Standard Disclaimer:

A/N: Once Upon...In Mexico was kind of a bust. I'll try to catch it again. Stupid movie channels that decide to put a whole bunch of good stuff on at the same time. American Splendor came on and I wound up playing channel hockey and nothing got done. Anyway, recent obsessions include finding out that "The Last Samurai" was really good, and old black-and-white Vincent Price movies. I saw "House On Haunted Hill," the new one? And Price starred in the old one. The new one creeped me out, but the old one is the only movie I've watched in ten years that actually made me scream. O/

Sacrifice

There wasn't anything to be said for the drive home. They did talk. Conversations that extended for hours. Victoria confided in Ray to a certain extent. She was not overly graphic. She didn't try to defend herself or Vincent. She simply explained. Ray asked questions, she answered. Neither one had much of a speaking voice by the time they reached Los Angeles, where Fanning insisted that they had to go, at least to close up a few matters.

The drive lasted a little more than a day. They did not stop. They took turns at the wheel, and occasionally one of them would take a short nap. Victoria found that she was not nearly as tired as she expected to be. Rest stops were necessary to allow Max to do his business.

"Are you going to bring me in?" Victoria asked. "Take my statement, all of that?" By now, they were on the 5, headed North. It was a matter of hours, maybe only a few.

"We'll see. I'm not sure where everything is going to be standing. Claudia was assigned to bring Vincent back, but she was the one with all the information."

"Are you going to get in trouble for her not coming with you?"

"I doubt it. My own boss doesn't know what I was doing. And if she's as deep as they acted, they may come ask me what happened, they may not. I'm not worried."

"You seem pretty confident."

"After the last twenty-four hours?" He gave her a look. "You think it's confidence? You seem as calm as a rock considering you could end up in jail by the end of this night."

Victoria just shook her head. Max, who was asleep on her lap, stirred slightly, in the middle of a dog-dream.

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She hadn't seen her apartment in almost three months. Amazingly, they hadn't evicted her yet. There was a serious notice on her door about late rent, and it was clear that someone had come in, searching for money. Victoria went to see the landlord, who lived two floors below her, and paid him in cash for three months rent, plus the month in advance. He didn't ask any questions.

Fanning didn't want to leave her alone. He asked if it was okay if he slept on her couch, considering the apartment had been empty for a good while and stank of must, and she would probably need some help getting it to a livable condition again. Victoria agreed, simply because she did not wish to be alone.

That night, she sat on her bed for the first time in what felt like much more than just three months, and looked around. Her room had been her place of memories - where she kept little items she'd collected over the years, her photo albums, her books, everything that connected her to her past.

She felt the life inside her womb. This was a stranger's room, now. The only thing she valued in all the world was inside her...well, except the dog. She could never part with Max.

She slept. She had bad dreams. She dreamed she was back at their house in Mexico, and that Claudia was in the house and was trying to kill Vincent. They ran from room to room but she was always behind her, and they couldn't stop to rest. Then, in the twisted realm of dream logic, she was in the car again, the car she and Fanning had driven back in, but it was Vincent at the wheel with her, telling her about the future, about how they were going to be free, he was going to stop working, they were going to have a family and it was all over, the nightmare was over.

She woke up with tear tracks on her cheeks.

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Fanning decided to get in touch with Richard, ask him what he thought he should do. Richard was a bit high strung at times, but he was a good cop, and sometimes a good friend. Hell, the man had stood at his beside while he recovered from cracked ribs and a blast to the head, which was healing up very nicely. Head wounds always bled a lot, and could be dangerous, but if they weren't, they seemed to heal up quickly for him.

"Why don't we get in touch with Pedrosa?" Richard suggested. "Maybe they could use Dr. Potter in their investigation. Considering all their other witnesses were shot to hell."

"I don't trust Pedrosa," Fanning muttered. "Guy's narrow-minded. No...I was thinking of Annie Farrell. If she hasn't gone into protective custody with all the crap about Felix."

"That might be hard. Although I don't think she went for that option. She's got a bodyguard while this thing is on, but her case is pretty weak. You know, now that I think about it, what can they really do with her? I mean, sure, maybe she knows about Vincent's activities, but that's second hand information. The court might throw it out."

"It might be worth a try...if she's even willing."

"If she's not, arrest her. What choice does she have?"

Fanning was silent for a long pause. Then he said, "You know, you're a real dick sometimes."

"Yeah, I know." To his surprise, Richard almost sounded contrite. "Well, either contact you need, I'll get both numbers for you. Get a few hours more sleep, you sound like you need it."

Fanning looked out the dirty window of the apartment. The sun was starting to rise. He felt tired, but couldn't imagine sleeping. "Yeah...call me back asap, okay?"

"Okay." The other man hung up. Fanning closed his eyes, rubbing them. His hair was a disheveled mess, he realized as his hands went through it. It was usually nicely combed back, slick and smooth. Maybe it was time to change his look.

He was aware, as he was just beginning to doze off from sheer exhaustion, that Victoria was moving around in her room. As he opened his eyes more widely, she entered, a throw blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

"You know," she said, leaning against the door jamb, "I was looking through my stuff, thinking about what I want to take with me...and I don't want to take anything."

"You sure that's a good idea?" Fanning asked. "Maybe some pictures, or something. Of your parents? Of Allen?"

She blanched. "You know Allen is dead, don't you?"

Fanning let out a low, hissing breath. "No, I didn't," he said. "How?"

"Claudia." She said the word in a low voice, like a curse.

"You sure?"

"Very."

"Damn." He rubbed his hair again. "Look, is your shower working?"

"Dunno, haven't tried it."

"Mind if I do? I'm filthy."

"Sure, be my guest."

The pipes took a few minutes, but eventually he had hot water flowing from the showerhead. The curtain was slightly moldy, but useable. The towels and washcloth in the linen cabinet were starchy from being folded for too long, but they worked well enough. Her soap was dried up, but after some serious rubbing, he got some lather.

All in all, it was a decent shower.

When he came out, towel wrapped around his waist, she was sitting on the couch, just staring around the room. Max was nosing through various objects, exploring this new territory with interest.

"You been sitting there the whole time?"

"There was a call on your cel phone," she said. "I've been waiting for you to come out to find out who it was."

He walked over to his phone, which he had dropped on the table with the car keys, and picked it up. The number was unknown but there was a message. When he heard it, he nearly dropped the phone.

"Victoria, I'm afraid your shower is going to have to wait," he said. "We have to go, right now."

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"Max, are you okay?"

Max looked up. For the last two months, Annie Farrell had been his best friend. Sure, before that night, when he'd first met her, he'd immediately seen her as something more. But there were obviously more important things in the world that making a move on a beautiful, smart woman. He could wait.

He needed to wait.

Annie stood in his apartment. She looked the same, striped suit, not too flashy, a nice muted shade of slate gray. It suited her. Pale pink shirt underneath, soft and feminine. She even wore the charm he'd bought for her a few weeks back, a little golden car that reminded him of a taxi cab, and she'd thought it was funny.

But she was out of place here, dressed like that. Dressed for work.

"I came to tell you in person because I knew this would mess you up pretty good," she admitted. "Come on, Max, you with me?"

"Yeah," he said slowly, nodding his head. He shook himself inside. "Yeah," he said again. "I'm ready to go."

"You sure? You don't need a moment to sit down?"

"I don't need to sit down," he said dryly. "I sit all day. These guys -"he gestured to the other men in the room, silent, like shadows, invisible and yet painfully present, "they don't let me do a damn thing."

Annie nodded, turning to a few of the shadows. "Come on, we need to go now."

He waited patiently, following her and the shadow men down to the waiting car. There had been no obvious attempts on his life, but he knew that he was in serious, big-time trouble for having to take the place of the men Vincent had killed. He'd met Felix, talked to him. It was only a matter of chance that he hadn't been shot at yet. Either that, or he was being protected better than he thought. Maybe there was something to all those movies that showed witnesses surviving after all.

Truth be told, he didn't want to do this. He had nightmares on a regular basis. He quit his job, knowing he would never be able to give another man a ride in a taxi again. He gave up his Island Limo dream, at least starting it himself, knowing his chauffeur days were over.

But, as Max had learned on that fateful night, shit happens. You have to roll with it. He would do what needed to be done. And now, he needed to confront Vincent.

Not really confront, he thought to himself as the car took him to the police station, where the line-up would happen. He was going to identify. He was going to look through a two-way mirror and identify Vincent from a line-up of men.

Annie was a rock. She slipped her hand into his as they got into the elevator, squeezing his hand. She had strong hands. Dry hands. She was calm, always calm. She'd even been relatively calm when Vincent had been standing over her, aiming at her chest with a security guard's gun. Sure, she'd looked away, unable to see the final shot coming. But she was never hysterical. Except when she cried before a trial. But he hadn't seen that yet.

"Thank you for coming, Max," said a man he recognized, a large man with a tuft of gray hair on his chin and white-gray hair on his head. A woman, slender and Latino, stood beside him, face like an iron mask. "We know this hasn't been an easy time for you-"

"Come on, let's just do this," Max said. His voice was low. His voice was always low, now. He didn't even raise it to his mother. He never told his mother what happened, knowing she would freak the holy hell out to learn that she'd been visited by a contract killer one night, with her son as his hostage. He'd never hear the end, and he didn't even want the beginning.

The man, Pedrosa, and his partner, Zee, just nodded, and stepped aside. Max went into the room. Annie temporarily let go of his hand, having to stay outside the room herself for just a moment. When Max was done, she would be able to go inside and identify Vincent herself.

Max went into the darkened room. Pedrosa followed, calling into a microphone for the men to enter the room. A door opened and there was a slight procession.

He recognized him immediately. The man looked utterly out of place in a shirt that looked like it belonged on a tourist in Hawaii and a pair of shorts. But the hair was the same shade of gunmetal gray, the scruff still in place, the eyes still the same. Max felt his skin crawl as Vincent turned and looked at the mirror - looked right through it, into him.

"Number 4," he said. "Number 4 is Vincent."

"Thank you, Max," Zee said, "but we need to be sure, with a voice identification."

Pedrosa pressed the intercom. "Number 4, step forward and read the card."

Vincent stepped forward. He had a car in his hand. "Guy gets on the MTA, dies. You think anybody will notice?"

Max wanted to throw up. "Yeah, that's him," he said, his voice strained. "It's him." He turned and walked out of the room, to hell with anything else.

Annie waited for him, her look compassionate. She handed him a cup of coffee which he took before letting her go past him into the room. She took a few more minutes, but when she came out, she muttered to him, "Number 4, right?"

"Yeah," Max said, his throat feeling better under the hot liquid.

Then, he saw a ghost.

Detective Fanning entered the room, a woman behind him. She was wearing and old T-shirt and jeans, her hair was black-brown and limp from a lack of washing. She was also mildly pregnant - his sister had had the same glow about her a few months after her wedding. It was unmistakable.

Then Max blinked. Fanning? Here?

Ray Fanning approached him with a big smile. He reached out to shake Max's limp hand, paralyzed with shock. "Hey, Max, how are you?"

"Me?" Max stuttered. "You look really good for a guy shot in the chest and head!"

"Eh, Kevlar," Ray said nonchalantly. He looked past Max into the dark room. "Pedrosa in there?"

"Yeah," Annie said. From the expression on her face, she didn't seem to think much of Pedrosa. "You need to send in your witness."

Fanning turned to the brunette, walked her to the door. She seemed reluctant to go. Her face was puffy, heavily lined, tired.

"Do I have to?" he heard her mutter to the cop.

"Yeah, you do."

"But I don't want to." Very simple and matter of fact, not petulant, like a child. Max found himself wondering who she was, what connection she had to all of this. She certainly didn't look familiar to him.

"I'm sorry, Victoria, but it's necessary." Although Fanning seemed to be putting up a solid front. He gave her a mild shove. "Come on, in and out and it'll be over."

The woman, Victoria, drew a breath and walked into the room. Fanning turned back to him. "Sorry," he said, "I would have called you, I'm sure none of these assholes bothered to tell you that I was alive."

"No," Max said, glancing into the dark room. He heard the faint echo of a sob. "I'm sorry, but who is she?"

"That? That's Dr. Victoria Potter. Vincent's hostage of the last three months." There was an edge to his voice that went with the front. Not the truth. Annie's face turned into stone.

"According to his story, anyway," she muttered.

"Hostage?" Max echoed. "For three months?"

No one said anything. Victoria came out of the room, her cheeks flaming, eyes brimming. She walked over to where they stood, gave them all a horrible look as if she blamed every bad thing in the world on them, and then turned right to Max.

"You know why he didn't shoot you?" she said, her voice low.

Max blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Why Vincent didn't shoot you," she said, her voice patient where her expression was not. "He didn't kill you that night, he could have, he should have."

"He ran out of bullets," Max said, numb.

"He let you go because he liked you." She said it very plainly, just like she had said that she didn't want to go into that dark room. She glanced at Annie. "And you were in love with her. He saw something that mattered." She looked back at Max. "If he had killed you, none of this would be happening. So I hope you appreciate the sacrifice."

Max swallowed, no words able to get past the confused lump in his throat. Who in the hell was this woman?

But she didn't give him time. She turned, glared at Fanning, and then left, charging across the wide office into the waiting room through the glass window, and planting herself in a seat, not giving them a single glance more.

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"Max, why are you doing this?" Annie asked him as they stood outside the closed door.

"Because," was all Max could reply. It didn't make sense to him, either, but in the hour he'd gone back and tried to calm down, he found that he couldn't. One single thought pressed in his mind. He had to talk to Vincent.

The why was unclear. It was only because. Because he had questions. Because he wanted closure. Because, because, because, because, because....stupid Wizard of Oz song.

Fanning was there. He hadn't left the situation since Victoria had gone, partly because she was in selective custody at the moment, and partly because he wanted to make sure this situation settled correctly.

The door opened and a man came out. Tall, widely built, the sort of lawyer that reminded others of Perry Mason, in his youth. Pedrosa came out after him, reminding others of Perry Mason when he was not in his youth, only a bit more slender.

"Ms. Farrell," the Attorney General said, giving her a respectful nod of his head, "if your client wishes to speak to him, I'll permit it. Only because of this situation, and only because it's you. Although I have to admit, it's pretty foolish."

Annie did not agree with him, but there was no denial in her expression. "Thank you Mr. Lambert. I do assure you that my client has his reasons."

Lambert shot Max a glance, then a small shrug. "Go for it, then," he said, and strode away. "Annie, I need you in my office first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, sir," she said, but she was already half-way through the door.

It was creepy, Max decided as he entered the small room. The last time he'd seen Vincent, it had also been in a white-washed place, but it had been much closer and less confined at the same time. Vincent sat at the head of the small table, his hands handcuffed together, his eyes clear and meeting his as Max entered.

"Hey Max," he said, the same tone he'd always used, except now Max recognized it as being very clear, very calm. Before he'd been wheezing through a bullet hole against his lung. He seemed perfectly whole, except for the piece of his ear that was missing.

"Vincent," Max said, sitting down. Vincent's eyes went to Annie.

"Ms. Prosecutor."

Annie did not answer. She simply gave him her total bitch look.

"I saw your lady friend," Max said, his voice low. "They say she was your hostage. Is that true?"

Vincent raised his eyebrows. "Why, Max, you sound like you actually give a shit about what I've been up to since you left me for dead. Not that I really care about that, it was just business, and I don't blame you."

"Her name is Victoria," Max went on, as if trying to trigger his memory.

"I know what her name is." The calm was gone, replaced by a distinct edge. Vincent looked away, toward the two-way mirror. "She still here?"

Max shook his head. "No, they took her away. Somewhere you won't find her."

Vincent smirked. "Good. She deserves it."

Max scowled. "She said something to me before she left. She said you let me go. Did you let me go?"

Vincent shrugged. "Maybe. I had a bullet in my chest at the time. I didn't really have the energy to keep arguing with you, so I let you win. You complaining?"

Max shook his head. "I just don't know why. Like I don't know why you didn't kill me after I crashed the car. Or why you didn't kill me a dozen times earlier that night. And don't give me that bullshit about me being good."

Vincent just looked at him from across that table. "Max, are you still driving a cab?"

"I'm not doing anything right now because of all this shit you got me into."

"After, then," Vincent continued, nonplussed. "You going to go back to it?"

"No."

"Going into your limo company, then?"

"No, ain't doing that either."

Vincent glanced up at Annie. "Well, I guess that's two things you have to thank me for. Two out of three isn't bad." He sighed, leaned back in the chair. His hands fell onto his lap. "Why I let you go," he murmured, as if to himself. "I don't know. I just did."

"Your friend Victoria seems to think it was for a more noble reason," Max said.

Vincent gave that nervous half-shrug. "Does it matter? You're alive, you're free-"

"I'm no more free than you," Max spat. Annie, who had been quietly leaning against the wall, gave a slight start. my life."

Slowly, Vincent smiled. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, Max," he said, "my life's been ruined, too."

"Victoria wasn't your hostage, was she?" Max asked after a long pause. "I mean...why the hell are you here? You never had to come here. Why did you turn yourself in? Was it because of her?"

Vincent seemed mildly flustered, but he was holding it together. "What do you want, Max, revenge? Pick me apart again like you did before? Call me institutionalized, ask me if anybody is home? I used to think there wasn't, and that was fine with me. But thanks a fucking lot, now there is."

Max nodded, slowly, cast a glance at Annie. "I don't know why I even fucking care," he muttered. "That woman wasn't your hostage. She was something else."

"You can imagine a guy like me having something else with a woman like that?" Vincent said, but he was looking away, toward the mirror.

"Go ahead, lie," Max muttered. "I'd expect it from someone as low as you."

Vincent's eyes darted back to him, sharp and diamond bright. Then he blinked and the deadly rage was gone. He turned paler ones to Annie.

"Ms. Farrell?"

"Yes?" Annie said, not moving from where she stood.

"You know as well as I do that whatever Victoria says, her testimony in the trial against Felix is worthless, right?"

An uncomfortable pause. "Not completely, Vincent, but if we have you, we don't need to worry about that."

Vincent nodded. "I guess not. But are you going to hang her out to dry?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, she needs to be placed in Witness Protection," Vincent said. "Just to be safe."

Annie seemed surprised. She and Max exchanged looks, but Max appeared to see through the entire situation.

"I'll testify only if you give your word she'll be placed in Witness Protection," Vincent said.

"If you don't testify," Annie countered, "you'll die of a lethal injection after I get done hanging you out to dry."

"True enough. But then you'll have to rely on her testimony and put her into witness protection anyway. So I figured you could save the taxpayers a few dollars and get a better witness in the deal. What do you think?"

Annie pushed away from the wall. "I'll talk to the Attorney General about it."

"When will I know?"

"Within twenty-four hours. Max, anything else?" she said, turning to him.

"No," Max said, standing up. "I think I've got all my questions answered."

Vincent raised his hand and wiggled his fingers. "Enjoy your life, Max. And don't fuck it up this time."

Don't worry...there are still a few more chapters coming. :) Just a few quick notes:

SweetArwen: You know what really sucks? They killed off Salma Hayek's character, didn't they? That so totally turned me off so quick. But anyway, this isn't a thing about Once Upon A Time, it's about Solace. ANyway, yes, those three little words. Like how I did that? I knew he had to say it, once, and it had to really mean something big. BIG. So as for where he went...now you know. Please don't kill me. :)

PAR: You should know better than to do that! SIGH What am I going to do with you?

Byrony Cel: You know you reviewed chapter 10 twice? Or was that you? Is someone masquerading as you? Or were you trying to get me off my butt and get chapter 11 loaded? Because with 5 reviews I decided to do it tonight instead of waiting until tomorrow and a few more reviews. Maybe. :)

LunaGrrBack023: You know, I don't know about the N'Orleans thing. I mean, the cops there are really corrupt, and Chicago is no good because of the mob. Plus I really only like to write about places where I've been, so I can see first-hand what they feel like. I like writing about the feel of cities. Chicago is my favorite place but I just can't have Victoria going there. So we'll see what I decided in the next chapter. Sorry 'bout that. :)

Okay, see you guys in 48 (hours)!