A/N: Sincerest apologies for the crazy long delay. Life has been busy and I've had a bit of writer's block. Hope you all enjoy this next chapter :)

XXXX

Brad shrugged his jacket and tugged it taught as he exited his car. He'd parked on the street just a block down from the address he'd somehow managed to find on an old paper map. He was spoiled with the use of maps on his phone, but he didn't have that anymore. So, he made due with the old-fashioned way, thankful that he'd stowed the map away years ago in the glovebox.

The front porch looked familiar, though the house itself was painted a medium gray, different from the pale yellow he remembered from the last time he'd visited. How long had it been? Five years at least, he figured, but Ron was always his best bud growing up. Time didn't matter in relationships like that, and he was sure they could pick up where they left off. They could crack open a beer and chat…the awkward part wouldn't start until he had to ask for money.

It was the only conclusion he'd come to. The only solution. He had to leave the country, but he needed cash to do it, more than he'd been able to take from the ATM and he couldn't risk swiping his card again. That was where a loan was needed, and his cousin was conveniently nearby and might be empathetic. Ron had been in trouble with the law before.

Brad racked his brain as he approached the door, knocking solidly a few times. He remembered a few disorderly conduct charges from a bar fight or two, maybe a DUI…nothing too serious, but enough to have Ron mocking him the last time they talked for being in law enforcement. "Extortionist" was the word he'd used, if Brad remembered correctly, telling him that speeding tickets were nothing more than legalized extortion.

Now that Brad was in trouble with the law, they had something in common- they were on the same side, so to speak, and he hoped he could convince him that he needed a loan without going into too many details. Ron was a good guy despite his criminal charges, and probably wouldn't be okay with what Brad had been up to…he was hoping to leave the specifics out.

The door swung open and a large, surprised man stood there, a flicker of shock that turned into a big grin.

"Brad?" he asked in disbelief, "son of a bitch."

"Don't talk about my mom that way," he joked back and took Ron's hand, shaking it and pulling him in for a slap on the back.

"You're the last person I expected to see."

"Who'd you think it was?" he asked in humor.

"A delivery?" he shrugged, "'bout the only visitors I get these days," he stepped back, "come on in."

XXXXX

Veronica flung the sheets off and huffed. She hadn't slept well. Dreams plagued her with images and an overall feeling of dread, flashbacks to her run through the forest. The cold, unforgiving ground beneath her feet, grass slick with dew, mud that squished between her toes, that damn rock that cut her foot…it was as if she'd been there again.

In reality, that run had been hopeful and filled with adrenaline. She'd gotten away and was headed to freedom, but in her dream, the panic…the sensation of being trapped and completely un-free had stayed with her. It was as if she was running from one threat to another.

She sat up and reflected on it, finding it odd that of all things, her nightmare was of the run. Not being tazered and thrown into the truck, not the long ride in the darkness, not their close calls with Bagwell. The run.

A voice told her it was because she felt like a failure. Great escape plan it was, falling right into the arms of the man who orchestrated their capture. She balled her fists and squashed the voice. This wasn't helpful. Sara was okay and so was she, that was the best outcome she could've hoped for.

She swung her legs to the side and winced as her heel hit the floor, slowly adding her weight to it, easing into a standing position. It always hurt the worst in the morning. It would get better.

She anticipated a long day at work and busied herself getting ready. She was anxious to hear from Mahone or Kellerman, but knew that bugging them wasn't going to speed up the process. As long as she dug into her work and kept her head down, they'd call.

Testifying against Bellick and Bagwell was still on her mind, but she was almost looking forward to it. In the beginning she was uncertain about it; she knew she wanted to because it was the right thing to do. Lock them up. Know that they could never do this to someone else again. But early on when her ordeal was so fresh in her mind, she didn't relish the thought of laying out every detail and reliving it all again. But now? She awaited the chance to testify against them with an eagerness that surprised even herself.

The normalcy of the past few days and the return to her former self had empowered her; reminding her that she wouldn't shrink in the face of unpleasantness. Courtrooms were her happy place. When she was there, she felt centered, confident. Being on the stand would be different for sure, but nothing she couldn't handle. She wanted to stick it to both of them.

She'd even started writing things down, bits and pieces that she remembered. It was a diary of sorts, but often disjointed. It was chicken scratch and details that may or may not be important, the timeline of everything…anything could be useful. She'd sat the night before in bed with a pen and pad in hand, jotting things down. Perhaps that was the reason for her vivid dreams. Her late-night notes had blended into her sleep and continued the narrative, lingering into the next morning when she'd opened her eyes.

She made coffee and sipped on it as she put on some make-up and slipped into a pencil skirt. Only time would tell where her and Sara's case would go, but for now, she could sure as hell handle someone else's.

XXXXXXX

"You need money?" Ron asked slowly as they sat across from each other in the living room. Brad set the mug of coffee on the table next to him and replied simply, "Yea," then added, "but it's just a loan. I'll pay you back, hell I can pay you back as soon as I'm somewhere safe. I just can't-"

"-you just can't get your money now because you're in some kind of trouble," Ron finished for him.

"Yea."

Admitting that the law was after him had been more embarrassing than he'd anticipated. He wasn't proud of the situation he was in, and admitting it out loud wasn't something he ever wanted to do again. However, his pride was soothed, albeit slightly, by the fact that he could easily repay his cousin. He had money, he just couldn't access it. It was barely a loan at all, just a super temporary borrowing of cash. He watched Ron's face, contemplating.

"You gonna tell me why they're after you?" he asked finally.

Brad picked the mug back up and sipped, using it to partially block his face as he replied, "I'd rather not."

"You realize I could be charged as an accessory, right? Aiding and abetting?"

"Not if you insist that you didn't know anything."

"I don't know anything!" he replied, exasperated.

"Exactly my point," Brad confirmed, trying to convince him that he wasn't putting himself at risk, "the less you know the better. If they ask you anything, just say I told you I needed a loan to cover medical bills for my mom or something."

He rubbed his head, "Christ, Brad."

A sigh, "I know," he leaned forward, "I wouldn't ask if it wasn't serious, you know that. Come on, man, we've always had each other's backs. Hell, I bailed you out more than once-"

"-I always paid you back for that."

"And I'll do the same," he insisted, "give me a week…two at the most and I'll get the money back to you."

He wasn't sure exactly how he would, but Ron didn't need to know that part. He had the money, it was just a matter of getting it to him under the radar. Ron seemed to consider, rubbing his forehead over and over, his hand sweeping down to rub the stubble on his chin and back up again.

"You really need this?" he asked, needing confirmation one more time that this was serious.

Genuinely, "I really need your help."

A sigh, "Alright, let me see what I can do-"

His sentence was cut short by the sound of a slamming car door just outside. Brad stood up, saw a police car outside, and panicked. It couldn't end here, not like this.

"Brad?" he asked, his tone accusing yet fearful, but Brad had already taken off, towards the back of the house with a glass sliding door leading to a fenced in yard. He ran out the house leaving the door open and found the latch on the gate quickly, exiting into a small sliver of grass between the neighbor's yard. His only option was to run towards the street, he realized. Towards the cops. It was over, he realized with a sinking feeling, and that instinct was solidified when an officer came around the corner, his weapon drawn.

"Let me see your hands!" he demanded, and Brad lifted them slowly above his head.

"On your knees!" the officer shouted, and Brad sank down, his knees coming to rest on the soft Earth, still wet from the morning dew.

His panic and fear turned to defeat as he was put into cuffs and shoved into the back of the police car. It wasn't until they were driving away that his defeat turned to anger and betrayal. No one should have known to look for him there.

Someone must have told the detectives…had he told Bagwell about Ron? He racked his brain but couldn't remember mentioning him. He'd seen on the news that Bagwell had been captured and was no doubt helping the cops find him in exchange for something. That had to be it. There was no one else in the world that would've turned on him, right?

XXXXXX

Sara's first morning back to work was off with a bang. She was glad; the minor interactions she'd had with a few of the nurses when they'd spotted her in the breakroom were pretty much as expected. It was full of unbearable sympathy, with the undertone of everyone walking on eggshells.

As soon as a trauma case was wheeled through the doors though, it was as if nothing had happened; she was in control, calling out for supplies and directing the team. Everyone treated her like the Doctor she was, and after an hour or so of work, when the patient was stable and her adrenaline started to taper, she could've cried with relief. This is what normal felt like. It was empowering to be back, doing something she was good at.

The day flew by and before she knew it she was headed home. The loneliness didn't start to settle in until she approached home, her mind no longer racing through the images and events of her day at work. That's how her commute home usually went; she'd get into her car still buzzing from whatever she'd been doing, and for the first half of the drive her mind was still chewing on her day, analyzing everything that had happened. But somewhere along the way her thoughts started to slow, taking in the scenery around her and enjoying the quiet, a fatigue usually washing over her.

The quiet now was a bit unsettling, and she sent Michael a text as she parked, letting him know she was home and he could come by whenever worked for him. She cut the engine and walked up to her apartment, looking down to find the right key. When she approached her door and her eyes darted up, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Michael was leaning against her door, waiting quietly.

"Jesus, you scared me," she admitted as her heart thudded rapidly.

"Sorry," he replied with a smile, "maybe surprises aren't the best idea right now."

She laughed, "No, no I'm glad you're here," she stuck the key into the lock, "I was just in my own little world I guess."

He followed her inside, "So, how was your first day back?"

She tossed her purse on the table and ran a hand through her hair, "It was…it was really good. It was busy and chaotic, but it felt good to be back."

"I'm glad," he stuck his hands in his pockets, head lowering, and a slight fidgeting.

Something was up.

Her brows furrowed, "How about you?"

"Huh?" he looked up, "oh, uh good. Work was good."

Her tone lowered, "But?"

He met her eyes and knew there was no use delaying the inevitable, "Kellerman called Linc a little bit ago- they got Brad."

"Got him, as in?"

"He's in custody. In Missouri. They're shipping him up here tonight though since the case belongs to Mahone and Kellerman."

She slowly allowed this bit of news to sink in. He was caught and off the streets, it was over…well, almost. There was still a trial to deal with, but the chase was done and so was the wondering, the uncertainty.

"Tell me what you're thinking," he asked, given her lack of verbal response.

She wandered closer to the kitchen and leaned her back against the counter, folding her arms, "I think…I guess I thought I'd feel more relieved."

"What do you feel?" he wondered aloud.

After a moment, "Not much I guess. I mean, I'm glad they found him and that he'll be locked away. I'm glad he can't do this to anyone else, but it doesn't," she paused to think, "him being out there still wasn't what kept me up at night. It's the possibility that anyone can do something like that. The realization that nowhere and no one is truly safe. Something I'll have to get over, I know, but…" her voice trailed off, unsure how to explain.

She was confused by her own lack of emotional response. This was what they'd all wanted, right? Justice? To have those evil men off the streets? She couldn't be sure anymore. She just wanted to be safe- for everyone to be safe.

"Well," Michael started slowly, "at least one more person is locked up where he can't hurt anyone."

Nodding, "I know," she sighed, "did Lincoln say anything else?"

"Just that he'd let us know if he hears anything else, as far as a trial or anything."

"But that might take a while, right?"

"Sounds like it, yea…the wheels of justice turn pretty slowly from what I've heard."

She shrugged, agreeing. She knew from Veronica's work anecdotes how true that statement was. "That's ok. In the meantime, you want dinner?"

He smiled, "I'd never say no to that. What sounds good?"

"Well," her eyes flitted around the kitchen, settling on a bottle of wine she had sitting on the counter. She moved towards it and grabbed the neck, holding it up and raising her eyebrows, questioning.

"That's a good start," he agreed with a laugh, "but I was picturing something a bit more…"

"-a bit more like actual food?"

"Right."

"I have some of that too," she joked and started rummaging through cupboards. She had all of the basics, and found some pasta and sauce, figuring that would be quick and easy. She wasn't in the mood to cook a complicated meal, "is pasta ok?"

"Always."

She smiled, and handed him the bottle of wine, grabbing a few glasses and setting them down, "Opener is in that drawer," she pointed, leaving him tasked with pouring them each a glass while she turned the stove on and put some water in a pan.

She heard the, "pop," as the cork came out and leaned against the counter, watching as he poured and handed her a glass. Every one of his movements was careful and deliberate, she noted, almost graceful.

She grabbed the offered glass and took a sip, enjoying the quiet, the only sound coming from water starting to simmer.

With his glass in hand, he slid the bottle more towards the center of the counter, in no danger of being knocked over, and came closer to her, leaning against the counter as well so their shoulders were almost touching.

She took another sip and then held the glass close to her chest, almost cradling it, as people tend to do. She started to relax and leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes. The long day was catching up with her, and her mind was becoming a blissful blank. If her eyes had remained open, she was certain they would be fixed on the floor in front of her, unmoving and unseeing. She felt his head come to rest on top of hers, and heard the simmering water pick up its pace, bubbles rising more rapidly to almost a full boil. She didn't want to move, but when she started to lift her head, he lifted his too, allowing her to straighten and sigh, grabbing the pasta and plopping it into the pan.

"Tired?" he asked.

"A little," she admitted.

"Is there anything I can do to help?"

She grabbed a wooden spoon and put it across the top of the pan, "Uh, yea. Plates are up there if you wanna grab a few," she pointed to another drawer, "and silverware."

"Sure," he moved to grab them and started setting the table.

She smiled softly at the gesture. She wasn't used to having kitchen help, or company for a meal in general. She grabbed another pan to heat the sauce and heard herself blurt out, "Do you know what they'd even ask me?"

He looked up, "Who? For the trial?"

"Yea, I mean…just giving a positive I.D. that it was them or giving all the details…?" he voice trailed off.

He cleared his throat, "I'm not sure," he watched her, trying to assess her feelings on the matter, "I'd think that giving a basic rundown of what happened along with a positive I.D. would be enough, and if it's not, I'm sure Veronica would be willing to go more in depth. You know," he clarified, "since that's what she does for a living. She's used to it."

"Right," she replied absent-mindedly.

He set a fork down for each of them, "Do you not want to?"

"I will," she replied without hesitation, "I just don't want to have to think about it, you know? I want to give an accurate statement, but to do that, I'd have to sit and really think about everything and try to remember details and the timeline…"

"Would it help to talk about it?"

"Hmm?" she wondered, pouring sauce into the pan.

"Would it help you remember if you talked about it. I'm all ears if you need a sounding board. Or if you'd just rather not think about alone."

She smiled softly and considered.

"I know I won't be much help," he continued, "since I wasn't there. I can neither confirm or deny the accuracy or your memories."

She chuckled.

"But I'm a good listener," he smirked.

"You are," she agreed with a smile, and grabbed her wine glass. She swirled around the dark liquid inside and stared into it, slowly taking a sip. It was a good evening, she acknowledged; he was here with her, the wine lingered on her tongue, and she was about to have a full belly. Was there really a better way to deconstruct everything she'd been through? She felt safe here with him, and trusted that he'd listen without judgement.

"Yea," she finally agreed, "yea we can try."

XXXX

After dinner, they settled onto the couch with full bellies. Sara flipped on the T.V. and found a sitcom, something light-hearted, hoping that having it on in the background would prevent her trip down memory lane from getting too dark.

"Alright, well," she sat down on the couch and pulled her feet up, glad that Michael had refilled her wine glass before they settled in, "where do I start?"

"How about the beginning," he suggested as he sat next to her and leaned back, propping his foot up on his other knee.

"Ok, uhh," she thought for a moment, but her mind went blank.

"You and Veronica went out for drinks that night?" he asked, prompting.

She nodded, blinking a few times, "Yea. Yes. It was a Friday night and we met for drinks, like we usually do."

"What time?" he asked.

"I think I got there around six? Veronica was late…something kept her at work so I'd already ordered a drink by the time she got there."

"So she got there and you chatted, had some dinner?"

Nodding, "Yup, we were probably there for," she considered, tilting her head back and forth, "two hours or so?"

Remembering that part of the night felt normal. She and Veronica had met for dinner and drinks on a Friday night too many times to count.

Michael prompting her with questions helped, she realized, questions that she actually had answers to. It was easier than just telling the whole story start to finish, and made it feel more like a conversation. Like a team effort.

"And then when you left…?"

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, "We paid and left. I don't remember saying much, like we were just walking to our cars in silence," she remembered this now and realized that in hindsight, that moment was the calm before the storm. "I heard Veronica scream out of nowhere, like a yelp."

"The tazer," he supplied.

"Yup," she winced at what came next, felt her heart rate go up a few notches, "and then I felt it against my side-"

"Which side?" he asked, redirecting her obvious anxiety with a question.

"Uh," she paused to consider, "my left. Yea, it was my left side, and then I dropped-"

"Did you get hurt? From the fall, I mean."

She tilted her head, "No, not really. Huh," she paused a moment, "he must've…yea he must've grabbed my shirt or something from behind because I fell on pavement. No way I wouldn't have cracked my head open unless he somehow slowed the fall."

She hadn't considered that before, and found herself becoming more curious, more eager to explore the details. It was interesting, maybe even a bit exciting in its own twisted way. She and Veronica were the only witnesses, so it was up to them to put all the pieces together. To make it make sense. To paint a vivid, accurate, and comprehensible story for a jury.

"I'll have to ask Veronica about that…see if she remembers the same thing," she added, almost wishing that Vee was here now, but also knowing the value of letting her own memories form before allowing them to be tainted by another point of view.

She glanced over at the man beside her, his eyes focused on her, the wheels turning behind them.

"You're good at this," she told him bluntly, implying a thank you.

He smiled and shrugged, "I told you I'm a good listener."

She chuckled, "And question-asker," she added, "it's really helping. Thank you."

"That's what I'm here for."

With a smile, she leaned into him and snuggled close, eyes wandering to the T.V. The break didn't last long though, as her thoughts lurched ahead, wanting to keep the ball rolling.

Michael's knee was bouncing up and down slightly, she noticed, and a minor fidgeting in his hands, "So…what happened next?" he wondered.

She grinned, "I'm so glad you asked."