Title: Push, Pull (7?)

Rating: R—adult situations, language, depiction of violence. Use your own judgment.

Disclaimer: See previous chapters because I still don't own any of the L&O: CI characters. If I did, I would be writing this story at home, instead of at work.

Author Note—I want to thank all of you who have been so wonderful about reviewing. Your reviews are what keep me writing! This chapter is going to get kinda dark…and I'm going to turn up the heat on Bobby and Alex's relationship…in several ways. I hope you like it. Sorry it takes me a while to update, but real-life gets in the way sometimes. Oh, and this chapter is going to be kinda LONG, sorry…lots of stuff going on and I know you want the details.

Part 7

"Some people think only intellect counts: knowing how to solve problems, knowing how to get by, knowing how to identify an advantage and seize it. But the functions of intellect are insufficient without courage, love, friendship, compassion and empathy." Dean Koontz

"Courage is Fear holding on a minute longer." George Patton

Once in a while, (sometimes more often than not) one tends to want to ask one's self, "What in the Hell were you thinking?" It usually happens when something is said, something hurtful or inappropriate, and you wish you could just suck the words back into your mouth. Sometimes it happens when we charge headlong into an action (be it for moral, ethical or emotional reasons) we have no business jumping into. The ramification of such an action, however, is merely an afterthought, which usually rears its ugly head later on—at the worst possible time. On the other hand, if we let fear take hold—stifling and gobbling up our convictions to do what we know is right, the consequences of that inaction would be far worse than any Hell we could think of.

Assistant District Attorney Ron Carver, who had been perched on the edge of Captain Deakins' desk, stood out of courtesy when a war-weary Alex Eames strode into Deakins' office. In her arms were the forensic photos of the seven Collector victims, and Annie—the trainee's victim.

"ADA Carver here was just telling me we may have a new fly in the ointment," Deakins said with his usual dry sarcasm. His tone was tinted with frustration—frustration with the political muckity-mucks higher up the food chain who he usually catered to, but now despised—and fatigue from the work days that had no end in sight. Jim Deakins was a cop through and through, but he had been morphed - somewhere along the way - into a political puppet…with the mayor, chief of detectives and others who would use his squad's hard work and arrest rates to ride all the way to Washington…pulling the strings. He hated it.

"I'm just saying," Carver spoke up, "that last thing I, or any of us want is Mr. Simon Verger back on the streets."

Alex's shoulders sagged as she registered what Carver had said.

"Verger's lawyers. They're claiming false arrest…" Goren's voice was flat, cold—he walked in a minute or so behind Eames, and was now standing in his usual spot behind her. He'd never held Carver in very high esteems; as the lawyer always seemed to want to take the easy-way-out. Carver never wanted to take a chance, never quite acted like he trusted Goren, never wanted to stick his neck out (although he was quite amiable to let Eames or Goren, or even Deakins put their heads on the block).

Carver sighed heavily; as he usually did when the six foot four brick-wall he banged his head against regularly, saw past his verbal sidestepping.

"Detectives," he started, as if placating a fussy child, "Another murder has been committed while the suspect thought to have perpetrated the previous murders, was in custody. His lawyers are saying that you have the wrong man in jail, that the true killer behind the… now eight Collector murders is still out there…and frankly if we don't come up with some evidence soon…I'm going to have to agree with them." Carver held up his hand—partly in defense, as Goren was now glaring at him from beneath his brows—and partly as a sign that there was even more bad news coming. "You know, and I know Simon Verger is guilty as sin. But with this, 'son' as you call him, Detective, killing more women while Verger is inside, his lawyers will have a viable argument. And once Verger is out on the streets, I fear he will disappear into the ether."

Alex blinked numbly, while Bobby let out a breath that came out almost sounding like a snarl. This new piece of information—the terrible thought that, God forbid - that sadistic monster Verger – could be out on the streets hunting women again, seemed to steel her determination.

"There might be a way… a way to bring this guy out into the open," she said stepping up to Deakins' desk. Deakins took his head out of his hands just as Eames unceremoniously, tossed the photos of the victims on his desk. The pictures splayed out like gruesome playing cards, glossy black and white frames capturing the women in their last moments of agony. The two men winced.

Deakins' eyes fell on the newest photo, little Annie Rogers, and then they rose back up to meet Eames' circled eyes. He must have seen it. The need—the desperate plea screaming from deep in her battered soul and flickering somewhere in her eyes, because he didn't hesitate.

"Do it," Deakins said.

"Do what? I don't understand," Carver was looking between Deakins and Eames. Goren had frozen. Every molecule in his body had simply become inanimate the moment he saw the pictures, and the realization crystallizing in Deakins' eyes. One glance at Eames and his suspicion was validated, all in one heart stopping moment.

NO…i-it can't be. She can't be thinking of… Bobby's mouth went dry.

"I fit the profile. I would make the best lure, to bring him out in the open." She said.

Oh God… No. Anybody else...his stomach lurched.

"It could work," Carver murmured. His voice was velvety—like warm honey mixed with whiskey, "she could just be an offering… he couldn't resist."

Alex had always thought Carver's was one of those voices so smooth and tranquilizing that listening to him for a long period would lull you to sleep (truth be told, sleep was more likely induced by his haughty tirades, rather than the tenor of his voice), but his comment made her stomach turn. Goren had now moved to stand opposite Carver, so that the two men were on either side of Alex. The heat radiating off her partner was so strong it nearly made her dizzy, and she took a small step back from Ground Zero.

"An offering? You want…to put Detective Eames out there for this psychopath, l-like she was… what…" Bobby's hands began to flail in the air, a definite sign of his frustration at controlling his rapidly growing anger, "a lamb for the altar!"

Caver took a well-advised step back. Taking on Bobby Goren, especially a seething, arm waving, unpredictable and protective Bobby Goren was never a good idea.

"Detective, I didn't mean…"

"Oh sure, it's just so easy when YOUR ass is in the crack…DA and the Mayor breathing down your neck. You come down here…to throw one of us into the fire…it's a helluva lot easier than getting your puckered little ass singed isn't it?" Goren began to advance on Carver, his head tilted down and to the side, not giving away any of his imposing height yet still able to catch the other man's eyes.

This was typical of Goren stalking in on a prey/suspect in the interrogation room. It was one thing to watch this behavior from the safety of the observation room—it was quite another to have all of Detective Goren's presence—his raw power focused on you. Deakins had risen from his seat when Goren began to prowl toward a now-sweating Carver, but the sheer energy of Goren devoured the room with such force it nearly sucked the wind from his lungs. Alex had taken another step back, her eyes averted from Bobby, for fear he would suddenly morph before her eyes into the Demon Goren, and rend everyone in the room to bloody shreds. The air actually buzzed with Goren's energy, like standing too close to a major power line, and Deakins now understood why Robert Goren was as good as he was. The strength of his mind, coupled with the strength of his sheer presence, made Robert Goren an insurmountable force to be reckoned with. And Deakins knew that strength was increased ten-fold, when Alex Eames was fighting by his side.

"Goren, take it easy," Deakins tried.

"No! Captain..." Goren swiveled fluidly to face Deakins, Caver mopped his brow with this hand, "there has got to be another way! Detective Eames…she can't…a-after all those women…" Goren shook his head, struggling to dislodge the words. His mind had gone into hyper-drive, all the scenarios, possibilities—most of which were too frightening for him to allow even settling somewhat in his mind 's eye — were swirling and tumbling over one another, until it was almost impossible for him to seize on one thought and force it from his lips. Unfortunately, the one he grabbed onto would be the one he would ultimately regret uttering.

"She just can't! This case has …been too hard on her. It's just too dangerous… this guy…we know too little about him, and that makes the whole scenario that much more unpredictable." Goren leaned in toward Deakins, his eyes burning with intensity, "You can not put her in this danger, Captain. Too many things could go wrong, and…I might not be able to…"

"When did this become your decision Goren?" The question was so soft, yet held all the force of the howling thunder outside the window - all three men paused.

Alex forced her shoulders back and stared at Goren, unfalteringly. Goren swung his form to meet her gaze, astonishment written on his face.

She took a small step toward Goren, holding his gaze and willing all the hurt and betrayal she was feeling from his remark into his being. Time seemed to slow for Bobby, as Alex came to stand at his side. All the buzzing in his head, the normal raucous noises of the office—all of it faded until the only sound he heard was each shuddering thud of his heart. Alex's luminous eyes darkened—the tie, the nexus between them that Bobby had been clinging to like a stubborn, frightened child grasping at his last remaining toy—bucked, frayed and finally snapped. Eames might as well have slit Bobby in two with a saber; it would have all felt the same to him.

Turning from an ashen Goren, Eames said, "Let me do my job, Captain. You know it's the best way we can get this son-of-a-bitch, and make sure Verger stays where he belongs." She searched Deakins' grey-blue eyes, "Please…"

Deakins took a deep breath, "She's right." He tilted his head toward Goren, who still hadn't moved, "It's my decision, and I say this sting is a 'go'."

Out in the bullpen, Bobby watched Alex gather her things so she could go home to prepare for her clubbing debut that night. It was already late in the afternoon, and she knew she needed sometime to compose herself (although a lifetime wouldn't be long enough to have prepared her for the display of the lack of faith her "partner" had just shown in her abilities). Alex Eames had never felt so alone. Bobby, still reeling from the shockwaves of the break in their bond, cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Uhm…Al-uh - Eames, about what I said…it's just I don't think you realize..." but she cut him off--hard.

"You're right. I didn't realize what little stock you place in my abilities as a cop," she nearly spat the words. As she turned to leave, Bobby caught her arm but she wrenched it from his grasp. "Don't!"

"Alex…" he pleaded, trying anything to get her to stay—to look at him.

"No," she stated as she backed away from him—away from their severed connection, "I don't think I can be around you right now. Just leave me alone." And she turned and left the bullpen.

Bobby was left to stare after her, aching all over. When he finally tore his eyes from the space her form had occupied, he noticed that their little conversation had drawn an audience. But every eye, every gawking head quickly went back to work, after receiving a death-glare from Goren.

He slumped in his chair. He was totally at a loss. Shit! He'd lost her. He'd hurt her—no more different than if he'd put his fist in her face and crushed her delicate features beneath his strength. Goren swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat at that thought. "What in the hell had he done?"

"Loving can cost a lot, but not loving always costs more. Those who fear love often find that the want of love is an emptiness that robs the joy of life." Merle Shan

Alex drove silently to the meeting place about a block and half from the Vector Room. They had chosen a closed-down dry cleaners store to set up the head quarters for the sting. Eames was to walk to the club, out in the open with no cars or unmarked vans around that might spook the killer. She had to be cast-out like a jig lure, wiggled a little - out in the open for the killer's enticement. She'd been used for bait before…why should this time be any different?

Alex shuddered as she parked at the headquarters. The difference was that she was completely mentally spent. She had nothing left, cold bareness filled her soul and all she kept seeing was the Demon shackling her hands above her head and preparing her for the altar of blood. He ran his hand over every inch of her body, savoring the feeling of her flesh—his huge muscles quivered with excitement as he pressed the length of his massive body against hers, crushing her into the stone wall he'd chained her to. She stared into nothingness, her will to resist him dying away. He sensed this, and it only made his arousal grow. The monster with Bobby's face bent his head to her ear—his breath hot as it wafted across her skin, "You're giving in. What a wonderful way to offer yourself, offer your soul to me," he thrusted his hips violently against her nakedness, "We will consummate you're offering on that altar, Alex. You're going to love it… Alex,"

"Hey Alex, com'on!"

Alex was jolted out of her terror at the sound of Detective Connelly calling her to come inside.

Inside, surveillance gadgets and officers were crammed into every nook and cranny. As Eames walked in, clad in a black above-the-knee nylon/spandex skirt with a slit in the side that crawled up to her hip; a matching black stretch top, which tied behind her neck, but left the back totally bare save for the few strings that criss-crossed her, holding the fabric to her skin (sort of); the front plunged in a V that ended just below her breast bone; stiletto knee-high boots and her leather jacket. Every male eye gave her an approving once-over. She, however, was too numb to care that they were ogling her, and made her way to Deakins.

Everyone gathered around Deakins as he gave them the particulars of where everyone was to be and who was doing what. Eames didn't even notice Goren sitting off to the side—shrouded in shadows—and she didn't have to. She knew he was there, even with their preternatural tie broken, Goren's presence was still a constant hum she felt radiate through her skin.

There were to be only two other cops inside the club with Eames, Goren and a young guy named Jarret. Goren was to stay on the second-floor loft—so he could survey the crowd. After all, if anyone could profile and spot the guy first, it would be Goren. Two other cops were dressed as hobos, and were stationed near the dumpsters half way down the street from the entrance, to watch the comings and goings of the patrons. One last officer - another hobo - was to be at the corner of the alley that ran along the back of the club, to watch the back door exit. Every officer had a wire with an earpiece, except Eames—it was deemed too risky for her to be wired if she was to come in 'close contact' with the subject.

Alex turned just as she left the base, noticing Bobby emerging from the shadows. He looked…well…beautiful, in a midnight tee-shirt under a buck-skin tan leather jacket and crisp black chinos. His back boots were thick soled, probably adding an inch to his towering frame. His stubble still framed his jaw, but his eyes still shown through the darkness—and a horrible sadness pulsed from him. Through her emptiness, her shut-off emotions…Alex couldn't help the flicker of attraction that fluttered in her stomach. Bobby had always carried a casual, alluring sex appeal when he dressed for out-of-the-office affairs; of course he himself was never aware of it. He said nothing to her, though never removed his eyes from hers—even as Deakins whispered something to him and placed a hand on his shoulder. He nodded once, and moved away.

A light drizzle had begun as Alex reached the club. The lantern-jawed gorilla of a bouncer waved her in. Goren and Jarret had arrived a few minutes before her, in order to take up their positions and scan the multitude of scantily-clothed co-eds and college frat guys. Alex spent her walk down to the club telling herself mentally over and over that she could do this—that she had to do this—for it might just be the only way for her to save herself.

The bass was so loud it pounded her chest, making her wonder why the entire college age community wasn't deaf. Strobe lights flickered, neon lit up the bar area with a blue-chrome glow. The place was packed, just as Matt the Bartender had predicted. He was behind the bar, twirling liquor bottles with all the finesse of Tom Cruise in that bar movie—whose name escaped Alex at the moment. She made her way to the bar, weaving in and out around the dance floor, occasionally getting felt-up by some roving hand, until she found a seat at the end of the bar to wait. Alex immediately spotted Jarret.

"Yep…he's definitely a rookie. A stick-out-like-a-sore-thumb rookie…with no rhythm," she thought as she watched a hapless Jarret jig around in the corner in some pitiful attempt to move with the music. The people on the dance floor had no problem with the beat, their bodies sliding in supple rhythm—like making love on the dance floor. Alex wondered if her joints would allow her to do that, but to her defense, there were some people in there close to her age. No need to look around for Goren, she knew where he was.

Bobby was leaning against the wrought-iron railing of the second-floor loft—surveying the scene like a lord looking down on his subjects. Couples were making out (and a lot more) on the couches behind him, but he scarcely noticed. His attention was focused fully on a certain petite detective, wearing an outfit that nearly sent him to his knees the first time she walked in.

"God…" he thought, "Why did she have to wear that?" His eyes lingered on the cleavage her top was showing off, and the way the slit in her skirt inched up to places he'd dreamed of exploring with his figures. Bobby could feel the slow flush slinking up his neck, and he took a swig of his drink—which was supposed to be water, but he wondered if Matt the Bartender might have slipped something into it after they gave him a hard time earlier.

"Okay…looking for white male, late twenties to early thirties. Probably thin build, awkward features, but a confident presence. He's a sweet-talker, so he's got to be sure of himself… Bobby's eyes and mind wandered helplessly back to Alex. "God Alex, what can I do to prove to you how much I believe in you—how much our partnership means to us…how worried I've been about you…" Bobby blinked a few times as his normal profiling processes took a wide left turn into something else.

When Alex Eames pulled away from him with that one final jerk, she took with her much more than a friendship or closeness. She severed a part of Bobby Goren's soul…a part of his inner-most being. A plant cannot exist without its roots, giving sustenance and support. Without her, Bobby free-falls into the abyss, with no grounding elements, no net, no one to infuse him with her confidence and strength.

Bobby's chest constricted suddenly, violently—and he griped the railing so tight his knuckles turned white. It just hit him, like the proverbial lightning bolt—without Alex, Bobby can never hope to be whole again. His eyes returned to Alex, as she leaned on the bar in sultry confidence, and he wondered how he could have been so dense.

When exactly did he fall in love with his partner? In love—that was the only way he could describe it—for this went beyond caring about her as just a friend or partner…waaay beyond. That old saying must be true…Love does indeed come softly. That petite, witty, strong, amazing woman had woven herself so deeply within his being; he couldn't imagine his life without her. He needed Eames—that's simply all there was to it. Only problem was how to reconnect with her—for she made it abundantly clear she wanted no part of him. Bobby stared into his cup, wondering if she felt the same way, deep down about him, not realizing just how much she really needed him. He also missed the man in the blue sweater making a beeline toward Alex.

"Suck it up girl! Get your head out of this mind-funk and into the game," Alex throttled herself.

She took a sip of her water and turned back around; only to come face to face with the most striking pair of green eyes she'd ever seen. She blinked once to regroup, and then took in the rest of the new comer's features. He flashed a brilliant smile.

"Hi," he said, he leaned in to be heard, "I'm Jack!"

His eyes were the most vivid shade of sea green, offset my dark eyebrows and think black lashes. His face had a rugged, chiseled handsomeness—a strong square chin, ready smile with a couple of dimples. He was about six one, Alex guessed, with a good athletic build, but not overly muscular. His biceps certainly didn't fill out his sweater sleeves like Bobby's. Jack's hair was jet black, longish on top but swept back, leaving only an errant strand accenting his forehead. His navy blue sweater and blue jeans seemed to fit his demeanor…right down to his Dockers boots. All in all, quite handsome for a thirty-something club-hopper.

Alex smiled, "I'm Alex." She felt herself strangely hypnotized by this man's eyes. "He can't be the one. He's too…normal. Nothin' creepy… no 'I'm-gonna-rape-you-and-gut-you-like-a-fish' vibes from him."

They continued the small talk, Jack leaning into her personal space—and Alex smiling coyly, laughing at his jokes. She learned his last name was Strider, which brought images of some rakish cowboy hero, or some fantasy sword-slinger to her mind. Suddenly, Jack took Alex's hand, bowed slightly and gave her a 'come-hither' look as he guided her onto the dance floor.

Bobby, of course, had gone into full alert—Def-Con Three mode. He cataloged every nuance about Jack - from his head movements, to the way he shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted his weight toward Eames. If only he could see his eyes, or hear what they were saying (although he knew what was going on in the conversation. Years of manly experience, interacting with women in bars told him that Jack was hitting on Eames). Bobby narrowed his eyes studying Jack as they moved onto the dance floor.

Alex had removed her jacket, hanging it on a coat rack near the back exit. The supple white flesh of her bare back beckoned men to caress the soft curves of her shoulder blade muscles, her lower latissimus dorsi, and continue on down. Jack drew her to him, pressing her length fully against his front—his arm snaked its way around to her bare lower back. Alex shuttered a little; his hands and skin were freezing! Maybe it was fatigue. Maybe it was the fact that she felt totally devoid of feeling and hope…or maybe her will to give a damn just flew out the window a while back, Alex didn't know. But she had silenced the detective voice inside that always spouts reason - she let her guard down. Because before all of these mind-raping, soul-sucking nightmares had stomped her psyche into the dirt and snuffed out lit cigarettes on it—the Alex Eames from before would have never let a strange guy put his hand on her and grind with her like Jack was doing. She just kept staring into those enthralling green eyes.

The cup in Bobby's hand crumpled and cracked into shards under his horrific grip. His teeth ground together inside his jaw, causing the muscle outside to quiver. His breath had become shallow—his heart rate skyrocketed, and his eyes narrowed. Bobby Goren simply didn't react this way. He's always kept his emotions under control, except for the times when Eames was there, as always, to snap him back and calm his storm with a simple look. He didn't know what it was like, to feel his blood boiling—to want to snap another human being in two, with his bare hands. To feel his heart—which had already shattered when Eames gave him the soul equivalent of an upper-cut to the jaw—smolder with jealousy. "Oh yea, Bobby-ma'boy…Jealousy! Interesting isn't it?" the voice in his head whispered.

Every time the man's hands slid down Alex's back, feeling every inch of the curve of her spine—roaming down to cup her ass as he pulled her hips into his with the thrusting rhythm of the bass—drove Bobby even more insane. He nearly leapt off the balcony (to hell with the fucking sting, and screw what Deakins would do) and tackled Jack so he could tear his arms from their sockets and beat the shit out of him—when he saw Jack twirl Eames around so that her butt was now grinding into his front. His hands roamed up her stomach, over her breasts and then back down, as she arched her back in unison with his hip thrusts.

This man, whoever the hell he was, had no idea a seething bear of a man half mad with jealousy was but a few feet above him—plotting demented ways to torture the human body and still keep it alive for the longest period of time. Bobby might have been angry with Alex as well; that maybe she was getting a little "too much" into character as a lure…if it weren't for the fact that watching her body move in sensual, fluid arches was causing his arousal to become painfully obvious below his belt.

Agitated, Bobby began to pace the balcony, running his hand over his face and through his hair trying desperately to regroup. Suddenly a hand came to rest on his shoulder.

"Easy big guy, it's just me," said Deakins when Bobby whirled around. "What's the matter? Ya didn't know she was that good?"

Deakins chuckled, in a knowing-father way—he'd seen Goren edging to the breaking point and decided he'd better reel the seething detective back in—before something really bad happened.

Bobby heaved a sigh and stopped fidgeting. He rubbed the back of his neck and muttered, "I knew she was good…from Vice, but…I've never seen her in-in this way." He suddenly felt like he'd been caught looking at his brother's porn magazines, and dad had just walked in. Deakins smiled as Bobby stared at his shoes for a moment.

On the floor, Alex was in autopilot mode. She wasn't thinking, just feeling. Feeling Jack's hands sliding over her body; the tenor of the music as it thrummed through her senses. It was almost intoxicating. So she didn't see Jack withdraw a pen-like object from his pants. She only felt a slight prick, as he jabbed the small hypo-needle into the back of her neck. Then, the room became a blur of sounds and globby shadows.

Alex felt like she was floating somewhere outside of her body—watching Jack guide her stealthily to the back door. Somewhere in her brain a voice screeched, "ALEX! Snap out of it woman! It's HIM! Stop him, get away…Do Something Idiot!" But her arms and legs felt like melted rubber, as Jack edged her into the alley. If she could only make some noise…the other cops on the street would hear. Alex looked into Jack's face, and the Demon stared back—his eyes glowing green now. She didn't know how her fist managed to move that fast, but the satisfying smack made from knuckles connecting with teeth let her know she'd landed a square punch.

What she did not prepare for was the retaliating boom of Jack's fist landing across her mouth. One really does see stars from a hard blow to the head—and the backlash thud of her skull crashing into the wall behind made her stomach heave into her throat.

Gasping, Alex slumped forward—blood sprayed out of her mouth thick and warm as she choked on her tears.

"Feisty aren't we? Don't worry love; there'll be plenty of time for that. Now. Move." Strider hauled her up by the shoulder and walked her into the blackness of the ally. Alex sputtered more blood onto the ground—unable to scream as the drugs made her more and more malleable Thunder shook the buildings.

Bobby had not been watching the dance floor. Only a couple of minutes…that was all. When his gaze fell on the floor below, the world stopped. She was gone. And the man—that bastard was gone too.

Bobby Goren didn't breathe. "Oh God." He didn't think. "He's got her." He was there, the whole time…right in front of their noses and dancing with Eames.

"HE TOOK HER," Goren thundered as he flew down the stairs. Deakins paled as he realized what Bobby had seen. He radioed the other team members.

Goren barreled through the young dancers, knocking people over without even a second glance. His piercing gaze scanned the room. Frantically he ran to the nearest exit—into the back alley. It was cold and silent except for the rain, which was now pelting Goren's leather jacket. He yelled her name, but received only the sound of thunder as an answer.

Goren looked down, noticing something near his boot. Panic seized his heart causing each beat to feel like an ice spear was being repeatedly plunged into his chest. All of his training, all the research in the universe, all of his brilliant psychological profiles and genius insight—meant nothing now. He stood stark still and stared down…lost.

And the rain was slowly washing the small pools of her blood away—as if trying to erase her from existence.

TBC…

Ooo…how's that for a cliff-hanger! Ain't I a Stinker!

Well this chapter just stole my car keys and took a joy ride off somewhere! Sorry about the length, but I really wanted you readers to imagine and see what was happening. I hope it was OK. Please Review… I gotta know what You Think! Pretty Please? With Sugar? ( or not if your diabetic… wink )

Oh and Piaffe417… I hope you know your stories are inspiration to me!