, manage the job.

It's been nearly a month since I've been undercover, and it's driving me insane not to be on a case. I need it; I absolutely live for work.

"I know," I say, letting out a long breath.

Carlisle frowns, ever so slightly, his light eyebrows drawing together. "Are you busy tonight?"

I shrug. "I was going to go home, look at some old case files, see if I can kick anything up." It's what I do every fucking night.

"Why don't you come over for dinner? Esme would love to see you, and I'm sure you could use a night off."

I consider turning down the invitation, but really, what else have I got to do? "All right," I say slowly, rolling my shoulders again. Carlisle smiles.

"Seven?" he asks.

I nod. "I'll see you then," I whisper.

Carlisle reaches out to clap a shoulder, squeezing my arm in a familiar, fatherly gesture before he steps back, giving me a small smile.

"I'll see you at seven." He turns, leaving the training facility, and I let out a breath, turning to look at my punching bag. I feel better, having talked to Carlisle, and I'm able to finish my work out without doing any real damage to myself or the equipment.

-V-

"Anthony! It's so good to see you!" Esme's hands wrap around me, pulling me into the brownstone as she wraps me in a gentle hug. She smells like antiseptic from the hospital where she works. Under that ever-present smell, though, is the soft scent of jasmine. Esme smells how her hugs feel; gentle, kind, and secure. "How are you? It's been so long since we've seen you," she says, pulling back from me. I smile, offering her the flowers I stopped to pick up for her.

"I'm fine; thanks for having me over."

Esme softens at the sight of the white roses. "My favorite," she says, smiling up at me. "Thank you, dear. Please come in."

She leads me further into the brownstone, and I see Carlisle come in from the kitchen. I hold out a bottle of wine to him—La Couleé Sancerre, his favorite—and he smiles, accepting it.

"Thank you, Anthony. Would you like a glass?"

I nod and sit on the sofa as Esme directs. She takes the bottle from Carlisle, whisking it and the flowers to the kitchen as Carlisle takes a seat across from me.

My eyes travel around the room, briefly touching upon new decorations I've never seen before. On the mantle, my eyes linger on the photo of the young boy. Ryan, the son Carlisle and Esme, lost when he was only three. We haven't talked about him much, but I know the loss of Ryan is something that still wounds them both deeply. Ryan was a few years younger than me, but I know that in part, I have become a surrogate son to them, as they have both become surrogate parents to me. We're all broken people, clinging to any lifeline we can find.

Frowning at the unexpected dark turn my thoughts have taken, I shift, looking to Carlisle. Before either of us can say anything, claws scraping against the hardwood floor alert us to Sadie barreling into the room. She's a beautiful white golden retriever, with long, silky fur and a permanent doggy smile. The moment she sees me, she's sprinting across the room, jumping up onto the sofa despite Carlisle's protests. Sadie slams into my chest, head butting me with kisses, and I can't help my laugh as I wrap my arms around her.

"Hey, pretty girl," I chuckle, running my hands through her fur. She barks and paces over me before she finally sits halfway in my lap. Carlisle shakes his head as Sadie settles into me.

"I'm sorry," he says, giving his dog an exasperated look. I grin. It's the same greeting Sadie has given me since she was a puppy.

"Don't be," I say, waving him off. It's nearly impossible to be in a bad mood with Sadie looking up at you with those big dark eyes, and I feel my pent-up frustration melt away.

"Oh, Sadie," Esme says, coming back into the living room. Sadie's tail thumps heavily against the sofa as Esme sets wine glasses in front of us. She takes a seat with Carlisle on the other sofa and shakes her head at the dog. I reach for my wine, silently toasting them. "So, Anthony," Esme says, sipping her glass. I look at her. "How have you been?"

I swallow as I think about how to best answer her. "Restless, I guess. I'm eager to get back on a case."

Esme glances at Carlisle, who is watching me closely. "Is there anything coming up?" she asks.

Carlisle finally turns to look at her. "I'm working on it," he assures her. She nods, sipping her glass again.

"Well, dear, if you are around for a while, have you been on any dates?"

The intrusiveness of her question doesn't even faze me. I'd ignore anyone else who asked about it, but I know Esme worries about me, and honestly, there is something in me that doesn't like lying to her.

"No," I shake my head, my left hand running through Sadie's soft fur.

Esme nods. "Well, if you're interested, I know there is a young nurse at the hospital that is looking for something casual," she offers. I nearly smile. It's not the first time she's tried to arrange casual sex for me, and I doubt it'll be the last.

"Thanks, Esme. I'll keep it in mind," I tell her. I'm not opposed to casual sex. In fact, it's really the only sort of relationship I can have these days. My life is my job, and that job requires me quite often to be a different person. I can't afford personal ties. I sip my wine before changing the subject. "How are things at the hospital?"

Esme smiles and settles in to tell me about her work. She runs the largest pediatrics ward in the city, her natural compassion, gentleness, and brilliance making her phenomenal at her job. I've never asked why Esme and Carlisle never had another child, nor have they offered up the information. They are two of the most compassionate people I know, and part of me regrets they never got to have the children they both clearly desired.

We talk a while, and the longer I'm there, the more I relax, sinking into the soft sofa with my wine and Sadie's heavy head in my lap. These are the comforts of home I've not permitted myself to enjoy in a long time.

Eventually, we go into the dining room for dinner. Carlisle's made a delicious roast that blows every meal I've eaten this year out of the water. While we eat, Sadie curls herself under my feet, not begging for food, but keeping me company.

After dinner, I help clear the dishes, though both Esme and Carlisle wave me away from washing anything. Instead, Carlisle pours me a glass of scotch while he refills his wine and motions me outside to their small, enclosed yard. I note that the scotch is my favorite brand, and I glance at him appreciatively. He doesn't often drink it, so I know it's here in his home for me and me alone.

We settle outside with our drinks. It's finally stopped raining after days of constant downpour. The world is wet, but the sky for once is clear. I glance up and see faint stars twinkling in the sky above us. The constant light pollution of the city combined with the shit weather we seem to always be facing means I seldom see the stars.

Looking at them reminds me of my mother, and the pain of that memory is so sudden and fresh that I have to tear my eyes away, dropping my gaze to the ground and blinking back rapidly. I haven't thought about my mom in a long time, and even then, I didn't fucking cry over her. I haven't cried about her in years.

Sadie makes a small noise, and I blink, focusing on her. She looks up at me, her dark eyes seeming to see right through me before she shifts her whole body, so she's lying across my feet. She's heavy, but I appreciate the weight of her, grounding me.

"Any updates from Lykaios' place?" I ask, looking at Carlisle. Last night, there was a strange call that came in from Demetri Lykaios' house. When a squad car went out there, though, Lykaios himself came out to tell them everything was fine. The squad car hung around for a few minutes, but they left without any tangible proof of something being wrong. Ever since I heard about it, I've had a bad feeling. On paper, Lykaios is a good man who spends a lot of time volunteering. His platform focuses heavily on supporting low-income families and restructuring the school system. He's phenomenally popular, and it's only a matter of time until he's officially mayor of the city, though I doubt that's where he'll stop. He's young, popular, and ambitious.

I've never trusted him.

It's the eyes. Though his smile seems genuine enough, I never see it touch his eyes. I'm a damn good cop, and my instincts are almost never off. I wouldn't trust Lykaios with anything.

Carlisle shifts in his chair, crossing one long leg over the other and shaking his head. "No," he says quietly. "I sent a few guys to check in again, but they couldn't get anything."

"What did the caller say again?" I ask.

He glances at me. "Housekeeper called, saying she thought the house was being broken into." He pauses, his brows dipping together.

"But?" I prompt. He glances at me and sighs.

"I listened to the call. She was frantic, almost manic." He shakes his head. "The call ended too abruptly like someone hung up for her."

I consider this. "No reports of anyone missing?" I ask, feeling instinct take over.

"No, nothing. Lykaios is business as usual today," he sighs, sipping his wine. I ponder that, turning the glass of scotch in my hand. I feel reasonably certain that Lykaios would report if someone had been killed on his property, but since no call has come in about it, what else could he be hiding?

At my feet, Sadie whines a little, nudging me with her head. I blink, shaking myself out of my thoughts and bending over to scratch her. Her tail thumps happily.

"You know," Carlisle says as I sit back, sipping my scotch. "Sadie is a trained emotional support animal."

I look at him, one brow lifting. "Is she?"

Carlisle nods. "Esme takes her into the hospital sometimes, for the kids." he pauses, glanced down at the golden retriever at my feet. "She knows when someone is in emotional distress."

I almost snort. My eyes flicker from Carlisle back to the dog at my feet. She's lying down, but her tail is still thumping heavily. "Good dog," I whisper, reaching down to scratch behind her ears again. "No wonder she goes crazy when she sees me," I mutter, sitting back and sipping my scotch. "I must drive her mad."

Carlisle lets out a low chuckle. "She adores you."

I glance at him. Part of me hates how comfortable I am here with the Cullens. They are so generous and accepting. With them, I feel like I can let my guard down, which is an uncomfortable position for me. Usually, in my life, letting my guard down means getting killed.

I lean back in the chair, sucking in a deep breath of cold night air. "You can't keep doing this forever, you know," Carlisle says softly. I glance at him.

I can hear his worry, and on some level, I know he's right. But this job, this work is my life. It's the only thing in my life I've done that has ever mattered. I need it.

"I'll be fine," I say, trying to brush him off. I don't plan on settling down with a family. Such things are so far beyond a person like me.

"It's going to kill you."

I glance at him. Carlisle is worried, I know that, and it both brings me comfort and makes me agitated.

My response is drowned in the scotch as I bring the glass up and tip the rest of it into my mouth. Then so be it.

-V-

"What are you doing here, Wasser?"

I lift my head, nodding in acknowledgment to the detective greeting me. "Hey, man."

He offers me a hand, and I reach out, smacking it. I've known Brady since the academy. Though he's stuck around the precinct while I went the undercover route, he's remained a decent contact for me. "Meeting with the Captain," I say, nodding toward Carlisle's office. He called me first thing this morning, asking me to come in. I'm praying that means he has a case for me.

Brady nods as I make my way past his desk, heading toward Carlisle's office. I knock once, and through the window, I see him look up. He waves me in, and I step into his office, shutting the door behind me.

"Anthony, thanks for coming in."

He motions for me to take a seat across his desk, and I nod, striding across the room and settling in. He looks at me over his desk, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth. "Intel came in," he says, getting straight to it and sliding a folder across the desk toward me. I pick it up, immediately flipping it open. "We need you undercover again."

A jolt of excitement runs down my spine as I take in the file. Narcotics ring, of course. It's one of my specialties.

"We have unconfirmed tips about a drug ring linking distributors in Haiti," he says, nodding to the file in my hands. "We need more intel before we can make any moves."

I frown at the tiny tidbits of information in the file. "Any ideas of who is running it?" I ask, glancing up at him. He sighs.

"There are a few gangs in the area that are suspected, but we can't be sure." He pauses, tapping his desk. "We need you to get in, follow the drugs back to their source."

I consider the assignment. Usually, when I'm going undercover, we have more to work from. Still, the opportunity to get back undercover is too good. Of course, I'll take it.

"Do you still have your contacts up and running?" Carlisle asks. I look at him and nod.

"Just spoke to one last week," I confirm. "It shouldn't be too hard to get in."

He nods. "I don't like sending you in so blind," he says after a moment. I look at him. "Check in with Sam by tomorrow."

"I'll be fine," I tell him quietly. He looks at me. "I'm good, Carlisle. I'll be fine."

He dips his head a little. "I know. I trust you and your instincts." It's high praise coming from him. He looks up at me again and nods toward the file. "Study up, call Sam if you need anything," he pauses, looking me over. I feel him holding back, not saying what he really wants to, and suddenly I know what it is he wants to say. I swallow, slightly uncomfortable but mostly grateful. Carlisle's eyes say it all; stay safe.

"Thank you, Captain," I say, standing. Carlisle nods.

"Good luck, Detective."

-V-

Sam's signature knock on my door sounds out, and I pause in the middle of taking inventory of my weapons, standing up from my kitchen table, and going to open the door. Sam nods to me as soon as the door is open, and I step aside to let him in. "All right, Wasser, ready to get your ass kicked again?"

Asshole. I took a beating undercover once, and he won't let me forget it. He's been my handler almost as long as I've been going undercover, and I trust him almost as much as I trust Carlisle.

"Dick," I say, shutting my door. He laughs and moves through my apartment, eyeing my kitchen table.

"You caught up on the file?"

I glance at him as I return to my table. "Yeah," I say, shaking my head slightly. "Not that there was much to know." My voice is bitter, and Sam winces.

"Yeah, it's light still," he agrees. "It'll change, though. Knowing you, you'll have sniffed everyone out within a month." He shakes his head at me, and I smirk. I'm good, but I doubt even I'll be able to take down a drug ring in a month.

"Anyway, I wanted to check in with you, see if there is anything else you need before Anthony Wasser stops existing."

His words should unsettle me, but instead, they thrill me. Sometimes, I can't wait to stop being Anthony Wasser.

"Nah, man. I'm good."

Sam eyes me a long moment before nodding. "All right, well, I want to run over the initial contact plan," he says, taking a seat at my table. I move a few weapons around, sitting with him. I grab my file and the beer I'm nursing, holding it up to Sam, silently asking him if he wants one. He waves me off, pulling open his own file.

We sit and talk strategy, deciding the best person to initiate contact with. It's not going to be easy, and likely; it'll take me quite a while to get far enough to follow the drugs or money anywhere, but that's okay. We play smart, not hurried.

Working with Sam takes hours, but by the time we're done, we both feel confident in our plan. I will jump back into the gang world tomorrow, start making sure people know I'm still around while I put out a few feelers.

Sam and I go over and over the plan until we are both sure of it. When we are finally done, Sam looks at me.

"What do you need?" he asks, his dark eyes assessing me. I shake my head.

"Just a few hours' sleep and then nothing." I tap the table with my forefinger. "I'm ready."

Sam lets out a long breath and then shifts his chair back. It scrapes lightly on my hardwood floors as he reaches out, settling a heavy hand on my shoulder.

"Welcome back, Edward Masen."

Woo! All right, now we've met Anthony/Edward. What do you think of him? This Edward looks a lot like Neil from Tenet (yummm) so you know, imagine him as you will (or hit up my FB group, Fanfics for Nerds for the visuals I'm putting together. Most of them are gifs to music... so fun!).

Translations:

1. Le Chasseur - the hunter (French)

2. Il ne faut rien laisser au hasard: Nothing should be left to chance. (French)

2. Semper Aequus: Always Just (Latin) This one the translation was in the text but I figured I'd include it here.