Updates Chapter 16: Between Us (Stella)

Gus mostly forgot about or ignored her discussion with both Colston and Chanda as a team finally formed to work through the water damaged evidence in the basement. Gus was overjoyed at the initiative being taken by the new mayor, so much so that she didn't even mind spending nearly every waking minute covered in filth in the caverns of the basement at Tulane and Broad.

She was mostly able to keep the flashbacks from that fateful August day at bay, though her nightmares did start to creep back as her subconscious wrestled with the literal and figurative flood waters. She was starting to believe that maybe she would emerge from this experience stronger and a whole person, one that was with it enough to fight to get Don Flack back. At least until she received Stella's letter and found a decaying box she didn't even knew existed from many years before.

She hadn't been looking for it, mostly because she was told that there wasn't anything to look for, that records had been lost years ago, that the suspect had stolen the memo book, that there must have been someone on the inside who made everything else disappear.

It was on a collapsed shelving unit, mixed in with old B&E cases. These boxes were all intermingled on the twisted pile of metal, the waterlogged cardboard first dissolving and then disintegrating as they sat baking, molding, rotting. Papers congealed together in a ink-stained, blotted mess, evidence bags now brittle, flaking apart at the lightest touch.

Gus wasn't even dealing with such cases, she had merely been trying to clear a path so the team could separate out the high priority DNA cases now that word had gotten out about the new mayor's plans. She didn't even recognize it until she peeled off what was left of a box lid and was about to toss it aside. Her mind couldn't even make sense of what she was seeing, like staring at a word so long it looks like it is spelled incorrectly.

"What the-" she said, stopping with the lid midair. She pulled it back towards her, looking at it as though it were a bomb. It couldn't be, it wasn't possible. But there it was, in former black and white, now faded and molded: Broussard Case 47895-H-1293

"Hey, Broussard, you still down here?" she heard a voice call from another section of the basement.

"Yeah, over here, just trying to-" she croaked out, realizing she was shaking. "Think we need to find another path in," she said after clearing her throat.

"No problem, there's a clearer exit this way anyhow. Just wanted to make sure you hadn't been bitten by a snake or anything."

"I'm fine, I'm just going to take five," Gus said, already pulling off her mask and gloves and running for the stairs.

Her parents' murder box, she had found her parents' nonexistent murder box. The one her father's old partner had said never existed, the suspect having taken her father's memo book from his dead body, the case binder stolen from their house after he slit her mother's throat. What the hell did this mean and what the hell was she supposed to do about it?

Gus finally collected herself, knowing she had to get through the rest of the day as normal as possible before she stole a sodden mass of evidence from the basement of the Orleans Parish Justice Complex. Of course who could count it as stealing if it supposedly didn't exist, right? At least that was what Gus kept telling herself as she excavated the remnants of the murder box by flashlight later that night.

"What on earth is that, sugar, it looks like a science experiment gone wrong!" Billy exclaimed as Gus lugged in a plastic tub through the back door.

"Nothing, don't worry about it," Gus said, wiping her forehead and grimacing at the dirt left on her hand.

Billy handed her a towel, "how many times have I told you to not bring your nasty ass work home with you? Work is for work, off time is for play!"

Gus wiped her face, but pointed to the papers scattered on the kitchen island, "because that looks like so much fun!"

"End of the month paperwork, payroll, taxes, the glamorous life of a small business owner. And it is a nightclub, so I am allowed to work at night."

"I thought you of all people would have someone to do that for you," Gus quipped, pawing through the fridge for a beer.

"I did, but business is down, so I am doing it myself, wouldn't want to have ask Mama for money. Now get your grubby hands out of my pristine refrigerator and go take a shower, you look like something a possum dragged up!"

"It is a good thing I love you, William Brooks," Gus grumbled, removing herself from the fridge and opening the beer, flicking the cap toward the trash and missing by feet. She knew Billy was right, she was a disgusting mess, but how else was she supposed to extract old flooded out evidence if not by getting a little dirty?

"And I love you, Augusta Broussard, but please, shower, now, and I suggest you do it before you try to read the latest pile of mail from your New York fan club." He shot her a look, knowing that hearing she had mail waiting for her would be the quickest way to get her up to her room.

"Ay, ay Captain," she replied, already heading for the stairs.

Ignoring Billy, she sat down on her bed, tearing open the letter from Stella with voraciousness, feeling like she needed some of the woman's pragmatism in her life. Gus didn't even care that she left smudges of grimeon the otherwise pristine paper.

Dear Gus,

I know I should go home, I woke up on my office couch again, after another long day, another tragic case, but somehow, I can't make myself go home to my empty apartment. Not that the mostly empty lab is better. So here, I am, feeling out of sorts and writing you a letter.

I wonder what it is like for you, back there in New Orleans, and I don't mean all the festivals, food, and booze you keep trying to play up, I mean back in a place that is so familiar, yet has brought you so much pain. Though I suppose you've had your fair share of pain here in the city, haven't we all. More, I wonder what it is like for you going through all those cold cases, the damaged evidence, surrounded by restless spirits who may never be laid to rest. You've done it here, too. I've seen you, boxes walling you into your desk, an endless stream of cases with dead ends in every sense. But you've stuck with them, tenacious, unrelenting, unyielding, even when everyone else has given up hope.

After this most recent case, I admire you even more for that. I can see you blushing, telling me it is the other way around, that you haven't been a cop as long as I have and you don't deserve my admiration. I think in many ways, you have been a detective for most of your life, seeking answers to questions everyone else is unwilling to ask. You are probably wondering what I am going on about, and the truth is, I'm not really sure, except, I closed a case today, more than one, actually, but in closing them, I opened many things that I don't know how to resolve.

You see the last time you were down in New Orleans, a young woman came into the station, with a hat from her brother, missing for umpteen years, wanting to see if we could get his DNA into the system. Marina was so determined to find her brother Luke, it seemed like her sole focus in life. She called me, every single Monday without fail.

You know those calls, the ones that can't let go until they get answers; the ones I know the boys in the pit shove off on you because you put your therapist hat on and handle them like they were calling to check on a parking ticket. She called last Monday, told me she had figured it all out, and then, she ended up on Sid's table. Sid, Mac, Flack, all of them, tried to say it was a suicide, but I knew it wasn't possible. She had reason to live, she wouldn't have done that. Despite prints and evidence and a note, I knew she wasn't finished, she hadn't found her brother yet, I knew she hadn't given up. She hadn't, her stepfather had accidentally killed her brother, had hidden his body in his textile shop. She witnessed it, but shoved it so deep inside, that she forgot about it. Repressed memories, I know you know all about those, and I think not just professionally.

We had to piece it together, in all its fragmented way, with a french fry that wasn't a french fry and nickle woven memory fabric and an astute pretty ER doctor and me almost getting drowned in a pool until Flack pulled me out ...it was quite the caveat. We pieced it together and arrested Marina's stepfather. The sad thing was, he didn't have to kill her, she was letting it go, even though she remembered what she saw, he killed her for nothing, all she wanted was her freedom, a fresh start.

Which got me to thinking. Flack mentioned how we all have Marina's, I know it is true, Mac has that damn stack of cases on the corner of his desk, you have your endless piles of file boxes, we all do have those cases we can't let go of. I can't help but think what would it be like to help people put things to rest, to let things go, to give them their freedom and a fresh start? What would it be like to have my own fresh start?

What I am trying to say is, and I have to swear you to complete secrecy on this is, I have been thinking about what you said the last time we talked, about the new mayor of New Orleans and plans for a new lab, and how you have tried to sort out years of Marina Garitos and I have to think, maybe the universe is trying to tell me I should at least consider becoming the Mac of New Orleans. I haven't decided anything for sure, but maybe you could give me the number of that Lieutenant you were telling me about? A girl should always have her options after all.

Now that I've poured all that out to you, I should probably head home, the night shift is starting to give me evil looks.

Keep this between us, Stella

Chapter 17: Tough Cop (Flack)

Gus sat on her bed, feeling more than a little overwhelmed, too much had been unearthed today, that was for sure. And now she was burdened with two secrets, finding her parents' murder box and Stella interested in the head of the lab job in New Orleans. It was more than she could take.

She almost didn't want to open the other letters, though she was glad she did after reading short but humorous notes from Adam and Lindsay, all telling her about the Garito case and the odds and ends of the lab.

She almost didn't see the piece of paper from Flack, as it was folded in a larger envelope forwarded from Piroleaux, bills and HOA minutes from her co-op board. She stared at it, trying to make sense of his scrawl, far worse than Sheldon's chicken scratch. Gus was suddenly happy Flack had mainly emailed or called her, certain she would not be able to make out all his words.

Sunshine,

I'm sure someone, probably Stella, has told you about the Marina Garito case, a cold turned hot case if there ever was one. I still don't understand how you can do so well with cold cases, but there are a few things I am still trying to figure out about you, even after almost five years of knowing you.

I made a phone call today, one someone should have done a while ago. John Brennan, you know him, the one who calls the station house once a month, whose wife was murdered. I know that call has been passed to you more than once, and you handle it, like you always do. Us guys shovel a lot of shit your way don't we? Anything involving feelings, I think. But you aren't here to handle it, and I realize part of what we are both supposed to be doing is facing down things we have run from, so I called him. I don't know if it helped, or if we'll even find the guy that murdered his wife, but at least it was a start, at least I could let him know that somebody cares enough to not shove his wife's case on a shelf in a box somewhere.

I know that is what I would want if the love of my life was murdered. Talking to him, listening to the pain in his voice, it brought up a lot for me. I kept thinking about trying to stop Angell from bleeding out on that diner floor, seeing you in that hospital bed with your throat slit, that look of pain in your eyes when I punched that hole in the wall beside your head, the look of love in your eyes when I put my grandmother's ring on your finger in that alley, how you let me use you after the Truby case and after Jess died, how even though you have run away from us being us that you seem to still always be there for me, how I don't deserve you...as I said, a lot.

So then I made another phone call, to your old buddy McNair, off the books though, I think I am going to need a little help working through everything. I figured if you were willing to go back to a place that you wrecked yourself in the last time, I should be willing to ask for some help wading through my shit. I know he won't have all the answers, I've known you long enough to know he's just supposed to be a lantern or some crap (just kidding, stop looking at me like that), I have to find my answers myself. I hope I do, just like I hope you do. And I hope your answers lead you back here. Soon. I would never admit it to anyone, except you on this piece of paper, and most likely Piroleaux because he is probably reading this, but I miss you so much it hurts to breathe sometimes. Some tough cop I am turning out to be, huh?

Love, Don

Gus swallowed, not even realizing she was crying until the tears hit the page, smearing the ink. She didn't know what to make of his letter, except to know he missed her as much as she missed him. But the first thing he had mentioned in his string of declarations was Jess, would he always be thinking of her somewhere in the back of his mind? Would her face always be imprinted on his heart? Could she live with that, possibly being second, even if she had loved him first? She hastily wiped away her tears as she heard the soft knock on her door.

"Hey, Gus, just wanted to see if you wanted some dinner," Billy asked from the other side of the door.

"Yeah, sure, I just, gotta shower first," she said, hastily shoving the paper back in the envelope.

"You still haven't showered yet? You aren't sitting on the duvet like that, are you?" Billy implored.

Gus looked down, realizing the streaks of grime marring the white eyelet surface. "I will have it cleaned, Tibs, just let a girl have a few moments peace, okay?"

"Sure thing, sugar," he replied, though he couldn't help but think she wasn't going to find that peace tonight.

Gus waited until Billy finally left to go help out at the club, knowing that her alarm would be going off not that long from then, but willing to sacrifice the sleep.

She stared at the tub, or more accurately, at the indistinguishable mass inside. There was no hearty binder, keeping things in order; no tell-tale plastic evidence bags, just a ball of soggy papers mostly dried together and what Gus presumed at one point had been paper evidence bags, the tape washed away in the flood waters.

She poked at the pile, wondering if the dark specks were mold, fabric or blood. She shuddered, and then sneezed, glad she couldn't really contaminate anything as she wondered what she might be breathing in.

Gus almost wished she hadn't come across the damn thing, better to just think there was no evidence, that her parents' death was the ultimate, unsolvable cold case. But here she was, with this disgusting tub, wondering if it might be the key to removing the curse that always seemed to be hanging over her. She pondered this until frustration and exhaustion got the better of her, when she shoved the tub under the antique four poster bed, vowing to come back to it when she was in a better space, if she could ever get in a better space, that was.

Chapter 18: Keep You Updated (Multiple)

Gus tried fervently to forget the ticking time bomb hidden underneath the antique four-poster bed. She couldn't do anything at this point anyway, she did not have the tools or the skills needed to try to unlock whatever secrets contained within. She thought about going to confront her father's old partner, the current Chief of Detectives, to rail at him about the blue line and loyalty. She held back, however, figuring either he didn't know or he did, she wasn't sure which scenario was worse.

Gus also tried to forget about Stella's revelation that she was thinking about applying for the head of thecrime lab in New Orleans, sure that Mac and the rest of the team would blame her if they lost Stella. Colston made that more difficult than just hiding a tub under a bed, almost giddily passing along that he had already linked Stella up with the recently elected mayor.

Gus tried to forget, just putting her head down and forging through, something that had served her well time and time again in both cities. She wanted to have the trailer and basement in order as much as she could before her time in New Orleans was up even if she had to start sleeping under her desk.

She was actually debating the merits of a nap under hers when her phone rang late one evening.

"Broussard," Gus answered without even looking, deep into a binder.

"Gus, I'm glad I got you," Flack said, his voice sounding strained.

Gus could hear what sounded like a commotion over a speakerphone in the back. "Yeah, me too, but what's going on, you sound busy," Gus stopped chewing on her pen, setting it down and closing the binder.

"I am, on the phone with tactical," Flack said, holding up his finger to Mac and Stella.

Gus raised her eyebrows, "did you just call to rub it in, to let me know how much more exciting your job is than mine?"

"More than you know. Look Gus, are you sitting down?" Flack's voice had an edge to it that caused Gus' heart to clench.

"Don, what is going on, you are scaring me!" she implored.

He cleared his throat, "it's Sheldon."

"Is he dead?" Gus squeaked out.

"Not yet," Flack replied, looking at the photograph of the rioting Hawkes had sent.

"What is going on? Do I need to fly up there?" Gus asked, already gathering her belongings.

"No! Sit tight, Hawkes got caught up in a prison riot, he was going to witness an execution and something went sideways and now he is in there and so is Shane Casey and it is a mess and we are trying to figure out how to get him out. I just thought you should know, I wanted you to hear it from me. But stay there, we will get him out, safe and alive. Don't worry."

At the mention on Shane Casey's name, Gus felt the blood drain from her face, her stomach lurch, going back to Danny's letter. What was that madman playing it? "That's a hell of a lot easier to say than do, Don!" she shot back, feeling torn on if she should heed his command to stay put.

"I know it is, Gus. Look, I gotta go, but I'll keep you updated, I promise."

As he hung up, Gus couldn't help but think about the tub under her bed, surer than ever that something about her parents' death was going to keep haunting her. A feeling that she was cursed and that everyone she cared about would be in danger until she figured out who murdered her parents.

This feeling didn't go away, even as Flack sent her updates, even when he called her to let her know Sheldon was safe, even when she heard Sheldon's voice with her own ears, sounding relieved and very much alive.

"I'm fine Gus, really!"

"I know, but just, stay that way alright? And don't go all macho on me and not check in with staff psych if you have any nightmares. I just think this may have brought up a lot of unresolved issues for you and combined with the trauma-"

Sheldon cut her off, "look at you going all doc on me, I am fine, Gus and I will go see your old buddies if I need to, I promise. I feel more at peace with a lot of things about Maya than I have in a long time. Now what about you, are you working through everything? Because I know a lot of people that are counting down the days until you get back. Except Piroleaux, I don't think he wants to give up your place."

This finally got Gus to laugh, "I am not surprised, his place is a hole. And I am getting there, Shel, I promise. Counting down the days, huh?"

"I am pretty sure Flack never owned a calendar before, but it is up now, full of red Xs. Don't tell him I told you that though, alright?"

"Your secret is safe with me, Sheldon, they always are. Speaking of which, I will get on to you later about not telling me about your sister when I have cried on your shoulder countless times. Friendship is a two-way street, bub!"

"I know Gus, and I would happily take an earful, in person," he paused, Gus could hear the sound of machines notifying me in the background, "but right now, I have to get these results. Take care of yourself."

"Back at you!" Gus said, hanging up the phone.

The feeling continued to stay with her, as she went through the motions. It weighed down her shoulders and her heart as she called everyone back in New York to check in nearly daily. It made her sound anxious enough to cause them all to grow concerned, to wonder if maybe she shouldn't have taken this assignment. It tinged her voice with desperate worry, making Flack want to tell Daddino and the New Orleans Lieutenant to screw themselves, to send her a ticket back home to his side, where she belonged.

Flack stopped in his tracks where he was pacing the halls of the lab. How long did it take to extract a damn body from concrete anyway? This case was going nowhere until they had an id.

He had avoided the pit all day, worried he would tell Daddino where to stick it and buy Gus a ticket back home. His reason for stopping was coming from the lab beside him, the lab where Adam was working on identifying trace. Even though it the glass muffled it, Flack could hear a familiar voice coming through the speakerphone.

Adam was on the phone with Gus, performing one of her ever-increasing check ins, worried that Shane Casey was going off the deep end . Flack didn't entirely fault Gus for her trepidation, Casey was a loose cannon and Gus had seen more than anyone's fair share of death and destruction. That didn't stop him from worrying about her. He could hear Adam fumbling over his words as he tried vainly to convince her that he was fine, though Flack was well aware by the tone of her voice that there would be no placating her.

Flack strode into the lab, intent on trying to rescue Adam from Gus' mother hen routine. The other man's head shot up as soon as Flack entered, his eyes catching the tall detective's and growing rounder. Flack cocked his head to the side, wondering why Adam suddenly looked paler. What exactly had he and Gus been talking about?

"Oh, Flack, uh, hey! Gus, I gotta run, but yeah, I'll, uh, think about it, alright?" Adam said, dropping the phone back into the receiver like it was on fire. "I don't have anything back on the trace yet, sorry," he said, looking up to the detective towering over him.

Flack crossed his arms over his chest, flexing slightly, a smirk playing across his face. "Figured you didn't, just heard Gus on the phone, thought I would come in, see what you two were chatting about."

"Nothing, we weren't talking about anything. I mean obviously we were talking about something because you could hear her on speakerphone, but it wasn't really about anything important, she was just checking in and stuff, she seems really worried about this whole Casey thing and I was trying to tell her-" Adam cut off, noticing Flack's jaw clench. "Please don't hit me, at least not in the face!" Adam pleaded.

Flack replied with a loud guffaw, he had tried to hold back his laughter as Adam became more and more flustered, his face the color of a tomato. "Ross, I ain't gonna hit you, I just thought I would try to catch her since I had a down minute, that was all. Why are you freaking out?"

Adam heaved a sigh of relief. "I'm not!" he meekly protested, "it's just..." he trailed off, "she keeps bugging me to come visit, all of us, I mean and well, I have all this vacation time and I was thinking of using some of it to go see her for Jazz Fest."

Something flickered in Flack's eyes, Adam couldn't pinpoint what it was. "It's this big outdoor music festival, at their racetrack, tons of cool bands, big label ones, these awesome indie ones and lots of food..."

"I know what Jazz Fest is, Ross, Gus has given me a primer on the many festivals of Louisiana, she has a damn calendar of them. Prioleaux won't quit bitching about missing it either."

"So what, what is it? Are you cool if I go? It would just be me going as, like, a bro."

"Yeah, of course I would be cool with it. Just wish I could go, I'm jealous of you Ross." Flack closed the distance, giving Adam a slap on the back. Adam realized it was Flack trying to cover up how much he missed Gus that he had seen flicker in Flack's eyes. "You know what you should do, though."

"What's that, Flack?" Adam asked nervously.

"Surprise her," Flack said, seeing Stella out in the hallway, gesturing for him.

"Say what?"

"It is a fairly simple word, Adam, didn't think I would need to define it. Surprise, as it don't tell her your coming. You may want to tell her friend Billy you are coming though, I got his email address, I'll send it to ya." Flack gave him a wave before walking off to see what Stella needed from him.

"I didn't think Gus really was about surprises," Adam called after him, but Flack didn't even turn around.

Chapter 19: Counting (Adam&Flack)

Gus climbed the steps to the Brook's house in dark, cursing the power company once again, this was the third night this week the power had gone off randomly. No wonder Billy had gone on about getting a new generator before hurricane season.

She paused to grab the mail from the box, looking at it by the glow of her cell phone, the white of one of her envelopes to the team glowing in the beam. A smiled played at her lips as she saw Adam's return address in the upper left corner when she head the unmistakable squeak of someone shifting on the porch boards. Gus jumped, her hand going to her hip, some cop she was, she had stopped carrying her gun in its holster a couple of months ago, it now rested in the bottom of her tote bag.

A voice spoke up from behind her. "Some detective you are, didn't you notice it wasn't postmarked?" Adam said, coming out from the shadows on the porch.

"Jesus Christ, Adam, I could have shot you," she said, already launching herself at his outstretched arms. "With what exactly?" he said, smiling into her hair as he hugged her.

"Finally, someone took me up on a visit, took y'all long enough!" she exclaimed, breaking away, "let me get us inside before the mosquitoes eat you alive, sugar."

She hustled him inside, cursing as she banged into more than one piece of heavy, antique furniture, trying to locate the battery-powered lantern. Just as she did so and manged to turn it on, the power came back on, filling the house with lights Billy must have had on before he left.

"That's going to leave a mark," Adam said, gesturing to the welt already forming on Gus' arm.

"What else is new? Now, come all the way in, throw your bag over there and tell me what the hell you are doing here. You didn't get fired did you?" Gus asked, her brow furrowed with worry.

"No, not at all. You just kept talking about Jazz Fest and I had some vacation time coming so I thought I would take you up on your offer. Flack said I should surprise you and your friend, Billy, he said it was cool if I crashed here for a couple of days. It is cool, right?" Adam asked, nervously.

Gus could help but laugh, "it is fine, sugar, more than fine!" Gus gestured for Adam to sit down in the kitchen and headed to the fridge.

"Why you are so dirty?" Adam asked, sitting at the kitchen island, greedily accepting the napkin Gus handed him, feeling damp all over from the humidity.

"Sorting out a flooded basement," Gus replied as she moved about the kitchen, pouring them drinks, setting out snacks, trying to take in that Adam was actually sitting in New Orleans. The relief and comfort of having a familiar face from New York here was almost more than she could bear.

"Flack told you to surprise me?" she asked, setting everything down in front of Adam while wondering how Don could suggest Adam surprise her and not do it himself.

"Oh," Adam took another drink before continuing. "I tried to tell him I didn't think you would be all about surprises, but he just blew me off. Said something about those of us that could get the hell down here should do it. He seemed kind of..." Adam trailed off.

Gus waited, trying to be patient to see what Flack had been, but the drumming of her fingers on the granite gave her impatience away. "Jealous, frustrated, pining?" Adam said, his nose wrinkling.

Gus threw back her head in a laugh at this, "pining, I would pay good money to see Don Flack pining for anyone, ever, but good try, Adam, you know how to make a girl feel special."

Adam studied her carefully, genuinely concerned and curious about how his friend had been. "How is everything going?"

"I told off my ex-fiancee in the middle of a Mardi Gras ball, I drove out to Cajun country to tell a mother I was responsible for her son's death, I've organized and cataloged an entire trailer full of cold homicide cases and helped work on salvaging piles of evidence from a flooded out basement and I'm practically sleeping at the office as much as Mac does, so that's how it is going."

She didn't add that nearly every night her five plus months of celibacy was being exacerbated by some very non-celibate dreams involving a certain detective or that she stolen and hidden the only possible evidence in her parents' murder. Telling him either of those things would involve a whole lot more to drink.

Gus realized Adam was gaping at her. "What, you asked!" she retorted, glad she had stopped short, otherwise he may have stroked out in the middle of Billy's kitchen.

Billy. "Billy knew you were coming, is that why he kept hounding me to make sure I was not working this weekend and forced a brass pass on me?"

Adam nodded with a sly grin, "maybe."

"Well come on then, let me show you to your room. Have you had dinner yet?" Gus asked, already grabbing his bag and bounding up the stairs, excited for the weekend for the first time since being back in the swamp.

"You are lucky I adore Adam Ross or you would be in big trouble, Don Flack!" Gus chided as she finally tucked into bed, exhausted from Adam's whirlwind visit three nights later.

"Adore, huh, do I need to kick Ross' ass?" Flack shot back.

Gus rolled her eyes, "you know what I mean. Having a man jump out of you on the shadows of your porch when the power is out is a good way to give a girl a heart attack or to get shot!"

"I didn't know he would be hiding in the shadows or that the power would be out, Gus. I forget sometimes how literal the science guys are. Did you have a good time?"

Her smile was clear in her tone, "yeah, I did. Not as good as Adam though. At least until he ignored my warning about not mixing a mango freeze with crawfish monica, ya ka mein, boudin and cochon de lait before shaking his groove thing to My Morning Jacket."

"I'm sorry, were you still speaking English, sunshine?" Flack asked, her smile infectiously spreading one across his own face as he stretched out on his couch, popping open a beer.

"You would know what every last bit of that was if you would have been the one coming down here to jump out of the shadows at me," Gus teased.

Flack gave a small snort, "I know better than to jump out at you, you have a wicked left hook. Besides I like having you around, wouldn't want to give you a heart attack." At least not outside of the bedroom, he silently added before continuing, "it isn't that I don't want to come see you, I am missing you."

"Pining?" Gus choked out, unable to resist, thinking of how she dissolved into giggles teasing Adam about that one.

"Excuse me?" Flack was trying to make out what she had just muttered.

"Nothing," Gus replied, trying to maintain her composure, "you were trying to explain how even though you supposedly miss me you can't seem to actually leave the tri-state area." Her tone was light and teasing enough to take away most of the sting Flack felt.

A strangled noise of frustration erupted from his chest, "it isn't that, Daddino put us on this damn 21 day solid backward rotation, because apparently he is either trying to kill us or make us all hate him. It's been hell."

Gus made a noise of disdain, "ugh, that is awful, no wonder you could talk at," she glanced over at the clock, "2am. How sleep deprived are you?" she asked, concern painting her tone.

Flack sighed, "don't worry about me, sunshine, I'll be fine." Thinking he was no more sleep deprived now than he had been since she left.

"Sure, Don, I'll just stop breathing while I'm at it," Gus replied with a yawn. "Sorry about that. So how many Xs you got left to put on that calendar of yours, blue eyes?" she teased.

Flack growled, "I am going to kick Ross' ass."

"It was Sheldon who told me about the calendar, not Adam, sugar. Adam told me plenty of other things," she bantered, before yawning again.

"I should let you go so we both can try to get some sleep. I need my energy to kick both of their butts tomorrow."

"Yeah, I guess so, but be nice, Don. I can't tell you how great it was seeing someone from home."

Flack's heart seemed to skip a beat as she easily called New York home, not to mention she did sound lighter and more like her old self than he had heard in far too long. "Only for you do I promise to be nice. And to answer your question, 35, assuming they are willing to let you go on time. I'll be counting down. Sweet dreams, sunshine."