Night of Fire

by Kameka

A holiday special from my "Many Deaths and Humiliations of Jake McCartey" series of stories.

This was written for Guy Fawkes Day on November 5th. No disrespect is intended to anyone who celebrates this holiday. There are some swear words in this, as well as the normal disclaimers (Witchblade characters aren't mine, original characters are. There's violence against Jake, etc.) This is unbeta'ed. I do, however, thank those buddies of mine who helped me. You all know who you are.

Historical notes are peppered throughout the story itself. If any of you are unfamiliar with the holiday and get a little confused, rest assured that everything is explained.

This is a long one, which was unexpected given the former stories in this series. They seem to be growing in plot, which can be good or bad, depending on how often you want them and whether you want long or short. This one, though, makes me feel sorry for Jake. Probably because I don't absolutely hate him in season 2 - he doesn't get on my nerves as much.

Night of Fire

By Kameka

The NYPD had its hands full this year. They were still recovering from the near riot of Halloween with a multitude of highs, be they sugar-, alcohol-, or drug-induced. In less than a month, they would be dealing with the security issues brought on by the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. And in the meantime there was New York's First Annual Cultural Celebration. Holidays from all around the world would be celebrated, many of them new to most of the officers and civilian population of New York City. One such holiday was Guy Fawkes Day. Otherwise known as Bonfire Night: the fire department's worst nightmare.

The celebrants had quite a lot planned for the day that went down in British history as one of gunpowder plot and treason. The preparation for it had begun weeks ago when wooden barrels were soaked in tar and plans for the parade were finalized. After much discussion and debate, the NYPD was at last convinced that nothing illegal would be happening.

"Hey, guy!" was called above the noise of the parking lot.

Jake McCartey automatically turned to see who had called. Because he was looking for someone who was talking, waving, or otherwise attempting to get his attention, he missed the attention he had garnered. When no one attempted to continue their efforts, the detective shrugged and continued his walk to the car he was using that day.

A small group of men and women in casual dress converged on one side of the parking lot and spoke in excited whispers to one another. The quick gestures to "shush" and "keep it down" brought the attention of a young policeman just out of the Academy, who eagerly brought them to the attention of his superior officer in an attempt at brown-nosing.

"Well, Mr. Adams, what can I do for you now?" Captain Andrew Nettles asked in a weary tone that indicated he didn't want to help them at all. "You've given a fine, if over-eager, officer quite a scare. He was concerned that you were conspiring against us or something."

"Oh, nothing as exciting as that," said one of the women in a reassuring tone. The woman was elbowed in her side for her trouble.

"We weren't conspiring, Captain," a stocky man wearing an ancient coat repeated, his way calming the captain for obvious reasons.

"Well, that's good to hear," Nettles answered in a wearily sarcastic tone.

"Actually, Captain, we were wondering if we could get some police involvement. It'd really help," the stocky man continued.

"I was under the impression that you've already asked and been approved for security help."

"Oh, we were. We're looking for a…" the woman who had interrupted trailed off, her over-enthusiastic approach earlier having not gained what she was looking for. She didn't want to mess this up as well.

"A volunteer!" broke in a third person, a man who was industriously wiping his florid face with a crumpled handkerchief.

"A volunteer for what exactly?" Nettles as warily, his instincts raising alarms at their behavior.

"To be in the parade," the florid man said in an indignant tone.

"And maybe a little something else?" the woman inserted hopefully.

"If he agrees, of course," the stocky man reassured Nettles.

"I take it you have someone in mind? Or should I ask for volunteers?"

"Oh, we do," the woman answered.

"We just aren't sure of his name," the stocky man continued.

Feeling like he was in the middle of one of the three-headed opera singer skits that were so popular on 'Whose Line Is It Anyway,' Nettles leant back in his chair. "I doubt I could help unless you pointed him out to me."

"Oh," the woman frowned. "He just left."

"Sorry," replied Nettles.

"Maybe we can hang around until he comes back? We wouldn't be too much trouble," the woman smiled sweetly as she said it.

"I don't think that's such a good idea," answered Nettles hastily. The havoc Larry, Moe, and Curly could cause was enough to make him shudder. That it wouldn't be intentional only made it that much worse. "Maybe I can help you. What'd he look like?"

"Well," the stocky man started, "he was tall and blonde."

"And tan," the florid man continued.

"And he was dressed really casual, jeans and a button down shirt," finished the woman.

That description could have belonged to any number of detectives that wore street clothes. "Anything else?" Nettles asked, hoping to get them out of his office before he had to take aspirin for a headache.

The three considered it for a moment before the florid man finally thought of something worth mentioning. "Well, he did look kinda funny. Like his hair'd been cut by a weed whacker."

Nettles nodded gratefully, that final description the part he needed to make a final identification. "The man you're looking for is Homicide detective Jake McCartey," he told them with relief before ushering them out of his office.

They looked around the main part of the Homicide division with interest. A great majority of the officers present were wearing plainclothes with a scattering of uniforms thrown in. These were the people who faced the grisly murders that made national news. The three were a bit disappointed that there was little outward sign of that fact. This was where Captain Nettles had asked the over-eager conspiracy theorist to take them, however.

Vague trepidation colored his face as he cleared his throat and hesitantly knocked on a closed office door. A look of relief washed over his features at the nice mellow-sounding "come in" that filtered through the door. He opened the door and gestured to let his temporary charges through before entering the office himself. Only to blanch at the sight of the female detective who looked up from her desk.

"What can I do for you, Officer Gatursa?" asked Danny Woo as he tossed a look that clearly said 'behave' to the other occupant of the office.

"Captain Nettles asked me to bring these people to you, Detective Woo. They're interested in your partner Jake McCartey," he explained, shooting a covert look at the scowling Sara Pezzini.

"Thanks," Danny replied before making a small shooing gesture. Gatursa gratefully escaped. "Sara, be nice to the rookies," Danny admonished.

"The guy's an idiot. He totally messed up the crime scene! How anyone with that level of ineptness can graduate, I have no idea," Sara began what was obviously a familiar rant.

"That's what senior officers are for, to teach the rookies the ropes," he answered in his own oft-repeated response. "Speaking of rookies, our visitors are interested in Jake."

With a grimace that clearly asked Danny why anyone would be interested in Jake, Sara finished making a note in the manila folder she had been studying and sat back.

"What can we do for you?" Danny, the diplomat of the two, asked.

"My name's Barry Devlin," the stocky man introduced himself before introducing his two companions. "This is Maude Winters and Tad Freeman. We're in charge of the Guy Fawkes Day celebration. New York City's first ever. We were looking for a police volunteer and we think he'd be perfect."

Sara's brow raised in that oh-so-familiar manner to anyone who knew her at the thought of Jake McCartey being perfect for anything. When it became apparent that she wasn't going to say anything for fear of venting what she really thought of Jake, Danny sighed and continued.

"I can't speak for him but I'm sure he'd be willing to do anything that he could," Danny assured them.

"Oh, that'd be just great," Maude gushed.

"He should be back in a bit; he went on a lunch run. Feel free to wait here for him," Danny invited, ignoring the glare Sara directed at him. "Can I get you guys some coffee or anything?"

"No thanks, but thanks for your hospitality," Tad, silent until now, answered.

Sara sighed and gave a small shudder at the thought of just how long Jake was going to be gone and she'd have to put up with these people. It was bad enough that today was devoted to paperwork. Normally any distraction would be a good distraction, but three people who thought Rookie was perfect? Odds were against that being good.

"This is my partner Sara Pezzini," Danny introduced her to the three strangers. "She isn't normally this bad. I personally think its PMS," Danny told them in a stage whisper, unable to resist the urge to rib his partner.

Sara tossed a pen at him and turned to the three interested bystanders. "Actually it's caffeine withdrawal."

Barry hesitated before rushing forward quickly. "Why'd such a pretty thing like you want to be a cop?" he asked Sara.

"I like to shoot things," Sara gave the blunt statement in a flat tone discouraging any more conversation after a grimace at the tediously sweet 'pretty thing' comment.

"Oh, that must be so exciting!" Maude nodded her excitement as she clapped her hands together.

"Um, sure," answered Sara with a look over at Danny.

"What're you planning on asking Jake to volunteer for?" Danny broke in in an effort to stop the visitors from grating on Sara's already thin nerves.

"Oh, we couldn't tell you that!" Maude waved an expressive hand and giggled in emphasis.

Tad nodded in agreement. "Only right to explain it to him first," he told them. His tone was one of suspicion, as if he expected them to do away with Jake in an effort to be granted the honor they were offering.

"Okay," Danny soothed, his instincts aware of the defensive tension that had cropped up. Just as quickly it disappeared.

The five sat in uncomfortable silence until Jake returned complete with bags of food.

"Hey, guys!" He said over-enthusiastically as he passed a large grease-stained bag to Danny and put a cup holder containing three giant paper cups on his desk. "What's up? New case?"

"Nothing so exciting," Sara answered as Danny began digging through the bag. "These fine people would like to ask you something. Why don't you take them into the break room or one of the interrogation rooms where you can have some privacy?"

Taking her urging and oblivious to Sara's tone, he nodded and began to lead them away. "Homicide detective Jake McCartey at your service, folks!" could be clearly heard before Danny shut the door with his foot.

Half an hour passed before Jake returned sans visitors. He sat down and opened his sandwich to eat his lunch. His wide grin showed he was obviously missing the room temperature food and soggy bread. Sara and Danny looked at each other over the remainder of the fries.

"Well, spit it out, rookie," prodded Sara.

"They want me to help out in their Guy Fawkes Day celebration!" he told them, his voice reeking of satisfaction and ego. "Said I'd be absolutely perfect for the job."

Not wanting to totally crush his ego, Sara employed some of her own diplomacy ask she asked what exactly it was that he was perfect for.

"Oh, I get to be in the parade, for starters. And I get to help out with the main event. They said they couldn't do it without me there. I'm the guest of honor." He visibly preened, running one hand through his wild hair.

"Sounds good, rookie," Sara agreed, pulling a face in Danny's direction.

The Asian coughed to cover his laugh. "Yeah, Jake. Sounds good. What do you say we get back to work?"

Sara nodded, for once grateful to have paperwork as a distraction.

Jake looked at the food he had abandoned earlier and shrugged. "Lemme finish eating before I join you guys," he told them. Then he matched his actions to his words as he took a giant bite of his sandwich. After chewing and swallowing, he casually mentioned that he had to get home early that night.

"Hot date?" asked Sara.

Jake shook his head and hoped that this was a sign of jealousy. "Maude Winters wants to come over and take my measurements."

Danny choked on the soda he'd just taken a drink of and Jake slapped him on the back. "Nothing like that! Man, you guys gotta get your minds outta the gutters," Jake told the snickering Sara and flushed Asian. When they had calmed down a bit, only the occasional chuckle escaping, Jake continued. "She's gonna be in charge of my costume and she wants to make sure it looks good," he explained in exasperation.

"Come on, Jake. You chase anything that's in a skirt," Sara reminded him.

"Anything female, anyhow," Jake shuddered as he thought of the transvestites that seemed to pick him out of every crowd.

"Maude Winters is female," Sara reminded him.

"She's old enough to be my mom!"

Danny shook his head at the antics of his two partners as he continued his paperwork.

Jake stood inside his apartment nervously awaiting the arrival of Maude Winters. Nervously because of the goading that Sara had continued to give him for the rest of the day. What is Maude was looking for something else? How could he let her down gently? He wasn't known for his sensitivity, after all. Would he still be the guest of honor if he screwed things up with Maude? His ego shriveled a bit at the idea. No, he'd just have to do whatever it took.

The doorbell rang right on cue. Jake took a deep breath and answered it. "Come on in," he invited Maude, taking her lightweight jacket from her and hanging it in the closet.

"Thanks. We're going to have to wait a little bit; Tad's supposed to be coming and he got delayed," she explained.

"Tad?" A flicker of relief could be heard in his voice. Tad. Chaperone. Backup.

"Yeah, I've always found things like this easier with a third person. Haven't you?"

"Can't say that I have," Jake said, his nerves heightening again. Backup to whom exactly?

"Oh, it's not something many young people do, I guess," she dismissed the thought with a wave of her hand.

"Right," Jake agreed with a gulp. Desperate for something to do, he thought about the duties of a host. "Want anything?"

"Some water would be fine, dear." Maude reached up and patted his cheek as she walked over to the couch and sat down.

Jake swallowed again and opened the freezer to grab ice. Putting a couple cubes into two glasses, he set the glasses aside and grabbed another cube to hold against his neck. After putting the ice away, he tossed it into the sink and turned on his filtered faucet. Drinking the liquid from his own glass quickly, he refilled it. Turning off the faucet and making his way towards the senior citizen warily, he handed her one of the glasses and went to sit in one of the chairs flanking the couch. Only to pause midway when she patted the cushion next to her in expectation.

With an almost audible swallow, he moved to where she indicated. He took a long swallow, almost choking on the cold liquid when she reached out and gave a friendly pat on his knee. "Um, Mrs. Winters," he started, only to be interrupted.

"Call me Maude, dear," she told him with another friendly pat on the knee. That turned into a rather gentle squeeze of his thigh muscles. "My but you're a strong boy, aren't you?"

"Comes with the territory," he explained as he took another drink of his water. Which he prayed was something stronger and preferably alcoholic.

"Well, I for one can't wait to see what you look like stripped down!"

He choked on the drink of water he was taking and she patted his back. "Beg your pardon?"

"How else am I supposed to get the measurements for your costume? That is what I'm here for, dear."

"Oh, I know," he hastened to reassure her. "When's Tad supposed to be here?" Even as he asked the question there was a knock on his apartment door. He fairly jumped up from the couch and went to answer the door, flinging it wide with a relieved grin on his face. "Tad! Come on in," he urged, almost bodily yanking the red-faced man into the apartment.

Tad looked over at where Maude was placidly sitting on the couch drinking her iced water and then back to Jake. The detective's smile was blatantly fake. "Problem here, Maude?"

"Not at all," she reassured him.

"Didn't we tell you to behave?" Tad asked as he stalked towards the seated woman. "Don't you have any manners, boy?" he asked brusquely as he shed his tan coat.

"I am!" she told him defensively. "Aren't I behaving, dear?" she turned to Jake and injected a pleading tone into her voice.

"Um, sure, I guess. Listen, I really don't want to get in the middle of any type of domestic squabble, okay?" Jake took the proffered coat from Tad and retreated to get Tad a glass of ice water.

"Smart guy, you are," Tad told him as Jake abandoned the relative safety of having the counter as a barrier and handed the glass to the other man.

"I try."

"Enough of this men's club stuff," Maude decided. "Ready to start this? We don't have forever, you know."

"Yeah, let's get started," Jake clapped his hands together enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically. Could be help it if he wanted these people out of his apartment? Preferably with his doors locked behind them.

"Good," Maude fished in her purse for a pad of paper and a pen, which she handed to Tad. Then she turned to Jake and waited expectantly. "Well?"

"Well what?" Jake asked warily.

"Go strip."

"No way!" Jake exploded, backing up until his back was against the counter. How could two innocent looking senior citizens, okay ONE innocent looking senior citizen that he topped by a good six inches, make him feel so threatened?

Maude pouted a bit. "You want to look good while you're the guest of honor, don't you?"

"Well, yeah, of course I do," he answered. The pull on his ego was strong, as it would be on any male who put a lot of stock into physical prowess. How far down are we talking with the stripping here?"

"Oh, nothing too bad. A pair of briefs or a swimsuit'd be fine," she told him.

"Swimsuit it is," Jake decided, relieved that he'd at least been given a choice. "I take it they have to be tight?"

"Preferably, yes," Maude answered.

"Naturally," he muttered under his breath as he made his way to his bedroom. He grabbed the swimsuit he hadn't worn in months from a dresser drawer and went into the bathroom to change, as his bedroom didn't have a door on it. An oversight that he was missing for the first time.

He made his way back into the living area of his apartment a bit self-consciously. A white terry cloth towel was draped over hips and anchored with a hand. He climbed atop his coffee table as directed and played a minor tug of war game with Tad as the man attempted to take his towel. It ended with an exasperated sigh and Maude reaching out and snagging it, yanking with surprising strength and almost toppling Jake from his suddenly precarious perch. He held his arms out from his body exactly as Maude indicated and stood under the scrutiny of two senior citizens watching him. One was poking and prodding, absently feeling muscles he'd worked hard for while taking measurements with a tape out of her purse.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Maude pronounced herself satisfied with the measurements. She double-checked that Tad had written down every number she called out and that she could use them to create the costume before nodding to her. Asking for Tad to get their coats, she put the pad, pencil, and tape back into her oversize purse and told Jake he could climb down.

"You all done now?"

"Yes, I should be, dear. I'll see you in a few days, okay?"

"When'll I get to see the costume?" he asked, eager to see what he'd be paraded around town in.

"Oh, you won't get that until November 5th. Right before the parade, as a matter of fact," she told him.

"I won't?"

"Didn't she just tell you that, boy?" asked Tad as he handed her the jacket she had come with.

Jake shook his head after closing and locking the door behind his two visitors. Looking down at his attire, he shrugged before deciding not to change; he was pretty comfortable as he was. Flopping down on the couch with a cold beer he'd retrieved from the fridge, he turned the TV on and settled down to a night of cartoons.

"So, rookie, when do we get to see it?" was the question that greeted Jake as he let himself into the office early the next morning. Danny asked it, predictably, as Sara's caffeine hadn't fully kicked in yet and, until it did, she avoided interacting with most people.

"Day of the parade, Danny," he answered.

"What, you holdin' out on us? It's something awful, isn't it?" Sara chimed in, surprising both men. She shrugged and lifted the almost empty cup. "Number four," she told them by way of explanation.

Danny nodded his understanding as Jake shook his head. "No, I'm not. I don't even get to see it until right before the parade," he told them with a small pout.

"You consented to wear something that you aren't even sure of what it looks like yet?" was Sara's incredulous question. Obviously she was questioning his sanity, much as she had in the past.

"Pretty brave of you, my man," Danny attempted to put a good spin on it as he clapped Jake on the back. "Braver than I am, that's for sure."

"You wouldn't consent to wearing a costume?" Jake asked Danny.

"Not without having some idea of what it is," the Asian told him as he grabbed a partial refill of his own coffee. "Not anything I was going to wear in public, at least. You will have the dignity and respect of the NYPD riding on your shoulders," he pointed out as he gave Jake a mug of coffee and refilled Sara's cup.

Jake considered that as he looked morosely at the dark and steaming brew in his cup. Resolutely pushing the thought from his mind, he took a sip of the scalding liquid and got down to work. Or at least tried to. Sara asking him how his date with Maude Winters had been and all of the teasing that accompanied his answer broke his concentration.

He grew more jittery as November Fifth drew closer. If he were a different man, he probably would have spent the times he wasn't working in a library or on the Internet trying to get information on this particular holiday. As it was, he spent the time silently worrying, wondering what the price would be if he failed to uphold the dignity of the department. Would he end up assigned to Warren and Peters, the least effective Homicide team in the precinct? Sara could be a hard taskmaster, but at least she was fair and he could learn a lot from her. Danny had taught him a lot too, without the bluntness and hard edges of his female partner. At last, Guy Fawkes Day was almost upon them…

Jake sat staring at the bottle of bourbon that rested on the table. Tomorrow was the fifth. He had the day off and was supposed to spend it with the Terrible Three, as he had dubbed Maude and her two cohorts. They had made themselves at home around him, dropping into the precinct or stopping off at his apartment unannounced. Naturally, he always had to be gracious and take the time to ask how they were, be polite even when he felt like running and screaming in the opposite direction. The three always watched him, sometimes suspiciously, as if they couldn't believe he was who he was. Other times, the times he didn't mind, they had bright, excited expressions on their faces. Proud of him and themselves for finding him. Enraptured, as if they couldn't believe he was real.

Now, he had to spend the day with them. He'd been given the day off so that his work wouldn't interfere with whatever they had planned. He knew for sure that he was going to be in the parade, but a lot more was expected to happen. Would he be involved with everything? He'd written a speech, just in case he needed it. Hopefully it would be well received. He prayed it would be well received. Captain Nettles had called him into his office as he was getting off duty that afternoon and reminded him that the dignity of the department rested on his shoulders. This was a chance to show civilians that the police weren't an entirely separate entity, he'd said. "This may very well be a turning point in how civilians and officers got along. As if Jake's own captain hadn't already drilled him on various points and reminded him to be respectful.

As if his nerves weren't jumpy enough. It had seemed fun when he was just a volunteer. It was something he could do, a way to help them out and make a good impression. Not to mention that it was great for his ego. He had to admit that he'd been more tense before he'd finally figured out that Maude flirting was just Maude flirting. He didn't have to follow through with anything to keep from insulting her. He'd even relaxed enough to flirt back, something that pleased her to no end.

He'd been able to laugh it off when other officers had teased him. His own training officer and her partner had been absolutely merciless in that regard. But now that the day was so near, he couldn't laugh things off as easily. It didn't help that he still hadn't seen what he'd be wearing. Whenever he asked Maude, she laughed it off and changed the subject after telling him what a cute boy he was. That usually soothed him into forgetting to ask again for a little while. Someone who thought he was cute wouldn't intentionally humiliate him, would she? Especially someone like Maude.

Jake shook his head and poured himself a water glass half full of the bourbon, downing a third of it in one smooth gulp.

That was the gist of it. He just didn't know. Not what was expected of him, not how to succeed, not what to do to ensure that he did succeed. None of the Terrible Three were willing to tell him. All they'd say was for him not to worry and to do what came naturally. He'd taken some acting and drama classes while he was still in school. It was a natural extension for him since he'd been the class clown and adored being in the center of attention. But if those classes taught him one thing, it was that being a natural can make a difference in enhancing a performance. It wouldn't automatically make it great.

And it did have to be great. Not so-so. Not okay. Great. Perfect was preferable, but that wasn't a must. Great was.

Would he be able to do that without any practice? Any help? Any clue on what was really going on? His ego said 'yeah, no problem.' But all of the pressure he was feeling now, all of the teasing and reminders… They said 'no.' He really hoped that his ego was going to be the one that was right.

He was pouring himself more bourbon when he heard an earsplitting scream. Cursing, he tried and failed to catch the bottle as it fell from his hands and he was forced to watch as it shattered. He immediately went into the kitchen to get a wet cloth. Hopefully if he got to it fast, it wouldn't set and stain. And his apartment wouldn't smell like it belonged to a drunk.

Belatedly his training kicked in and he looked around frantically before rushing to the window. There was no one outside in the parking lot. Grabbing his gun and badge, he went out into the hall. There was no one there. Nor was there anything suspicious in the rather drab hallway. Had he imagined it?

No, there it was again. He winced and reflexively brought his gun closer to him as he crouched in a defensive manner. When no one came running into the hallway like he expected, he warily moved quickly in the direction the scream had come from. As he did, more screams broke the hum of the air conditioner. Finally he was outside apartment they were coming from. He was just about to knock and inform whoever was inside that he was with the police when yet another scream pierced his eardrums. It was longer and higher, more blood-curdling than the rest, and he reared back before kicking the door in with all his strength and barreling through the door.

Only to stop, his gun trained on a beautiful redhead that was sitting on a cheap tan couch piled high with jewel-toned pillows. "Uh, sorry, ma'am," he offered as he looked around what he could see of the apartment. Windows were shut and barred, doors were standing wide open… For all accounts, she was alone in her apartment. "Are you okay?"

"What? Oh, yes, I'm fine. Except for no longer having a front door," she told him pointedly.

He flushed, realizing that this woman was the new neighbor he had seen getting her mail. He'd been hoping to catch her and ask what apartment she was living in, maybe get her phone number. This was not the way he'd intended to find out. "Sorry," he repeated, hoping that would get him into her good graces. It didn't. If anything she looked even madder. "I thought you needed help," he explained.

That gave her pause. With a sigh, she told him that, while it was sweet of him to be worried, he shouldn't have kicked her door in. That he agreed wholeheartedly to. After a trip to his own apartment with her and lightening his bank account by $1200, he walked her to her door and offered to wait for the new one with her.

"No, thanks. You may decide to kick down that one too. While it's being delivered. You want to have to pay medical bills?"

"No," he answered her with a grin. "Why were you screaming anyhow?"

"Oh," she waved her hand, "I'm an actress. Just got a part in a made for TV movie. I get murdered in act three and had to practice my screaming."

An actress was living down the hall from him. A beautiful one at that. Even with the uncertainty of tomorrow looming over him, life was looking good indeed. "That's cool," he nodded. "Can I get your number?" he blurted out, there not being an opportunity to really ease into the question as she stood by her open door with her arms crossed, keep out signs clearly visible.

"No," she answered before turning to go into her door-less apartment and call the company to make sure the delivery hurried up. "Good night, Detective."

"Night," he mumbled before making his way back to his apartment. He dropped his keys onto the table that stood next to his door and made his way back to the couch. Which thoroughly smelled like a brewery. He'd probably end up having to find another one fairly cheap. He doubted he'd ever get the odor out of the fabric.

Odor? He'd smelt spilled alcohol before. Even if it set for a long period of time, it never smelled this rank. Even when it was emanating from an unwashed drunk. He looked around for something that didn't belong there. Something the smell could be coming from. Shattered glass on the floor, pizza box on the coffee table. A plate with a half-eaten slice sat next to the empty glass he'd been drinking the bourbon from. The TV was still on to the Cartoon Network. Everything was exactly as he'd left it.

His stomach turning at the strong smell, he grabbed the half-eaten slice of pizza from the plate and opened the pizza box to toss it in there. He'd wrap everything in saran wrap before refrigerating it. He didn't get that far. His stomach rolled threateningly as he stared down at the large chunk of rancid uncooked meat that sat in the cardboard box. His keen eyesight easily picked out things that were crawling along it. Living things. Even as he clamped his mouth shut and closed the box again, he was on his way to the kitchen with it, grabbing a garbage bag out from under the sink.

Then he carried it down to the dumpster that was in the alley behind his building. Even though it was double bagged, he held it away from him, the writhing unidentified creatures still fresh in his mind. Instead of taking the elevator, he sprinted down the stairs as fast as he dared. Tossing it in and slamming the top of the dumpster with a sigh of relief, he made his way back to his apartment.

The minute he was back in his apartment, he stopped. He'd been gone less than five minutes and hadn't taken his key or locked the door because of it. Now he wished he had. There was only a blank space where his television had sat happily blaring cartoons. Almost everyone in the building knew he was a cop; why would they intentionally steal from him? A petty thief would have found it easier to break into an apartment on a lower floor. It would just be a matter of getting away from the building and blending into the crowd from there. From his floor they'd have to get out of the building first. He went over to the phone to call in the theft, frowning when there was no dial tone.

How had his phone been disconnected? There hadn't been a storm to mess with the wires and he'd used it not even thirty minutes ago, to order the door for Julianne Graves and arrange for delivery as soon as possible. He traced the wire to the jack in the wall and his frown deepened when he saw that it hadn't been tampered with. Must be a glitch in the phone lines somewhere. Shrugging, he grabbed his cell phone to call it in, his frown deepening when it didn't turn on. He'd forgotten to get a new battery for it. Obviously it was a mistake that was going to cost him. Hopefully he'd be able to pick one up before the parade tomorrow. It was a good thing that he wasn't on call right now.

Flopping onto the couch, he stared at the bare spot before shrugging fatalistically. Chances were they wouldn't be able to recover the set anyhow. He'd report it in the morning. He shifted his feet, grimacing as he felt the drag of broken glass. With a groan he stood back up to get the dustpan. Getting down in a comfortable position on his knees, he began to carefully move the large pieces of glass onto the dustpan. He wasn't careful enough. Cursing as he reared back, he sucked on the offending appendage before pulling it out of his mouth and watching blood well up from the jagged tear of skin. He put it back in his mouth and crouched back down to finish the job. The way his luck was going, it wasn't going to be the first and only cut. Merely the first. Why bother bandaging it now?

He continued to put the pieces on the dustpan, ignoring the cuts and scratches he gained from the job. Eventually he pulled his finger out of his mouth again and set about setting up the vacuum leaner to get the majority of the larger shards out of the rug. Once it was done, he went back to using his hands to get the smaller shards that were ground into the rug out. The alcohol that was still in the rug stung the myriad of cuts he'd gained, causing his to curse under his breath as he fought the shards free.

Finally they were gone. At least as far as he could tell. He went into the bathroom to wash his hands and put Band-Aids on the worse of the cuts. He skipped the antiseptic stage, figuring that the alcohol had done that job. Deciding that he wasn't even going to try to go out tonight – knowing the odds tonight, he'd end up framed for murder and arrested – he shed his clothes until he was only in his boxers that were covered with bright yellow smiley faces that had huge teeth-showing grins and sunglasses. Then he made his way back into the living room to put on some music. Maybe that would relax him.

On his way to the stereo he walked in front of the couch only to almost fall at the sharp pain in his foot. He sat down heavily and inspected the underside of it, wincing at the jagged piece of glass that was partially buried under the skin. How could he have missed a piece that size? He hobbled into the bathroom and fought to get his injured foot in the sink while he balanced precariously on one foot. After a few minutes, he managed the feat of flexibility and grabbed a pair of tweezers from the medicine cabinet next to him. As gently as he could, he pried the glass out of his foot, the skin trying to keep the intruder in. Once it was finally out beads of sweat had popped out o his skin and he turned on the water to flush the wound out.

He then put antiseptic on it and bandaged it, considering going to the ER for stitches. Deciding against it because he really didn't want to have to explain any of this, he attempted to hobble his way to the stereo again. This time he avoided the path between the couch and the coffee table. Making it without mishap, he turned on the radio and turned up the volume before going into the kitchen and grabbing a couple of beers. He hobbled his way back to the couch and carefully moved between the two pieces of furniture before sitting down and putting both bottles on the table.

He finally stretched out on the couch and put both feet up on one of the arms. Hopefully the height would help stem the bleeding. Not even attempting to open one of the beers yet, he put one hand over his eyes in the classic picture of repose and tried not to think about what could go wrong tomorrow if tonight was this bad.

There was a mob pounding on the door to his apartment. Didn't they know that someone was trying to sleep here? Jake could only imagine the neighbors complaining. Just what he needed to completely round out the impression that Julianne had of him. He'd hoped that he'd managed to brush off the kicking-down-the-door thing with being a cop and being concerned for the safety of his neighbors. When she turned him down, he admitted that he had his doubts about his success, but he'd managed to explain that away. It was late, she had that part to practice for in the movie, and they lived in the same building, on the same floor. He could see how neighbors who lived that close could have trouble when they dated. Or at least when they broke up. He wouldn't want her going psycho on any of this future girlfriends, would he?

Sitting up and jumping to his feet, his only thought on shutting the mob up before his neighbors called the cops because of a domestic disturbance. Sure, that would go over well at the precinct, especially if the details of the door fiasco came out. Immediately after standing, he regretted it. Ignoring the pains coming from his abused soles, he made his way as quickly as he could to the front door. Throwing it open with blithe disregard for how he looked, he stared at his early morning visitors. Shaking his head when he saw the Terrible Three, he gingerly made his way back to the couch to sit down. "What are you guys doing here this early?" He asked on a groan as he fell to one sided and buried his face in a cushion.

"We're here to get you ready for the parade," Maude explained. "You have to be in the right mood, you know."

"You want me to be in the right mood? Let me sleep for another 3 hours. Minimum. That'll help with the parade preparations too." Wait a minute. Parade preparations? "I'm not supposed to help you guys get everything ready for the parade, am I? You didn't mention anything like that," he half whined.

"We have professionals for that job, boy," the taciturn Tad told him. "Closest thing to them, anyhow. Been doing parades for years. Why'd we want to let you loose to mess them up?"

Ignoring what he thought and hoped was a rhetorical question, he sat up as Barry Devlin sat down in a chair and Maude on the couch near him.

"What Tad means to say, son, is that we have people who're used to the chaos associated with parades and cultural events. Throwing a new person into the mix would be like throwing a spanner into a well-oiled machine. It'll be easier on everyone around if you just stick to your own role," Barry told him in an obvious attempt to gloss over Tad's less than diplomatic question.

"Then why can't I go back to sleep?" Jake asked in a high voice, half-expected Maude to slap him and tell him not to whine like his mother always had.

Barry hesitated and looked at his watch. "You may be able to have an extra hour, but you really need to try on your costume to make sure it fits right. If it doesn't, Maude's going to have to fix it and we want to make sure she has the time to do it."

Jake looked over at Maude and the black opaque plastic bag she'd been holding on a hanger. Had they robbed a dry cleaners? He thought about it before a moment before venturing in on the issue of sleep again. "What if I try the stuff on? Then can I go to sleep while it's being fixed?"

Barry and Tad looked at each other as Maude nodded. "Sure, why not?"

Seeing the guys' hesitation, Jake offered something he'd never expected to offer to the Terrible Three. "If you want, you can stay here. I doubt it'd bother me. You can watch TV," he stopped as he remembered the disappearing TV. One more thing he had to do today. "Sorry, you can't. It got stolen last night," he explained.

"That TV?" Barry pointed to where Jake's TV normally was and sure enough, there it was happily showing cartoons to everyone in the room.

Jake stared at it before shaking his head. He could've sworn that it was missing for at least part of the night. He'd even tried reporting it and… He went over to the phone and cautiously lifted the receiver. Sure enough, the dial tone was loud and clear. Was someone playing games with him? He would have heard if anyone had put it back, right? Right, of course he would. He was a detective. So it couldn't have disappeared. Which meant that he'd imagined it. That didn't bode too well for being a detective either, did it? It must have been the stress that had made him think it was gone. That was allowed, right? He was under a lot of stress lately. Dry washing his face in an attempt to wake himself up, he nodded. "That TV. Must have been a dream," he explained with a laugh. "Ever have those dreams that are so realistic you think they're real even after you wake up?"

"Can't say I have," Barry remarked.

"Lucky you," Jake laughed. Hobbling over and grabbing the dry cleaner's bag containing his costume for the parade, he put a hand on Maude's shoulder when she started to stand. "I'm pretty sure I can figure everything out. If I have any questions, I'll ask, okay?"

A bit put out by having her fun shortened, she nodded a bit grumpily.

Hiding the flicker of relief that he felt because she'd given in so easily, he slowly made his way to the bedroom. Looking longingly at the bed, he turned away from it to go into the bathroom to change. Immediately after he opened the zipper, he winced because of the eye straining colors. With a gulp, he pulled the outfit out and grimaced. Were those…? And the colors! Was this some type of joke? It had to be. Didn't it? "Hey, Maude?"

"Yes, Jake?"

The question was directly on the other side of the bathroom door; something which made him grateful that he'd both shut and locked said door. Who knew what she'd do if he'd left it open? Probably join him in the tiled room. "Are you sure you grabbed the right costume?"

"Oh, I hope so! What does it look like?"

Trying and failing to describe the horror he was facing, Jake unlocked the door and opened it enough to thrust one arm out of the opening. On his hand was the hanger with the costume he really hoped wasn't his. He just needed Maude to confirm it.

"Oh, dear," was the dismayed sentiment that came through.

Yes! He was right and he wouldn't be forced to wear that fashion statement gone wrong. His Halloween costume hadn't even been that bad. Which said something considering he'd found out that the party he was attending required a costume and he'd thrown one together in half an hour before he left.

"Barry? Barry, we forgot the hat and shoes," Maude called to one of the two men in the living room.

Jake could feel the blossoming hope shrivel in his chest.

"Don't worry about it, Maude. We'll go collect from the hotel," Barry assured her. "Or I will. Tad can pick up breakfast. Jake's refrigerator needs some help when it comes to contents," he explained.

"Okay. Don't forget my sewing machine, okay? I'm gonna need it for any changes," she called before lowering her voice to talk to Jake. "Why don't you get into the costume that we have here? You won't get to see the full effect, but I can figure out what needs to be hemmed or lengthened without the rest."

Jake reluctantly pulled his arm and the hanger back into the bathroom. It was supposed to look like this? With a grimace, he opened the door and went to grab a pair of briefs from his dresser drawer. No way to wear boxers with that outfit. It was a good thing he could go either way. Otherwise he would have had to go without any underwear. Normally that wouldn't be a problem, but in this outfit, he was going to feel conspicuous enough. He needed the extra protection knowing he was decently clothed gave him.

Semi decently clothed, he decided with a grimace as he stripped off the boxers and T-shirt he'd slept in and pulled on the briefs. Now, how was he going to get into this? Same way he got into any other outfit, right? One limb at a time. Leaning against the sink, he separated the two hangers before pulling the pants off to put them on. One limb at a time, he reminded himself. With a deep breath, feeling he was committing himself to something even worse than he'd been stressed about before, he pulled the fabric up his legs.

They weren't pants. Oh, they were, but nothing he was used to wearing. These were more like…tights. Like dancers wore. He wasn't a dancer and didn't want in any way to be linked with such effeminate men. It wasn't that he was homophobic, of course. Just that they'd ruin the macho image he took care to present to the world. Not that he cared about things like images. But these pants were… He couldn't even think of the right word. Think positively, he told himself. Lots of manly men have worn tights. Superman did. Didn't Batman too?

Superman hadn't worn hot pink tights, though. His had been a nice manly blue. Superman. Jake paled as he compared himself to the superhero from Krypton. Would he have to wear his briefs on the outside too? He hoped not. He may be able to use the Superman-Clark Kent idea, though. Maybe he could talk Maude into letting him wear glasses. He could even wear a wig or dye his hair. Maybe take a page out of Bruce Wayne's book and wear a mask. No one would recognize him.

But everyone knew what he was doing, where he'd be in the parade. They knew what to look for, if not the specifics. He'd bragged enough about the honor of being asked. Everyone had teased him before; what would they say now?

Shaking his head, he pulled the jacket and shirt off the remaining hanger. Tossing the jacket over the unfortunately closed toilet, he pulled the shirt on. Maybe if he got them wet? No, Maude would just have them dried. Besides, what if they, God forbid, shrunk? They were tight enough now, he decided. The shirt was indeed tight, as tight as the pants themselves were. All it needed was a little more fabric and it could have been a perfect leotard. Again with the dance analogies. Unfortunately the outfit just leant itself to them.

Pulling on the unexpectedly heavy lime green jacket, he stepped back to study himself in the mirror. Was this how he was supposed to look? Who had picked these colors? He looked like a clown who's gotten into vats of highlighter ink or fluorescent paint. A wide Pilgrim-style black belt was in the bottom of the bag and he grabbed it. At least the jacket didn't have to be tucked in. It was pretty long and loose too. He belted it loosely, wanting to preserve as much of his modesty as he could. It wasn't much at this point, but it was something. The faux pearl buttons that dotted the fabric in patterns* gleamed under the light.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he stopped dead at the sight of Maude sitting on his bed flipping through a magazine. A magazine? His eyes immediately sought his nightstands. Both drawers were closed, thank God. Chances were she'd grabbed it from the living room. He hoped she had. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. Too bad it didn't help much today. Maybe it would work better for the rest of the day? There he was being hopeful again. He sneaked a peek at the magazine she had in her hands as he walked closer. From the living room. His day was looking up.

She looked up at his approach and took in the outfit. Twirling one finger in a silent command for him to turn in place, she stood up. "It fits better that I thought it would. The jacket needs to be shortened a bit. Just an inch, inch and a half. Maybe two?" She asked herself as she folded the fabric and stepped back as much as her arms would allow to see it.

Maybe not. He reached down and held the folded fabric, allowing her to step back and take in the full affect. His other reason that having her that close to him made him uncomfortably aware of just how thin the tights really were. At least she was doing her checking in the back instead of the front. "Maude? I was wondering about the possibility of adding something. Maybe a mask," he ventured hopefully. When she didn't answer, he decided to go a bit further. "You know, something cool like Batman's, it'll appeal to the kids. Even one of those Mardi Gras masks that are so popular in New Orleans could appeal to kids."

She pursed her lips, obviously considering it, before shaking her head. "We don't want people to associate this holiday with movies. What country would want people to think of Batman when they think of a holiday? Besides, we've already updated your costume to make it more eye-catching, more appealing."

His day definitely wasn't looking up. "What do you mean, updated it?" He asked, unsure if he really wanted to know.

"Oh, the colors, the costume itself. More costumes have extremely baggy pants, oversize waistcoat and jacket. The colors are almost always browns, grays, dark blues and blacks. We wanted you to appeal to more people, so we jazzed it up," she explained as she helped him out of the jacket and began pinning it. "Thankfully, we didn't put the pearl buttons all over the jacket yet. We left the hems clear for any alterations. I'll put on the rest today."

"Don't you think it has enough?" Jake looked at the jacket that had to weigh at least ten pounds. The fabric was heavy to take the weight of the buttons and when you add in the weight of the buttons themselves… He was going to fry.

"Don't be silly. The patterns aren't finished. I won't be adding a lot more. Just the finishing touches."

There was a knock on the door and Jake escaped the bedroom to let in Tad and Barry. The costume wasn't finished yet. He hadn't seen the full effect. If it was this bad partially finished, he really didn't want to see it when it was done. Tad and Barry had gone to get the rest of the costume and Maude's sewing machine, and he really didn't want to let them in. Right now, though, he thought anything was better than the look Maude was giving him. He really didn't like that speculative look in her eyes.

"Guys, you're back!"

Tad looked suspiciously at the man dressed in hot pink nylon-spandex. "Did you take something while we were gone?"

"Of course not," Jake answered defensively. Even if I wish I had.

"You sure? You city folk always have drugs hidden somewhere around the place."

"I'm a cop, Tad," he patiently explained for the thousandth time. Tad wasn't much of a people person to begin with and the man seemed to have a complete disrespect for cops.

"So? All that means if you can bust dealers if they refuse to sell you any. Or just steal it from evidence," Tad theorized as he looked Jake over as though assessing which he would do.

"I work Homicide, not Vice or Narcotics. Besides, it's not that easy to get stuff from evidence lock up. You've gotta sign everything out, and only one person has the key, so they'd know." He mentally crossed his fingers, hoping that Tad would get off the Jake-as-druggie kick.

"Not if he was one of your cronies," Tad nodded in satisfaction. Everyone knew that New York cops were crooked.

Shaking his head and deciding not to get into it anymore, knowing from past experience that it would accomplish nothing, Jake turned to Barry. "That the stuff?"

"Yeah," Barry handed the bag he carried to Jake as he put the plastic box on the table. When he lifted the top of it, Jake saw a sewing machine. "It's a good thing Maude's friend Tina let her borrow the machine."

Jake looked down at the part of the costume he still wore and the opaque bag he held in his hand. It was still closed since he wasn't sure he particularly wanted to know what was in it. If he were honest with himself, it was because he was scared. But he wasn't, what man was? He just didn't want to spoil the surprise. Really. He believed that, didn't he? "Real nice of her. If she hadn't, I wouldn't have this… lovely costume to wear during the parade."

"Jake's been trying to convince me to change it around. Poor man doesn't know that we've messed with tradition enough as it is," Maude told the returned men as she came out of the bedroom.

Tad scowled in Jake's direction as he stomped towards the couch to sit down.

Barry frowned at the blonde detective before going to sit down and talk quietly with Tad.

For her part, Maude was blissfully unaware of the tension that now permeated the room after her declaration. Sitting herself down at the electric sewing machine, she began to sew the hem of the lime green jacket higher as she hummed.

Jake shook his head and walked gingerly over to where Barry and Tad sat. "Listen, guys, I didn't know, okay?"

"You should have," Tad returned with frost in his voice.

"How? How should I have known?" Jake's voice was raised almost in a yell and he took a deep breath to calm himself down. "You guys haven't told me anything, you know. How am I supposed to know these things if you don't? You can't get mad at me for stumbling when you've intentionally kept me in the dark," he half accused the two men.

Barry and Tad glanced at each other and nodded. "I guess you're right," Barry admitted as Tad sat back and crossed his arms. "Tad likes to be a bit mulish, but he knows we couldn't expect you to know everything."

"Will you tell me a little about it now?" It couldn't hurt for him to ask, right? The least they could do is refuse to answer him. They had before. Maybe now that the day was here, they'd tell him. Now that he had the costume on. Even if it was more of a deterrent than anything else was. But it wasn't really. They knew it. He knew they knew it. They knew he knew that they knew it. His ego wouldn't let him be cut out of the festivities. Not now, this close to it all. Maybe if he'd found out about the costume earlier, he would have cancelled. But this close, it wouldn't work. He'd told everyone he knew about being in the parade. About the honor of being asked. If he wanted to back out, he'd have to have an extremely plausible excuse that'd be pretty hard to find this late in the game.

Nope, he was stuck. Pink spandex, lime green coat, pearls and all. He absently picked at one of the pearl buttons that lined either outside seam on his tights. Pants. They were pants. Just… tight pants.

Barry sat back, obviously considering his request. Exciting by the prospect that he might get some type of idea, Jake sat and leant forward. "What can it hurt?"

Again, Barry and Tad exchanged glanced, this time they were apprehensive. Could it make a difference? Their reading on Jake's self-importance said no, but it was obvious that he was having second thoughts. That was the very reason they'd limited his exposure to the customs involving this holiday in the first place. He could have researched it easily enough, but that would show his friends that he was unsure of something. Not anything he'd be willing to do. "Okay," Barry decided, ignoring Tad's surprised look as he continued, "what do you want to know?"

"What's this holiday about? I don't want someone to ask and get embarrassed because I don't have the answer." Jake leant back and was prepared to be amazed. It was something really juicy, wasn't it?

"Well, there are two differing ideas to what it actually celebrates. What's known for sure is that in 1605, Guy Fawkes planned to blow up the British Parliament with dynamite. He got caught. People started burning bonfires on November 5th, which is when he was caught, and it grew from there," he explained, giving an extremely condensed version of the story.

"So what are the differing ideas?"

"That it's all to either celebrate catching, torturing, and executing Guy Fawkes… or to celebrate his attempt to burn down the Houses of Parliament and do away with British government," Tad explained helpfully. The gleam in his eye made which side he was on a little unclear to Jake.

"So this is all for a traitor?"

"Yeah," Tad looked over at Barry and shrugged.

"Your country celebrates a holiday for someone who'd be considered a terrorist in modern times."

"Yeah," Barry responded, wondering what Jake's confusion was about.

"And people say Americans are fucked up."

Finally it was time. After Barry and Tad had deigned to tell him exactly what he was helping people celebrate, Maude had finished with the hemming on the jacket and he'd had to try it on again to make sure it fit right. It did, Maude dithering about shortening it more before deciding not to. A fact which made Jake extremely grateful. Gratefully stripping out of the costume, he got into a pair of sweats and a T-shirt, flopping down on the bed to try and get some of the sleep his body craved.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. His mind was racing with the new knowledge of the holiday. He was helping a group of people celebrate a traitor. A terrorist. The Terrible Three had said that he was perfect for the part of Guy. Did that mean he looked like a traitor? A terrorist? He didn't, did he? No, he couldn't. He was a cop, had a decent reputation, worked hard, paid his taxes. Sure, he was a little strange sometimes, but that didn't make him a terrorist or anything like that.

So what did they see in him?

Jake asked himself that question over an over again. He hadn't been able to get any of the sleep he had wanted because of the circulating thoughts. That question was paramount.

Would it be good publicity for the department to have one of their officers participating in a celebration for a traitor and terrorist? That's all that's needed to prove to some that the NYPD was full of crooked cops. Why else would one be a traitor? People could use it to confirm suspicions, get away with doing more. Even the crooked cops that were there would use it to get away with being crooked. As much as he hated to admit it, there were some there. Crooked cops were all over the world.

Dean Gorner was the one he'd known for sure that was crooked. He and his partner had stolen money and drugs from busts, and then his partner had invested it. When he'd lost the money, Dean had killed him and then busted Sara's butt about finding the murderer. He'd asked Sara it were possible for Jake to work with him on a case. Then he'd turned around and killed the perps, stole the drugs and money, and framed Jake for it.

Yeah, Dean would have loved the irony of it.

He would have laughed his ass off over the costume too. He'd always thought of Jake as a pushover. The fact that Jake hadn't said anything more, had backed down as quick as he had, would have been used as proof. No man would let three senior citizens boss him around let alone forcing him into clothes like that costume.

Maude knocked on the wall of the doorway that led to the area he used as his bedroom. "Jake?"

Jake groaned and pulled the pillow over his head in a time-honored attempt to block out annoying noises.

"Jake, it's time to get up. You want to make sure you have enough time to get into your costume, don't you?"

Well, actually… No, he couldn't do that. Not after the bragging he'd done, the teasing he'd already endured. Much as he hated to admit it, he didn't even want to disappoint the Terrible Three. They were counting in him to make this work out. He was the Guy. He was the focal point. It couldn't go on without him. "I'm awake," he murmured into the pillow.

"Be awake standing, dear. I raised three sons and two daughters; I know that trick," Maude's indulgently grandmother-type voice admonished him.

Jake rolled over and sat up with a sigh. "Happy?" He ran one hand over his face, hoping to dry wash away the weariness.

"I'll be happier if you actually leave the bedroom."

Jake braced himself before standing up. Waves of pain radiated up through his body from his feet. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he muttered as he started to slowly walk in her direction.

"Good. Barry went out while you were sleeping," she informed him.

Needlessly, as the case may be, but she didn't know that. He'd purposely faked sleep so he didn't have to talk to any of them. It's not like that paid a lot of attention to what he said anyway.

"He picked up some of the thickest foot pads he could find. You can put them inside your boots so you can stand easier."

"That's cool," he answered. Inwardly, he was rejoicing. He wouldn't have to worry about his feet as much now. Hopefully they were nice and soft and thick. Maybe he could even arrange to sit in a chair for part of the parade? And he'd be able to sit down during the fireworks. "Thanks, Barry," he said as soon as he was partway into the living area. "Maude told me about the pads."

"Couldn't have our Guy in any type of discomfort, can we?"

Tad began snickering behind the cards he was holding. He lifted his glass and took a quick gulp of water.

"Right," Jake answered, shifting from foot to foot with an unease due to both the pain and Tad's reaction.

"You should get into your costume, Jake. We want to get to the beginning of the parade area early to introduce you to everyone," Maude told him as she came up behind him.

"Can't I just get into the costume right before we take off?" He asked hopefully. "That way it'll be more of a surprise to everyone."

"We'd like you to be comfortable in the costume, Jake," Barry explained. "To do that, you need to get used to wearing it."

"But," he began to protest only to stop dead at the stern look Barry gave him. If his father had had a look like that, he never would have been a surfer. No-siree. He would've gone straight to the military like good old dad wanted. "Fine, I'll go get dressed," he gave him, heading to his bedroom like a sulking child.

Hey, he was the Man. Better yet, he was the Guy. He could do this.

No one could blame him if he whined about it a little bit. Especially his friends, if they saw him in that costume. Better make that when. No if about it.

Jake pulled on the pink tights again, managing not to grimace at the bright color this time around. Next came the tight pink T-shirt that he'd be wearing under the jacket. Bypassing the jacket itself – there'd be enough time to fry later on, why start early? – he pulled the shoes out of the plastic bag they had been brought in. They were even worse than he'd thought. Old-fashioned Pilgrim boots with wide silver buckles. If they were just that, there would have been no problem. No real problem, at least. But it wasn't. Of course it wasn't.

The black pleather, at least Jake hoped it was pleather, was decorated with miniature pearl buttons in patterns. As if that wasn't enough, they had been liberally dusted with multicolored glitter. It looked like his niece had decided to fairy dust his shoes. Jake reached down to try and wipe some of it off with his hands. It stubbornly stuck. They must have glued it on.

Running a hand through his hair, he decided to ignore the glitter. If he could ignore the hot pink, he could ignore the glitter, right? Glancing up into the mirror to make a face, he was immediately struck silent. There was glitter in his hair. In. His. Hair. How had it gotten there? His hands. He'd touched the shoes, and then his hair. He stared wide-eyed at the offending pieces of light reflecting plastic that clung to his hands. Well, on the bright side… there was now less glitter on his shoes.

He just hadn't wanted it in his hair. Maybe the hat would cover it all up? Jake scrambled as fast as he could for the bag that held the hat, only to stop dead and stare at it.

Today was going to be worse than he thought.

In his hands was a stiff cardboard hat covered in fabric. A stiff circular triangle hat. A dunce cap. Just what he needed to make the costume complete. Why couldn't it have been a semi-cool jester's hat? At least that he could have laughed off with his buddies. The whole costume could have gotten explained as a jester type thing. Jesters could be cool.

But no, he got stuck with a dunce cap. One that had a belt around the bottom dusted in the same glitter of his shoes and candy cane stripes on the rest of it. Hot pink and lime green candy cane stripes. Accented with more of those pearl buttons he was beginning to detest. Beginning to? He was already full into it.

He went and washed his hands, hoping to get the glitter off of them. Without checking, he ran his wet hands through his blonde hair. Water should get the stuff off, right? Looking in the mirror, he saw that it wouldn't. If anything, the water had darkened his hair slightly, making the glitter show even more prominently. He wiped his hands over his face. No way he'd get it out of his hair now. He looked into the mirror once more before going to get the rest of his costume on. Now his face was glittered. He just couldn't win today.

With a sigh, he trailed into the bedroom and sat down on the bed to pull on the button-and-glitter shoes. Standing up experimentally, his eyes widened. The extra padding that Barry had picked up really helped his feet. He was still aware of the cuts, but now that wouldn't feel as bad as they could. It did feel strange walking with such an extra amount of padding, but that could easily be dealt with. He pulled in the jacket, looking at the buttons Maude had sewn on earlier. The patterns themselves weren't that bad, actually. The pearls were mainly white, but some had red, yellow, or orange tints to them. The tints helped with the pattern of flames that Maude had wrapped around all of the hems.

Manly flames. Look at how many bikers had flames incorporated on their leather jackets somewhere.

Somehow Jake sincerely doubted that their flames were done in faux pearl buttons. The pearly effect really killed the masculine part of the design.

Jake didn't put the hat on, deciding instead to carry it for now. Carrying it was really bad enough. Hopefully he'd be able to put off putting it on by using the excuse that it wouldn't stand in the car. Hey, he may even be able to get it put back in the bag with the glitter. They wouldn't want glitter to get all over the upholstery of the car, did they? He could tell them just what an annoyance it would be to clean it up. Though, if they put the stuff on in the first place, they'd already know. Still, it was worth a shot. The shoes being comfortable pretty much showed that his luck was looking up.

He ventured out of the bedroom uncomfortably aware of the raised hem on the jacket. It had covered him to a little below his thigh. With the hem raised and the belt on, now it would bare his pink clad butt if he so much as raised his hands a little. The eyes of all occupants swerved to see what he looked like. Maude was the first to speak.

"Oh, Jake! What a brilliant idea!" Maude made her way to where her purse lay next to the sewing machine. She rummaged through the large bag for a minute before emerging triumphantly with a small vial that glittered in the light.

More glitter? "What idea, Maude?" Jake just had to ask. Please, no more glitter. He had enough as it was.

"To put glitter in your hair and on your face, of course. Just absolutely perfect." She flipped the top off of it and raised her arms.

Jake crouched with resignation. There was no way he was going to get out of this. He knew that. Why bother fighting with her? Especially since she reminded him of his own grandmother. A force of nature all by herself. He glanced quickly at the container that held his latest indignity. It reminded him of a spice shaker. One side, the open side, had a plastic barrier filled with holes for the glitter to come out. The other side, he assumed, was to take a large amount out at once. He closed his eyes as the glitter began to drift. Protecting his eyes from the plastic bits was only a side effect. He really just didn't want to witness this. After thirty seconds, he felt hands slide through his hair, arranging the glitter.

Pronouncing herself satisfied with the result, Maude stepped back. Peeling off the gloves that he hadn't even been aware she was wearing, she went back to her purse. Capping the container she held, she dropped it into the large bag and began to rummage again, muttering to herself. The look was longer this time, and she finally came back with another container of glitter. Twisting off the top, she put her gloves back on and dipped one finger into the glitter.

This time it had a liquid medium, some type of glue. She rubbed the tips of her fingers together, spreading it fairly evenly among them, before lightly touching Jake's face. Finally satisfied with the light dusting that stuck to his skin, she ran a few fingers down his neck to where it disappeared in the collar of his shirt. Then, she did his hands. Stepping back again, she once again pulled off her gloves. "Perfect."

Jake looked down at his hands. They weren't as bad as they could have been, but he still wasn't too happy with the glitter.

"It's a good thing I stashed the stuff in my purse for my granddaughter. She was a fairy for Halloween and kept worrying she'd run out of dust," Maude explained.

Fairy dust. He'd been right.

"Looks pretty good, Maude. He should get some attention," Barry decided with satisfaction.

Tad's only input into the effectiveness of the costume was another snicker.

Jake looked out at the bustling crowd. It seemed like total chaos to him, but it was apparent that everyone knew what they were doing and where they were going. His hands clenched the bag that held his hat. He'd managed to win that argument. The door opened and Jake struggled out of the back seat. Tad had decided that Jake wasn't allowed to touch anything because of the glitter Maude had put over him. It wouldn't have been a problem except Jake discovered the logistics of getting into the backseat of a car without using his hands after the door had been opened for him. A man was supposed to open the door for a woman. That was the code of gallantry. A man wasn't supposed to open the door for another man. Then Jake had had to sit through the humiliation of Barry buckling his seat belt for him.

As if that wasn't though, the unevenness of the buttons on the coat made it uncomfortable to fully lean back. Jake ended up leaning forward a bit, something that made turns sway him from side to side. Even that wouldn't have been a problem if he could have just used his hands to steady himself. But no, he couldn't.

He suddenly really understood part of the reason the perps were always to annoying when they were handcuffed in the back of a squad car. Sure, they were pissed at being caught, arrested, and taken in. But that wasn't all of it. It wasn't even completely the humiliation of being arrested in front of people they probably know. Nope, it was having to be in the back of a car without their hands to steady them. At least Jake's hands were in front of him. He could just imagine if they were behind, digging into his back. He'd have to lean forward even more than he was for the damn jacket.

"You plan on getting out sometime today?" The question was tossed over the seats from the front driver's seat.

Jake looked over to Tad's scowling face. Hie was twisted in the driver's seat, the door open in preparation for his own climbing out. Then Jake looked over to where he now saw his own door being held opened by a worried looking Maude. Barry was next to her one hand held out for him to grasp. "Sorry, a bit distracted," he said by way of explanation. Were Sara's zone outs contagious?

"It's probably the excitement," Maude told the men knowingly.

Well, that's one word for it, Jake decided as he awkwardly levered himself out of the car with Barry's help. He scanned the crowd again. There were more people in costume, so he didn't feel completely out of place. He was the only one in a costume so outlandish, though. Wait, there was someone who could compete with him. Was he a clown?

"Wonderful, isn't it? The culmination of all our planning," Maude said as she spread her arms wide. A large woman waved and began to bustle over.

"Maude! We've been waiting for you for ages!" The newcomer exclaimed as the two women hugged. "Is this our Guy?"

Maude nodded and pulled Jake over. "Carla, Detective Jake McCartey of the NYPD," she introduced. "Jake, this is Carla Stevens, one of the planners of this event."

"Nice to meet you, ma'am," Jake reached out and automatically shook her hand.

Carla stared bemusedly at the specks of glitter that clung to her skin after Jake had let go. "Nice to meet you too, Jake." She turned to Tad. "We're having some problems. Think you can help?"

Tad nodded his assent and followed her as she wandered off.

Jake looked at the two remaining members of the Terrible Three. Would the number be growing today? His hands clenched the plastic bag that held his hat. At least they hadn't made him wear his hat yet. His humiliation wasn't complete. He docilely followed Maude as she pulled him through the crowd. Here and there they stopped to talk to people. Most of the time they received nods or waves of recognition as the bustle of people continued to run to and fro doing what they had to do to get ready. The closer they drew to the parade time grew, the more chaotic it seemed. You'd think it would have been the opposite. Things calming down, the lull before the storm.

Speaking of lulls, there was a chair over there. Jake made his way carefully, his feet beginning to hurt even with the extra padding in his shoes. He hadn't been able to ask Maude if there was going to be a chair he could sit on during the parade itself. He'd have to improvise. He melted into the shadows as best he could wearing the outfit that he was. It was surprisingly easy; there were people in costume all around him. What was one more? Even if it did catch the sunlight as much as it did.

"Well, well, well. Look who we found here, Danny. It's the rookie!"

Jake looked up to see Sara and Danny with a young man standing before him. "What are you guys doing here? I thought it was only people necessary to the parade allowed back here." Jake guiltily stood up. He really should be happy to see his friends. He just knew that they'd never let him live this down.

"Oh, we got in by telling him we were here as a cheering section for you. You know, make sure you're pumped and ready to go, you don't have stage fright or anything like that," Danny grinned and patted Jake on the shoulder. Pulling his hand back, he frowned as the glitter that had fallen from the blonde's hair to the costume stuck to his own hand.

"The badges helped," Sara told him. She refrained from touching him, not wanting that glitter on her anywhere.

"I imagine they did," Jake answered dryly.

"Hey, might as well use them for something," the young man pointed out, clearing his throat when three detectives stared at him. "Hey, it's not like one of you guys can say something like that!"

Danny chuckled. "He has a point, Pez."

"Yeah, at the top of his head," she muttered under her breath, shooting him a look and quick smile to lessen the sarcasm.

Jake broke in, shaking his head. "Uh, guys? I'm having a bad enough day. Don't snipe at the kid, okay?"

"Thanks," he told the fairy-dusted man.

"Not a problem. Wanna tell me who you are?"

"Jake, fairies aren't supposed to be rude," Sara broke in before Gabe could answer the blonde's question.

Gabriel choked back a laugh.

Danny's cough sounded suspiciously like a chuckle.

Jake glared at Sara, who's only response was a raised eyebrow. "Sorry, kid," he finally muttered.

"Not a problem. Gabriel Bowman," he introduced himself, holding out a hand before drawing it away. "On second thought, I really don't want to be glittered."

Jake looked over at the young man again.

Sighing, Gabriel held his hand back out. He really didn't want anyone pissed at him. It was a holiday, after all. Maybe not one usually celebrated in America, but that had never stopped him before. Jake let go of his hand and Gabe grimaced at the plastic flecks that stuck to his skin. "So, what are you gonna be doing today? Sara didn't tell me anything," he explained as he shot a semi-accusing look at the female detective.

"She didn't know that much to tell," Jake defended her. "I'm 'the Guy.' Basically, the center of attention for the parade, and then later I'm the guest of honor at the bonfire. They say they can't do it without me."

"Like his ego isn't bad enough," Sara muttered.

"Wait a minute. You said you're the Guy?" Gabriel knew there was something about that phrasing that rang bells in his head. He just wasn't sure why yet.

"Yeah," Jake answered.

Danny asked, "is there something wrong?" He didn't know this guy that well yet, but if Sara thought he was okay… He trusted her judgement.

"I'm not sure. I'll definitely tell you and Sara if I remember anything, though, okay?"

Danny glanced over at Sara and nodded with her. "Sure, kid."

"Why do you guys keep calling me kid? That's her," Gabe asserted, pointing over at Sara.

Jake choked on the drink of water he was taking from a sports bottle. "You call Sara kid?"

"Or kiddo," was Gabe's answer.

Sara shook her head as her two partners began laughing.

"Oh, good, your friends found you," Maude said as she came up to the small group. She hadn't been too sure about Barry's decision to let the detectives and their young friend in, but Jake was obviously in a better mood. They'd done what none of the joking earlier had done: lightened his mood and got his mind off his costume.

"How could they miss me?" Jake asked her as he gestured towards the outfit he was beginning to feel alarmingly comfortable in.

"Exactly. How could we miss him?" Sara repeated. "We better go, let you do your Zen thing or breathing exercises or whatever it is you decided on. Break a leg, Twinkle Toes," she offered as she turned away.

"Have fun," echoed a laughing Gabriel.

"Ignore them. Good luck," Danny told him as he too turned to leave.

Jake watched them depart with a faintly envious look on his face. Oh, to have this all done… He could still hear their good-natured bickering, see Gabriel reach up and run a hand through Sara's hair and her answering shriek.

"God, I can't believe you did that, Gabriel!" Sara batted his hand away, missing Danny's as he followed suit. "What is this? Pick on Pez day?"

"Hey, there's an idea, kiddo," he emphasized the last, seeing her roll her eyes.

"Let's not start that again, okay?"

"Fine." Gabriel pouted for a few seconds before he began to piece together what had bothered him about Jake's title. "He said he was the Guy, right?"

"Yeah, why?"

Gabe answered Danny's question with, "I just know it sounds really familiar."

"Well, what do you know about the holiday itself?" Danny asked, hoping that the different tact would yield different results.

"Well, after Queen Elizabeth the First died in 1603, English Catholics who had a hard time under her reign were hoping that James the First, her successor, would be more… lenient, I suppose you can say. More tolerant," he decided on. "It turns out he wasn't, a fact which annoyed a lot of people. A group of men decided that something had to be done about it and they decided that blowing up the House of Parliament was the answer. It would kill James the First, possibly the Prince of Wales, and the members of the Parliament that were making life difficult for them."

"Nothing like a good old terrorism plot," Sara inserted.

Gabe chuckled and shook his head. "They would be considered terrorists today, but they were… intelligence impaired. Once they realized that innocent people could get hurt or killed, some of the terrorists started to have second thoughts. One sent a letter to a friend of his, telling him not to go there on the day they were going to blow up the building."

"Considerate of him," mused Danny.

"Well, it ended up getting into James' hands and they made plans to catch the people responsible. On November 5th, they stormed the cellar of the parliament and caught Guy Fawkes with thirty-six barrels of gunpowder. He was tortured and executed. Starting that year, people burned bonfires. As years passed, they began to put effigies of Guy Fawkes or even the Pope in the fires. These effigies are known as 'the Guy.'"

Danny stared at the young man. He'd known from Sara that he was pretty smart, but this was beyond what he'd expected. With a glance at Sara, he saw that she wasn't that surprised at the information Gabriel had been able to supply. Talk about unexpected sources. "The Guy?"

"Yeah," answered Gabriel.

"The Guy's the one in the bonfire. The Guy is who Jake's supposed to be. You don't suppose…" Danny trailed off to look at Sara.

"He did say that they couldn't do the bonfire without him. He's the guest of honor," she reminded him.

"What are you guys talking about?" Gabe considered what he said, the definition of 'the Guy' and his brown eyes widened. "You guys think that… Could they?"

Sara waved a hand. "Look at what they have him wearing!"

"Bad fashion sense doesn't mean murder, Sara," Danny told her.

"Guys, you can't seriously be talking about this," Gabe protested.

"I know it doesn't, but look at the group that recruited him!" Sara exclaimed.

"Well," Danny hesitated, "just to play it safe, why don't we find one of the captains and tell him about the Guy and bonfires?"

"Good idea," answered Sara.

"You can be the one to explain it to him," Danny decided.

"Why me?"

"Well," Danny started, gesturing towards Gabe, "it was your buddy who told us about it."

"He can always explain it," she offered hopefully.

Gabe stopped walking and shook his head adamantly. "No way. I'm not explaining to a police captain why a detective may or may not be in danger. You want to get me carted away for being an accessory?"

"He has a point," Danny told her.

"Fine, I'll do it. Where's Nettles?" Sara stalked off, leaving the two men trailing behind her.

It took the three of them close to an hour to find the captain. Another forty-five minutes to explain the situation to him. After thinking about it, Nettles decided to have both on- and off-duty cops on alert in case anything funny was going on. They didn't want Jake to get hurt. Being unable to protect a police detective was not the way to reassure the public as to their safety. Particularly since said detective had volunteered and the department was counting on him to make them more accessible to the public. The word to be on the lookout slowly filtered through the officers present even as excitement over the parade finally beginning began to take hold of the crowd.

Thirty-six people carrying 'barrels' on their shoulders came first. Each of the barrels had 'GUNPOWDER' stamped around it in a brightly prominent red.

Then came a band that was marching ahead of a float carrying a singing chorus. The chorus had a wide selection of songs, all about Guy Fawkes Day. Traditional songs and hymns, commemorative songs, and folk songs were well mixed.

A group of 'fun runners' followed them. Normally a group of slow runners in marathons that wore costumes, this time he dressed as a large piece of paper. Definitely not a costume for aerodynamics, he made his way fairly slowly, allowing the crowd to read parts of what was written along his costume. It was a letter to Lord Monteagle, warning him to stay away from the parliament on November 5th.

A richly dressed man assumed to be Lord Monteagle himself followed the letter, running alongside another richly dressed man wearing a crown. King James the First.

Next came another platform that carried performers. Mimes, as a matter of fact. A female mime, wearing the traditional black in the form of a dress with a huge wig, fell to the floor. Another one, arrogantly proud bearing showing that he was a person of power, stepped forward. A group of mimes pointed at the standing man, bending over as if they were in a football huddle, enthusiastically nodding their heads before breaking up. From there, they went to where barrels labeled gunpowder lay and moved them with exaggerated silence. All but one melted away from the barrels and then the group returned – this time wearing blue hats with fake police shields on them. They grabbed the lone mime and pulled him away from the barrels before engaging in a rollicking game of tug of war with the lone mime as the rope. After minutes, the mime fell to the floor of the platform, dead for all intents and purposes.

Another fun runner followed them. This one was dressed in a traditional Guy costume. Long baggy pants were held up with suspenders. An equally oversize waistcoat was being worn. On top of the clothes rested a giant head that looked as if it had been carves out of a block of wood. A goofy face was painted onto the surface: a wide maniacally grinning mouth and eyes that still managed to look beady looking regardless of their size. In one hand, the fun runner carried an oversize book of matches. In the other, an unlit lantern.

A larger Guy followed the fun runner. Held carefully by the people on the ground, it towered above heads as it floated along the street. It also carried the traditional accessories of a matchbook and a lantern.

A group of majorettes lead by flag bearers were next in line. The flag bearers bore the flags of England, the Netherlands, and other assorted countries that practiced this holiday. The majorettes were completely professional. They twirled their batons, turning in place and catching them with ease as they made their way along the procession.

Another platform came next. It had a large cube stationed on top of it, creating a platform on top of the platform. The cube's sides were all painted black with 'THE GUY' painted in red on them. Sure enough, on top of the second platform was a grouping of barrels, once again labeled 'GUNPOWDER.' Sitting in a place of honor towards the back was Jake McCartey. The detective was resplendent in his pink and green costume, glitter glittering in the bright sunlight. A wide smile was painfully pasted on his face at he waved coronation-style at his adoring public.

And they were adoring. The cheering was so loud that hurt his ears. This was what was right. It felt right. Everyone liked him, recognized him. Okay, he wasn't too happy with the whole recognition part of it, but he'd take the bad with the good. He understood the teasing and jokes in the department. It was really just proof that he was one of them.

Jake was followed by a group of people walking. They weren't more fun runners. Some wore kilts and blue face paint a la Braveheart**. What war they intended to fight, Jake wasn't entirely sure. As he remembered, the movie itself had been extremely gory with the brutal hand-to-hand fights. Though they carried no weapons, they were carrying pitchforks. As it had been explained to Jake, these pitchfork wielding men and women were representing the group who was interested in the bonfire that would happen later that night. Jake wasn't entirely sure what the pitchforks were for, but he rationalized the pitchforks away by saying that bonfires would most likely be in the rural areas, not right in the middle of London. Rural areas equal farmers, farmers equal pitchforks.

That would have been fine. Except that every once in a while, one of them would reach out with the pitchfork and poke him. The tips weren't sharpened, were in fact a bit dull, but it was still enough of a surprise and annoyance for him to yelp. His reactions only made the crowd cheer more.

Yet another group of people followed the poking pitchfork group. Baskets were attached to long handles and held out to the crowds, collecting money. A few of the people carried signs saying that the money would be going to charity. The crowd, on a high from the parade, eagerly parted with money. After all, it was going to charity. Most threw in varied amounts of coins; quite a few threw in bills. When the baskets got too full, the baskets were taken in and the money dumped into bags that were being carried before the baskets were held out again. Uniformed police officers trailed a bit behind them, discouraging anyone from thinking about stealing the money. They were, after all, in New York City.

Last came the tar kickers. The barrels that had been soaked in tar weeks before were lit on fire and a group of people kicked them back and forth. The actual point of this ritual wasn't well known, but the outcome was kick the tar barrels till they disintegrate. Traditionally, the leftovers were to be dumped into the river. Instead, due to environmental concerns, it was being picked up and processed.

All in all, when it came to parades, it was rather short. But that fact didn't stop the majority of the crowd from enjoying themselves.

The parade came to a stop near a large raised stage. On it was the makings of a giant bonfire. A large sturdy wood panel was protruding from the middle.

Danny, Sara, and Jake, who had followed the parade, now exchanged looks. It looks like their suspicions on Jake's role as the Guy weren't unfounded. As one, the trio began making their way to the stage. Sara had her cell phone out and was calling Nettles, telling the captain who stayed behind that they're suspicions were confirmed.

"Jake!"

He looked up from the barrel he was precariously balancing on to see his partners making their way to him. Keeping the smile pasted on his face for the young woman who was taking his picture. Both Danny and Sara were tense in a way he expected before a fight. The young man, Gabriel, practically vibrated with tension. Not knowing Gabriel, Jake couldn't say for sure that it was an unusual state for him to be in. He'd gotten the impression earlier, though, that he was extremely laid back. "What's up, guys?" He asked as soon as they were close enough he wouldn't have to shout too loud.

"Jake, what do you know about this? Really know?" Danny emphasized the last part.

"What I told you, why?"

Danny turned to Gabe. "You tell him," he ordered.

Gabe looked over at Sara and, encouraged by the nod she gave as she scanned the crowd, began. "Well, you're the Guy, right?" Without waiting for an answer he continued. "The Guy is the guest of honor. Can't do the bonfire without you," he repeated Jake's earlier words. "You know why?"

Jake looked over at the young man, obviously confused. "Why what?"

"Why they can't do it without you," the hacker spelled out.

"Because I'm the guest of honor," Jake guessed. The thread of uncertainty running through his voice ruined the assured tone.

"Not exactly. See, they burn the Guy in the bonfire," Gabe offered semi-guiltily.

Jake looked over at Sara, asking without words if her young friend was actually sane. Or on the drugs he suspected by looking at him.

"He's a smart guy, Jake. Hasn't steered me wrong yet," she told him apologetically. Sure, he pissed her off often. Didn't mean she wanted him to die.

"They wouldn't do that!" He protested. "Would they?"

"They aren't going to get the chance," Captain Nettles assured him as he joined the group.

Jake looked at the group of his friends who had come to his rescue. Come to his rescue, he repeated to himself with a grimace. He didn't need rescuing. "Guys, I'm sure when it's all said and done you want me to do what's best for me," he began, only to be cut off.

"Jake, they're going to burn you to death," Danny responded.

"It's some type of trick. I'll probably get some heat from the flames, get a little dehydrated from the heat. I doubt that I'll actually get burnt," Jake decided.

"You're gonna go through with it?" Gabe asked.

"No, he's not," Nettles answered.

"Yes, I am," Jake answered Gabe's question, ignoring what Nettles had said. "What kind of message would my backing out give?"

"That it's not polite to burn police officers to death?" asked Sara.

"I told you, I'm not gonna burn to death. Run along now, my adoring public is waiting," Jake told them, making a shooing motion with one hand. Without waiting to see if they listened to him, he turned back to the camera and re-pasted the smile on his face.

"He can't be serious, Chief," Gabe protested as they began to walk away.

"You know that saying 'never underestimate stupid people in large groups?'" asked Sara. When Gabe nodded affirmative, Sara waved a hand towards Jake. "Here's a new one for you: never underestimate stupid people on ego trips."

Sara turned to Nettles. "Captain, you can't mean to let him go through with this."

"He knows the risks. He volunteered not once, but twice," Nettles responded.

"I can't believe this!" Danny threw up his hands and walked away, Sara and Gabriel quickly following.

A young man, homeless by the looks of him, came up to them. "Is there a Lady Sara here?"

Both Danny and Gabe looked over at Sara, who shrugged. "It's what Ian calls me."

"Ian Nottingham. Your stalker?" Danny verified.

"Yeah," she answered as she accepted what the man gave her. "Thanks, here," she said as she began to take out her wallet.

"No need. The knight has already provided," he told her, melting away into the crowd.

Danny just had to ask… "The knight?"

"Hmm, good with a sword," Sara answered, unwrapping the brown paper. When both of the men with her began to snicker, she looked up with irritation flashing across her face. The same irritation flashed across the stone of the Witchblade, something attributed to the lighting of torches as darkness fell. "Get your minds outta the gutter."

Gabe shook his head as he ran one hand through his hair and choked back laughter. "Okay." He looked over at Danny and began to chuckle again. Clearing his throat, he stepped away from the female detective. "What is it?"

Sara frowned and held up the basket that had been wrapped. Standing up in it were three metal rods. Supporting the rods were packages from the grocery store. Hot dogs, marshmallows, bags of chocolate and packages of graham crackers were alongside cubed meats and vegetables suitable for shish kabob.

"We're supposed to have a picnic?" Danny reached out to finger something hanging from the handle. "What is this? A dragon?"

Gabe shifted closer to look at it. "Chief, remember we had that talk about dragons and how it's not a good idea to piss off the black ones?"

Sara nodded. "Looks like we're having a campfire tonight."

Danny shook his head at their attitude and followed them as they made their way to one of the smaller bonfires that circled the area. Above their heads, fireworks lit the sky in a myriad of colors. All around them, the cheering became louder as the largest bonfire was lit. The Guy would burn well tonight.

The End

Happy Guy Fawkes Day!

*One trend during Victorian times was known as "pearlies." People who worked in markets in the 1800s would distinguish themselves by putting a row of pearls down the seams of their clothing. In 1875, Henry Croft decided to use the practice to draw attention to himself and make money for charities. Here's one of the websites I've found: http://www.pearlies.co.uk/ These "pearlies" are fairly restrained, but you can get the idea. The one I saw was a picture of a dock-worker. His coat was covered every square inch and could have easily weighed 30 pounds at least.

**Braveheart: 1995, starring Mel Gibson and Sophie Marceau. About William Wallace, a 13th century Scottish commoner who united the clans against a cruel English King, Edward the Longshanks.