Charlie was somewhere in that nice state of half slumber. He might've argued with Jean on taking an afternoon nap, but as soon as his head hit the pillow he let out a pleased moan. Stomach filled with warm soup, his weariness and urge to sleep overpowered even the various aches and pains. He was finally getting to the stage when staying still let him pretend there was nothing wrong with him at all. For a few minutes at least.

Charlie's consciousness was fading away and his body relaxed into the mattress for some much needed rest. Thus it was with great annoyance that he forced his eyes open a bit later.

It took him a second to figure out what woke him up and he was about to close his eyes again, thinking it a fluke, when he heard a familiar voice calling out his name.

Charlie froze, unsure if he wasn't caught in one of his nightmares. But no. He could hear noises from down below and a chill ran down his spine.

Jean was there.

He didn't lose time after that. Getting up was a chore, because the rest of his body still seemed half asleep, but he made it to the door in a record time for his state. Walking towards the stairs was a slower process. The hallway swayed for a second and he had to steady himself on the wall. He used the moment to listen.

He didn't hear anyone talking, but he could hear breathing and shuffling of feet.

There was no other option. No way was he going to play possum and let Jean deal with the man herself.

Vision stilling, he took the few steps towards the banister and looked down.

Jean was there, seemingly unharmed. Charlie shot her a worried and questioning look and she gave a small nod. She was fine. Still, he could see the way she stood, tense and annoyed, arms crossing over her chest. At the bottom of the stairs there was O'Leary.

Charlie felt his insides go cold with anger. How dared the man come into his home and bother Jean of all people? Through gritted teeth, Charlie locked his gaze with O'Leary.

"Detective. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

O'Leary ignored his cold tone, unfazed. That only made Charlie more annoyed.

"We need to talk," the man spoke.

"You don't have to, Charlie. I'm sure... detective O'Leary can return later, when you feel better," Jean said, shooting O'Leary a glare of her own and offering Charlie an out. He appreciated the effort but knew it was useless. Sooner or later he needed to talk to the man anyway and he'd rather have it over with now. The less often he saw O'Leary the better.

"That's alright, Jean. I think I can handle this," he said and headed down the stairs, one hand on the railing, the other wrapped protectively around his midsection. While lying in bed wasn't causing much discomfort, the stairs were still tricky for him.

Jean was still lingering around, as if ready to help him. Charlie was grateful though that she didn't. After all, he had some image to uphold, at least in front of O'Leary. He would rather take a fall down the stairs on his own, with the chance of hitting O'Leary on his way down. Fortunately, or maybe not, he made it without trouble.

"Living room?" Charlie nodded towards the place and waited until O'Leary gave a nod and lead the way. Charlie paused next to Jean.

"You alright?" he asked in a whisper, just to be sure. She sighed.

"Yes, of course. You really don't have to talk to him, Charlie."

"I think it's best I do," Charlie said.

"I'll join you then," Jean stated, her protectiveness putting a small smile on Charlie's face even as he shook his head.

"I'd prefer if you didn't."

"Charlie," she protested but Charlie already shook his head.

"I'll be fine. He's not the danger here. Just... give us few minutes please?"

Jean didn't seem to like it, but she could hardly argue. It was a police business after all. So she nodded.

"I'll go make some tea," she said and based on her tone, Charlie was pretty sure she would stop to make a call first. He didn't mind that at all.

"Thank you," he muttered and followed O'Leary into the living room.

The man had already settled in one of the chairs, the one usually reserved for Blake. Charlie forced back an irritated sigh and sat down on the couch, facing him. Maybe standing would have been a more powerful move, but he didn't think he could stay upright too much longer. His left leg gave a throb of pain and he sank onto the cushion with barely hidden relief.

"Alright. Now that I finally got a handle on you, let's get this over with before the cavalry arrives," O'Leary spoke, clearly aware that Jean was about to call Lawson.

Charlie couldn't but agree with him. He wasn't sure he wanted Lawson arriving before he got an answer to few of his own questions. He imagined that it would be hard to ask the man anything while Lawson was kicking him out of the house. Even though it was a nice thing to imagine.

"What do you want to know?" Charlie asked, preparing himself for a frustrating recount of all that he already told Johnson. He was pretty sure O'Leary had the report on his desk before Charlie even arrived to Ballarat.

"What do you know about Richard Graves' father?"

Charlie blinked. That wasn't a question he ever expected, and it let him know that this interview will be different. This wasn't just O'Leary wanting to hear what happened. This was O'Leary trying to dig. And if that was the case... Charlie had to wonder what was behind it.

"I know he's the factory owner, sponsoring about half the town. What are you looking for O'Leary?"

The man shook his head.

"It was actually his warehouse where the last fight went down. Unfortunately, right now there is not a single thing evidencing he was helping his son. I need to know if you heard something. A mention of his name. Did you see him during either fight?"

"I don't even know how he looks," Charlie admitted. Johnson had shown him some photos and newspaper clippings the first time they met, but that seemed ages ago and Charlie wasn't sure if Richard's father was in any of them.

O'Leary nodded and reached into his coat, pulling out a small booklet. It held several black and white photos and he showed them to Charlie one by one.

"Anyone here familiar?"

Charlie squinted, trying to remember if perhaps he had seen some of the faces, but each time O'Leary changed the photo he had to shake his head. He only stopped on the last one.

"That's Dr. Kendrick," Charlie pointed out and O'Leary nodded.

"Yes. I just wanted a positive identification from you. But no one else familiar?"

"No, sorry. I wasn't really in a position to take in everyone in the crowd and except Kendrick and few guys at the gym no one approached us."

"What about Caleb?"

Charlie paused, shoulders tensing.

"What about him?"

"Do you know where he is?" O'Leary asked and it was clear he was trying to appear nonchalant, as if he knew the boy's location, just wanted to make sure Charlie didn't. Charlie saw through that though.

O'Leary had no clue... which meant Johnson kept his word and moved Caleb somewhere else.

Charlie shook his head.

"He's safe, that's all I know. All I need to know."

O'Leary looked at him and Charlie noted the slight twitch on his face. His own eyes narrowed.

"What is this all about, O'Leary? What are you really doing here?"

There was a moment of silence between them, O'Leary looking almost ready to jump up and leave. Suddenly it was Charlie who wanted answers.

"Tell me. Why did you come all this way?"

"I wanted to make sure you were actually alive," O'Leary admitted.

"You talked to Lawson," Charlie snorted. "I'm pretty sure he told you that already."

O'Leary gave him a strange look and Charlie paused.

"You thought he was lying? Why?"

O'Leary let out a forced breath. It was clear he didn't want to talk, but Charlie wasn't about to let it go now.

"What the hell's going on, detective?" he kept pushing. "Why are you fishing around for more information?"

"Because evidence keeps getting missing!" O'Leary barked, his pretended calmness gone. "We need something more. We need to catch Kenneth Barnes, or his brother and make them talk. Or the parents of those dirty cops stay in business, their influence as strong as ever."

"Then do your damn job and catch Barnes!" Charlie snapped back in annoyance. "Johnson is gathering evidence. Do you really think I can do more from here?"

O'Leary shook his head.

"No. The only way you can contribute now is to stay alive. Which is why I would advise you come with me to a safe house and sit this out until the trial."

Charlie gazed at him for good ten seconds before bursting out in a laugh.

"Are you kidding?" he asked in disbelief.

O'Leary didn't move a brow.

"You really think I would go anywhere with you? Alone?" Charlie felt his own ire rise at the utter ridiculousness of that proposal.

"I've spent two weeks constantly looking over my shoulder, trying not to get killed! Then when I finally counted on a backup to save my ass, something went wrong. Someone sent them the wrong coordinates and they almost didn't arrive in time. I almost got killed again in the hospital, and you... You are asking me to trust you?" the disbelief in Charlie's voice was so strong that O'Leary had to realize what a stupid request that was. Still, Charlie shook his head.

"No way in hell. I'm staying where I can trust the people around me," he said coldly.

"I'm not your enemy here Davis," O'Leary said, his tone low.

"And how should I know that?" Charlie bit back. "It was you who contacted me, who threatened my career if I didn't agree. Why? Why me?"

O'Leary looked pensive, but then he seemed to relent. It was clear he won't get Charlie to come with him so perhaps he hoped that giving him some information might help keep him safe. At least Charlie hoped that was the reason why the man finally spoke.

"I don't have a clue why you, Davis. Frankly, I had five other candidates who were better suited for the job, more experienced."

Charlie's stomach churned at that.

"So this was personal?"

"Someone wanted you to take the case. Someone wanted it strong enough to drop your file and the request on the desk of the Deputy Commissioner in Sydney. I don't know who that was, but... seeing how this all turned out, I'd say someone with a personal grudge against you."

"The Deputy Commissioner... did he mention any names?"

O'Leary shook his head.

"I'm in no position to ask those questions. Neither are you," he warned when he saw Charlie open his mouth.

"I think I do if it's my life being on the stake," he protested.

O'Leary shrugged.

"He will deny everything. You will just lose time and put yourself more at risk if you contact him. If nothing else Davis, trust me on this. You want to keep as far away from Deputy Commissioner Andrews and the people pulling the strings as you can. Hole up. Go to the trial and hope that will be the end of it."

"I don't have any enemies," Charlie protested feebly to which O'Leary merely raised an eyebrow and made a pointed look around the living room.

"You associate with people who keep making powerful enemies every damn day. Do you really think yourself above getting a few of your own?"

Charlie didn't. Or rather, he didn't think he stepped on anyone's toes. All his possible conflicts had been connected to Blake but this was different. It felt more personal. Whatever was the original plan, it involved Charlie being gone from Ballarat, alone and vulnerable. Blake might've been hurt by his unfortunate death, but it was hardly something that would break the man. No... someone wanted a revenge on Charlie himself.

"Whomever is after you... they were keeping an eye on the case. Johnson was sending his reports over to me and I had to resend them to the Deputy Commissioner right away."

"I don't have a clue who might have a grudge against me," he admitted, the fingers of his left hand twitching nervously, sending a throb of pain up his arm.

"It hardly matters right now. I'm just warning you, because it made little sense to me."

Charlie frowned at him.

"Then why were you doing it?"

O'Leary shot him a look as if he was stupid.

"We are cops, Davis. We follow orders."

Charlie grimaced.

"Well, some orders shouldn't be followed," he grumbled.

O'Leary shrugged, then looked at his watch. He reached into his pocket and handed Charlie an envelope.

"Your papers and keys that you left in Sydney."

Charlie took it, startled at the thought he totally forgot about his ID and keys in the first place.

"I better go. Rather not overstay my welcome. I have better things to do than get into fisticuffs with your overprotective boss," he scoffed and stood. Charlie looked at him and was about to get up when O'Leary shook his head.

„I can find my way," he waved him off. „Just watch your back, Davis. Contrary to popular belief, I'd rather this whole mess wasn't a loss of our times."

Without another word, O'Leary gave him a nod and was gone, leaving Charlie sitting thoughtful on the couch. He was still there, a cup of warm tea sitting idly in his hands while Jean sat on the chair previously occupied by O'Leary, watching him with concern, as Lawson arrived.

It was his grumbling and unveiled threats towards one detective O'Leary that let Charlie sink further into the couch, some tension leaving his body. While the warning still rang loud inside his head, he knew for the moment they were all safe.

Charlie wished that feeling of safety had lasted longer than the night. As it was though, his mind kept him awake for most of it. Lawson assured him there was no safer place than Ballarat for him and let out a string of curses at O'Leary's impudence of even offering a safe house. Charlie thought it was sweet how Lawson's eyes went wide for a second, imagining Charlie gone once again, holed up in some unknown place without contact.

Charlie assured him that was not an option. They went over what O'Leary said and Charlie had asked Lawson what he knew about Deputy Commissioner Andrews.

Sadly, there wasn't much. The man's name didn't ring a bell and Charlie was sure he had never met him before nor had any dealings with him. Now true, there was a chance it was his father who angered the man in the past, but Charlie wasn't privy to that.

Lawson assured him though that he was working on it. He needed to make a few more calls, perhaps ask for a favour. It would take time to dig up whatever dirt there was on Andrews... even more time if it wasn't he himself who was after Charlie.

While Lawson and Blake's protective reaction to the news should have relaxed Charlie, it had an opposite effect. As soon as he was back in bed, the house dark and silent, all he could do was worry.

Worry about someone else getting hurt. Someone coming here and threatening Jean... it was enough that O'Leary came to the house and for several minutes Jean was alone with the man. He didn't hurt her, but Charlie saw she was rattled by his presence.

He couldn't even imagine how rattled his mom was a few days back, especially if O'Leary hinted that something might've happened to her son.

It was no surprise at all that when Charlie finally managed to fall into a restless sleep, he was plagued by horrid nightmares about his family being hurt. He woke up early, body covered in cold sweat. The sheets wrapping around his body were damp as well and he had to struggle to get out of their grip.

A glance at the clock showed it was barely past five in the morning.

Too early for anyone else in the house to be awake.

Not too early for a certain person in Melbourne to pick up the phone however.

Charlie gritted his teeth and shuffling his feet, trying not to stumble and not to make any noise, he made it to the phone. Once again he grabbed the device and took it to the nearby empty room, clicking the door closed.

It wasn't ideal, he would have to talk quietly so as not to wake up Jean or Blake.

But he could do that.

Now all he needed was to force his hand to dial the familiar number and hope it was the right person picking up.

It wasn't as easy as it seemed.

For that to happen, Charlie had to swallow all the pride and resentment he felt for the last few years. He had to go against his own instincts and do the unthinkable.

Fingers trembling, Charlie dialled.

He had to do it now, while he knew the man would be the only one up, ready to head out to work. He had to do it now, before the vestiges of the nightmare were washed away by sunlight and he changed his mind.

The phone rang two times and Charlie's courage was bound to vanish on the third. He knew that.

'Pick up, you bastard', he thought while at the same time praying the phone kept ringing and he could just go back to bed, grab a short nap and wake up more clearheaded.

"Who the hell's ringing this early in the morning?" came the gruff voice and Charlie grimaced.

He might've miscalculated. The man sounded half asleep... what was the day anyway?

"Well?" another snapped sound and Charlie cleared his throat.

"Bernie? It's me, Charlie," he said, already regretting his decision.

There was a moment of silence as his step father obviously tried to figure out whether he was asleep or not.

"Charlie." His tone was a bit less snappish now, though there was clear confusion. Maybe a hint of worry.

Charlie was sure it wasn't for his wellbeing. He knew, because there was really no love lost between the two of them, even though Bernie had tried pretending he cared. After all that happened in the last few years though, Charlie finally started pretending as well, at least in front of his mother and brothers. He figured it was easier than alienating his whole family. He left the judgment on whether Bernie deserved such consideration for later. Preferably never.

Right now though he should probably start talking, Charlie realized as he heard rustling from the other end.

"What's going on?" Bernie asked and Charlie couldn't stop the sigh escaping him.

"I need to ask you for a favour," he uttered through gritted teeth and felt his own father must've been rolling in his grave. There was no help for it though. Protecting his family took precedence over all else.

It was evidence that Bernie already knew about something happening that he didn't boast or tell Charlie to go to hell, he didn't owe him anything. Charlie would have understood both of these reactions. Instead, the man simply said: "I'm listening."

Charlie couldn't believe what he was about to say.

"I need you to protect mum and my brothers. For the next few weeks..."

"Protect from whom?" Bernie asked, confused but also much more alert than he sounded a minute ago.

"Cops," Charlie let out with a sigh. "Dirty cops."

There was more silence, then a snort of laughter.

Charlie felt anger welling up inside him.

"This is not a joke!" he snarled into the phone.

"I am sure it is not indeed," Bernie answered, his tone holding none of the amusement. "I just thought it ironic coming from you of all people. Saint Charles... always Just, always believing in the bloody system. And now... you call me of all people... asking for help."

Charlie wanted to smash the phone, but that would wake up the house and it would only give Bernie all the more satisfaction. No, Charlie decided, if he was going to break something it would be his other hand when he punched that dick.

"You know damn well the only reason I am asking you is because you are there," Charlie hissed, his hand squeezing the phone cradle so hard he was sure he was leaving imprints. "Take them for a vacation, a belated honeymoon, hell I don't care. But if anything happens to them because you want to show me I was wrong-"

"Calm down Charles," Bernie said, breaking through Charlie's rant. "You might think I'm a bastard, but that doesn't mean I will stand by and let my family get hurt, because you managed to get involved in some copper shit."

Charlie wasn't sure if that was supposed to calm him down or raise his hackles even more.

"So what? You going to protect them?"

"Of course!" Bernie answered and the tone clearly said he thought Charlie an idiot. "Ray is due to have a few fights out of town anyway. I'll just bring the kids and Shirley along as well."

Charlie felt relief war with annoyance.

"If anyone starts asking about me..."

"We don't know you. Or they'll get the pleasure of serving as a punching man to some of my trainees."

Charlie rolled his eyes at that.

"Just keep Ray out of that," he said wearily. Bernie snorted.

"He would enjoy that."

"Yeah... not something I want to happen."

"Anything else I should know?" Bernie asked and Charlie could hear his mother's sleepy voice inquiring in the background.

"Not now. Call if anything happens though. And... don't scare mom."

"Of course. Try not to get yourself killed kid."

Charlie swallowed. He wanted to snap back that he wasn't a kid, but he couldn't. This whole call went way different than he expected and Bernie was actually trying to be more civil than Charlie himself. That was saying something.

It was through gritted teeth that Charlie forced himself to say: "Thanks. You too."

He hung up before he could get an answer.