Spoilers for Slainte 8x16

Chapter 10

I definitely shouldn't have eaten breakfast," Gus remarked over the lower half of the man's body on the bench. Flack barely had time to retort, "leftover tiramisu from Grams isn't breakfast, babe," when her phone started buzzing from dispatch.

"Seriously, another one? I have to get over to Penn Station."

"Just leave me here with all the fun, huh?" Flack teased.

"Linds is on her way!" Gus called back, waving at a uniform to give her a ride.

Lindsay looked at the bloody stump with the grin of gallows humor. "You know most people spend their Mondays catching up about their weekends with their coworkers over a nice cup of coffee."

"We are not most people. As for my weekend you ain't missing much," he shrugged, figuring Gus had already caught Lindsay up.

"That's because I stole your wife," Lindsay laughed, glad she and Gus were able to enjoy brunch together since both of their husbands despised it on principle.

Flack rolled his eyes, "thanks again for that, I don't think I am ever getting that marker off my arms."

"I don't know how many times I have to tell Danny to hide the sharpies from our budding artist!" Lindsay replied, pulling out her camera.

"Odd place to dump a body, you got the Hudson right over there," Flack said, gesturing.

"It's pretty quiet at night, may be been the most convenient," she replied, pulling out her phone. "Danny's got something. 'What has two arms, no body and no head'?" Lindsay read aloud, "my crime scene."

Lindsay and Flack could hear Gus' groan through Danny's text. Which is exactly what she did as she read it over his shoulder, throwing her head back and groaning, "really, Messer? It's too early for that. I'm going to check in on the uniforms."

"Come on Broussard, that was some prime material!" he protested.

Gus flipped her hair over her shoulders saying, "you really need to get out more, Danny, that was 100% a dad joke!"

"Where's the head, Broussard? You trying out new recipes like a good little wifey? Hey, Josh, remind me not to eat the next thing she brings in."

Gus snarled at Thatcher over her shoulder as she strode through the pit, "I am fixing to come over there and-" she cut off, Daddino poking his head out of his office and scowling at them. She flounced over to her desk across from Don and Danny, thankful the victim had at least been identified even if his head was still missing.

"If one more person mentions that damn voodoo shop case!" she said, almost snapping her pen in half.

Don and Danny exchanged a look. "Our DBs usually have heads, Broussard," Danny said with a chuckle.

"And Piroleaux wouldn't shut the hell about it for six months!" Don interjected, reminded of how long that six months had been while Gus was away.

Gus rolled her eyes, "Piroleaux was cheating on open book quizzes at Rummel when that case happened. Call Stella up, see how much she has to hear about that stupid case even now!"

"Come take a ride with me and Messer, Broussard, we got to notify the daughter. And if you chill out, I'll get you a coffee," Don said, giving her a gentle look of warning.

Gus knew by the use of her last name that she really did need to chill. She took a big breath in and let it slowly out as she looped her chain through her ring, dropping her shoulders and saying, "fine, let's go ruin this poor girl's day."

Gus was glad Danny made himself scarce when they got to the bodega and met Byrne's daughter. The young woman was clearly angry about her father being intimidated and worried about him since he hadn't been seen or heard from.

"How about we take a seat, Molly?" Gus suggested, gesturing to the kitchenette in the back of the store.

"Did something happen? What, what is it, just tell me!" she protested trying to keep up the tough as nails act.

Gus and Flack exchanged a look, a mental coin toss of who was going to say the words that would change the girl's life and not for the better. It was a tough spot for them both, Gus' dad murdered when she was almost 13 and Don's father now actively dying. Gus gave a nod, walking closer to the girl, squaring her shoulders and leaning in.

"Molly, darling, there is no good way to say this, but your father was found murdered this morning," she said gently, her heart seizing as she recognized the anguished gasp of disbelief and choked sob of grief.

"I promise you, were are going figure out who did this to him," Flack said, gently leading Molly by the elbow over to the table.

Gus followed but moved around them to the kettle. "I'll make us tea," she said, as Flack handed Molly a box of tissues and waited for her sobs to subside.

"Molly I am as so sorry for your loss," Flack said, feeling the weight of every single word. "Do you have any idea who might want to hurt your father?"

Molly launched into a description of her father, one that Flack thought could have just as easily been his Pop. As she continued on, talking about turning down dinner invitations and the hollow excuses, he felt his heart clench, trying to comfort her with confirmation that her father knew how much his daughter loved him. He caught Gus' eyes as she set a tea mug in front of Molly, the younger woman grateful to have a distraction. 'Thank you'," he mouthed to his wife, the gratitude clear in his expression.

She smiled and said, "I'm going to see how Detective Messer is doing," hearing his tread on the basement stairs and also not wanting to break down in tears as she could see the emotions weighing down her husband and felt utterly powerless.

"Oh yay, a creepy basement," she said, peering down the stairs.

Danny scoffed, "I have a feeling it's about get creepier." He pulled out the bottle of luminol and started spraying.

Gus shuddered, "you thinking this was the primary?"

Danny nodded from the bottom of the stairs, "yep, do me a favor and hit the lights, Broussard."

Gus complied, letting out a gasp as Danny's flashlight lit up like a runway, a clear tread pattern coming all the way up the stairs. Jumping as Flack came up behind her asking, "what the hell happened down there?"

"This is where he was chopped up," Danny said, shaking his head in disgust.

The detectives had to bob and wave through the crowd of lookie-loos that had formed outside of the bodega on the way back to the car. Gus tuned out, not wanting to deal with any commentary from the peanut gallery and rushed to the car, only turning when she head Flack bark, "or what?"

Gus turned, seeing him facing off with a trio of neighborhood wannabe gangsters. She could see the anger emanating off of him, knew that he was channeling all his emotions into a tough cop act. She was eternally grateful that Messer was there and gave her partner a look of warning as Flack scoffed, "yeah, that's what I thought," before getting in the car and slamming the door.

It was late and Flack was practically wearing a trough in the floor as he paced back and forth by their desks waiting on anything from the lab, especially since Michael Byrne's head had been found.

"Junior, you gotta take a seat, I don't have the budget for new carpeting," Daddino joked on his way out, giving Gus a warning look. She nodded at their boss and went to collect their jackets.

She slid into hers and handed Flack his. "Sid isn't going to be in for hours to do the autopsy, I'm taking you home, blue eyes," she said, her tone gentle but the set of her jaw letting him know to not argue.

He deflated slightly, knowing he had been a jerk to everyone including her since leaving the bodega. "Yeah, fine," he said, following her out, feeling a bit lost.

Don immediately went to the sofa and collapsed into it, barely removing his holster and clunking it down on the coffee table. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dropping his face into his palms. He kept thinking about Molly's big blue eyes distraught of full of tears. The entire time he had been talking to her, she kept morphing into his sister. Pop and Sam always had such a fractured relationship and now the old man was dying and he wasn't giving his only daughter the chance to heal it. Overwhelmed, he let the tears flow.

Gus watched, sliding her gun and and badge into the safe, as Don's shoulders shook, emotion taking over. She immediately closed the distance between them, sitting next to him, laying her palm on his back, rubbing it in gently circles, not saying anything.

He felt the comforting weight of Gus' hand, a reminder that she literally and figuratively always had his back; that she truly was his partner in everything, even the shitty things. Don leaned over, letting his head fall to her lap, the tears still flowing freely, the sobs wracking his body. "This isn't fair," he choked out.

"I know, Don," she replied, running her fingers through his hair as she cradled him. She knew he was feeling the weight of his father's news and his family's trauma as much as the case.

She let him cry himself out, not trying to placate him, not shoving tissues at him, not trying to stop his pain so she wouldn't be uncomfortable. He would forever be grateful for that and her, he thought for not the first time that she may be too good for a lug like him; inwardly wincing for probably the thousandth time for not going after her all those years ago, pondering the could have beens.

Sensing the shift in him, she nudged him back up with her thigh, standing as he sat up, saying, "let's go to bed, Don."

Gus finished up their report, closing out of the software and pausing to stare down at her ring, the diamond in the trinity knot shining in the light of her desk lamp. She rubbed her trapezius, still sore from being knocked on her ass by the van bomb.

"Hell of a case, huh?" Flack remarked coming behind her and gently massaging her back.

She groaned at his awful pun, but was glad his mood had lifted somewhat. "To say the least, definitely needs whiskey, preferably bourbon not Irish," she specified, turning to look up at him with a smirk. "Ready to head home?" she asked.

"Yeah, just wanna make a quick stop first," he said, reaching out his hand to help her up.

She took the offered hand, not questioning him, nodding as she let him lead the way, knowing she would follow him anywhere.