With her shoulders squared and her knees bent, her stance was ready. Taking a deep breath in, Madelyn lined up her shot, and fired the weapon at the target. She steeled herself against the recoil as she continued to fire.

Dropping the gun down to the table in front of her, Madelyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and felt the heavy weight sitting on her chest ease a little.

Last night

Madelyn knew she'd been played when she came back from the bathroom and Nicki was suspiciously missing, there was a glass of Pinot Noir waiting for her, and Erin was seated on the couch attempting to look innocent.

"How much did you bribe your kid so you could get me alone and grill me?" Madelyn asked, taking liberal sip of her wine. I'll need it.

"She may have needed extra money to go to the movies with her friends tomorrow."

"Ah. Can't let the kid miss out on Sno-Caps, can we?"

Erin rolled her eyes at her little sister's attempt to delay the inevitable conversation.

"So," Erin began lightly. "You saw him?"

A piercing feeling shot through Madelyn's chest as it did every time she breeched this topic with her sister. It was a combination of guilt, fear, shame, hatred, and every emotion synonymous with those.

"Yeah, I ran into him on my way here; literally ran. I bolted the moment I saw him. I can't remember getting here, to be honest."

Erin's eyes softened as she grabbed Madelyn's hand, gently squeezing it. "You can stay here tonight, you know."

Madelyn nodded, aware that Erin knew what her sister would encounter that night: nightmares.

"I think I'll sleep at home tonight, but I'll probably take a cab back."

Neither sister said more about Elliot. What else was there to say? Nothing. Erin knows I won't change my mind about pressing charges, and she knows I bring it up to my therapist. There's nothing she or anyone can say. It just…is.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hey Reagan!" Two things happened simultaneously, as they always did, when someone addressed Madelyn by her last name: she looked for the source and looked for her brothers. It was rare that someone called her 'Reagan,' the nickname being reserved for the men in the family. To outsiders, she was Madelyn, or for those closer to the family but not family (certain cops, detectives, and anyone who worked with her father) she was "Smalls."

Madelyn clicked the safety on the weapon and turned her head towards the voice, though it was muffled through her safety headphones. She recognized Tony, the 61 year old Italian man who owned the gun range.

Taking off her headphones, she smirked at Tony. "Tony, weren't you the one who put up the 'no yelling' signs? Something about a gruesome misunderstanding in 1992?"

The older man huffed. "I know better than to assume a Reagan can't handle a recreational weapon."

Madelyn grinned at him, assuming it was a compliment.

"I just wanted to let you know that your time was up. You told me not to let you go over an hour."

Madelyn jumped slightly at this – she had totally lost track of time. She quickly disassembled the weapon, removed her goggles and headphones, and grabbed her things. "Thanks, Tony. You're the best!"

As he watched her fly out the front entrance, Tony only had one thought: Those damn Reagans.

Madelyn rushed into Jacob's Pickles and dropped into the empty seat at the table where her friends sat. Madelyn and her two of her best friends from grad school friends met for brunch one Saturday each month as a way to keep in touch and keep each other sane; Social Workers needed to support each other, and what better way than mimosas?

Quickly checking her watch, she smiled as she looked at her friends. "Ha 12 on the dot. Thank you Tony."

Penelope raised a brow. "Tony? New boyfriend?"

Gabby snorted. "Our proud Irish Catholic Madelyn Reagan would never date a Tony. Too Italian."

"Okay fine, maybe she's not dating Tony but is she hooking up with Tony?"

Madelyn smiled as she rolled her eyes at her friends, taking a quick sip of her newly acquired mimosa. "We all know I don't discriminate and would happily date an Italian…just not a 50-something year old man with three ex-wives."

"That does seem a bit unlike your type, yes."

"Yeah well…thanks for noticing. Speaking of boyfriends, what's the deal with Nick, P? Have you figured out if he's actually your boyfriend yet?"

Penelope huffed and crossed her arms. "Ugh! I still can't figure it out. He called himself my boyfriend once in passing and it hasn't come up again. So now I'm in this weird limbo, waiting for him to ask me."

"Or, ya know, you could ask him? Just an idea," Gabby responded, no shortage of sarcasm in her voice.

"Yes, I could ask him, but that would totally ruin the whole epic love story I've wanted since I was 7. Nick is supposed to ask me to be his girlfriend in a romantic way – flowers included, of course," Penelope replied, wistfully. "I'm getting my fairytale from start to finish, ladies."

Madelyn had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She knew Penelope's fantastical dreams about romance all too well. That girl has watched one too many Disney movies…and the bookshelf of romance novels doesn't hurt either.

"I'm not a personal believer in the whole fairytale, perfect love story thing, but hopefully Nick knows this about you so he knows what to do…he does know, right?"

Dear lord, I hope he knows. Fairytale love doesn't exist and I'm the perfect example, but hopefully Nick will at least try to give that to her.

"It came up when I made him have a Disney marathon with me." Called it.

Gabby took a long sip of her mimosa. "Well, good for you for knowing what you want, girl. More power to you."

The girls clinked their glasses to the sentiment, and spent the next two hours drinking far too many mimosas and catching up. Madelyn's thoughts could not have been further from Elliott, and that is exactly what she needed.