A/N: Geez, this chapter took me several tries to upload. Anyway, now that it's working, read and review, please. Everything is unbeta-ed, so all the errors and weird stuff you see come from me.

Lies and Truths

Sure, we needed to talk, I agreed with him there. Sorting out our thoughts and feelings for each other, however, was not on my to-do list that day. Lack of restful sleep was making me behave like a cranky two year old, and I knew it. I was still sore that my only effort to make the office more…me…had just shattered, literally. Plus, even if I wanted to talk, Mac was coming our way, and I could see him through the glass windows.

"Quit frowning at me, Messer, open the file and have a look." My voice rose to a higher pitch at the end and I winced as Danny picked the file up, sulking. I really hadn't meant to be so nasty; it just came out like that. Mac entered before Danny could open the file, his presence loud.

"Danny, Lindsay," He nodded at us, "How's your case going?"

I glanced at the folder in Danny's hands. "DNA results just arrived."

Mac raised an eyebrow as if to say "And?"

"We've not read it yet."

"But we were about to, then you stepped in," Danny continued before Mac could probe more. He gave us both a strange, pointed look instead. Then again, I could've been hallucinating.

He cleared his throat, and for a moment I pictured a cloud of thoughts hanging over his head. "Alright, then what is this mess on the floor?" Ever the observant CSI.

This time, two pairs of eyes were trained on me, and a bubble of anger surfaced in me. "Just a snow globe." I looked at the patch of oil and sighed inwardly. It was once a pretty orb with plastic molded pieces, put together to form a miniature model of the State Park back home. I'd purchased it a few days prior to my leaving for New York, during my final trip around the state; its sole purpose was to encase memories, sweet and painful alike. Home is where the heart is. I think the curt tone I had used (I swear it just slipped out) made Mac raise an eyebrow in my direction. Again, that strange look. Perhaps a change of topic was necessary.

I grabbed the folder out of Danny's hand and opened it, disliking that I was turning into a virago in their eyes.

She flipped the front cover up with more force than necessary and I decided to carefully avoid eye contact with Mac. The boss man was definitely picking up on the iffy atmosphere that seemed to be thick as smog in the office. Two tables, two chairs, two sets of computers, and glass walls. How did this room get so crowded with so few things?

After a very long and awkward ten seconds, Lindsay finally spoke. "Helen lied; DNA does not belong to an Ethan."

I moved closer to have a look; she nudged the folder so I could read from it. "Who's this Thomas K. guy then?"

Then it seemed fate decided to save me (and Lindsay) by sending Stella and Hawkes into the office. They started jabbering on quickly about some break in their case and yanked Mac (who was intent on observing the dynamics between Lindsay and I like we were participants playing against each other in the International Chess Olympiad) out of the office. I couldn't help but glare back when Stella winked at me before they disappeared into some lab.

"It seems we need to have a little chat with Miss Helen DeGauss." Lindsay broke the silence after we watched their disappearing backs. I nodded in agreement. If we could find out who Thomas K. was, and what his semen was doing on her, the case could probably be solved faster.

After some scheduling, we confirmed on meeting Helen at a café just out of her campus. The rest of the afternoon was spent there, conversing with Helen, and having a painfully quiet late lunch after she left. Not to mention uncomfortable car rides to and from the café.

The café was decorated with such cheerful colors and designs it felt wrong asking Helen about her misfortune in it.

"Who's the guy, your boyfriends buddy? What's his name again?" Danny asked her, after she stared at us with wide eyes and quivering lips for five minutes. Her eyes darted, surveying her surroundings, before focusing wearily on me. Smart girl, I mused, she knew something was up.

"Ethan," she twirled the ice in her drink with the straw, "Isn't remembering facts like this part of your job?"

I struggled to rein my temper in with patience. "Yeah, but see, darling, our job is to seek the truth. Right now, I'm remembering the fact that you lied." I almost regretted opening my mouth, but when Helen's brave stance faltered, I couldn't help but wonder if there was a Dummy's guide to Interrogations. Maybe then, things would be less confusing?

"Who raped you, Helen?" An exasperated sigh escaped my lips.

The ice cubes clinked in her glass again, and my head started pounding. I felt like growling when she replied with a freaking "Nobody".

"Sure as hell ain't nobdy, Helen." Danny voiced the thoughts in my head out. Right on.

Who was this girl trying to kid? Did we look stupid? Lindsay looked like she was going to pounce across the table and strangle the girl, who seemed to have decided that the table mat was interesting enough for her to fix her attention on. You'd think the table mat grew eyes and was communicating with her via ESP.

"Look Helen, remember Detective Flack? He spoke to Ethan," she looked up for a second, worry in her eyes, before fiddling with the table mat, "Uh-huh, Detective Flack hunted Ethan down. And the three of us? We thought he was guilty of a heinous crime. But then, guess what? Ethan had an alibi, and the DNA we found on your body belongs to a Thomas K. So pardon us if we don't believe that 'nobody' raped you." I was ready to bang my forehead (or hers) against the table if she denied the evidence.

Lindsay clicked the top of her pen and started speaking. "You're wasting our time. You came to us for help, and we intend to give you that. Yes, we admire you for your bravery. Yes, we're sorry you had to go through the pain. All we want is for you to tell us how you got to know Thomas K so intimately. Or if you knew he was in jail for theft just one year ago." The tone she used was one I had learnt not to mess with.

As we both gave her grim smiles, she caved, her back hunched in resignation. "He is, was, my boyfriend."

Well, ain't that grand? We're dealing with a psychotic abusive boyfriend. Tears spilled across her face and I felt Lindsay slump, beside me, into the cushioned seats.