"It's been a long time, Jazz."

". . . that it has."

I can practically hear the frown, despite the fact that I'm in the kitchen making two mugs of coffee (and one glass of water).

"You don't need to sound like you don't want to see me."

"Really? Why's that?"

"Don't try using your psychoanalysis babble on me. It's not going to work."

A long-suffering sigh echoes in the quiet of the apartment as I mechanically add the necessary two creams and one sugar to each coffee.

"Jazz, come on. Hear me out."

My redheaded girlfriend sighs again, and as I walk into the living room she looks up to meet my eyes. I can see how she's so curious, just like she always is, as I smile and hand her one of the coffee mugs. Underneath, however, I can see the distant upset – if I could, I'd take the lingering pain away.

But, that would mean kicking out our visitor, and I can't do that either.

Manson – because neither of us can call her Sam anymore, not after what she did to Danny's heart – doesn't even glance at me as I set the glass of water down in front of her (Jazz glances pointedly at the coasters, but I only grin back at her before sitting next to her). "Jazz, seriously. This is important, and it's something I'm sure you'd want to hear!"

Jazz's frown deepens, and again she looks at me. The question is in her gaze – should she? Dare she? Again I smile, trying to make my own eyes show that I'll support whatever choice she makes. I settle an arm along the back of the couch behind her back, trying to give her something more tangible than a simple smile.

Maybe, if I keep smiling, Manson's appearance won't hurt her as much.

". . . all right. But I need to get back to the college in an hour for the next class."

Manson seems to relax slightly, and seems to notice my presence for the first time. "Do you really have to be here? Why are you here, anyways?"

Jazz's eyes narrow ever so slightly – I don't think the raven-haired woman even knows they've done so. "He stays."

The comment earns a scoff. "Whatever."

We all trail off into silence for a moment, and it isn't long before she breaks it again. "Danny and Baxter are dating."

An elegant black eyebrow raises over an aquamarine eye. "So?" We've known about Danny and Dash for ages now – they are our best friends (well, for Jazz, obviously one's going to be a brother). I was the one who found them the apartment, and Jazz helped them pick the furniture (after convincing Dash that, no, his Packer's-themed couch was not a good idea and that Danny openly hated the thing).

"Don't you find it . . . wrong?" Manson's definitely surprised, and I just shrug.

Now, her eyes have narrowed significantly, and her posture has tensed against me. Her mind has to be putting things together, and her voice comes out in an angry hiss.

"Sam. Don't you dare try to meddle and mess with them."

"You're on their side?" The scowl she was famous for in high school appears on Manson's face as she leans forward.

"There aren't any sides involved, Sam!"

"I should have known not to count on you!" Manson growls at her, and jumps to her feet. "You've always taken Danny's side in everything, no matter how I felt! I mean, you were the one who encouraged us to get together, didn't you?"

Jazz flinches as if struck, and I shoot to my feet.

"That's enough!" I glare Manson down. "That's too far – you're done here."

She opens her mouth to retort, but I interrupt before she can even get started.

"Get out."

For a long moment, she stands still. A few seconds tick by, feeling like minutes, and I'm afraid I might have to use force.

Finally, she turns and leaves, the only thing left behind an empty glass on the table.

As soon as the door clicks closed, Jazz's lower lip is trembling.

"She's right, isn't she? I did push them together . . ."

I don't remember sitting back down, but my arms are around her and holding her tight. "Jazzy, no. No. You remember how they were back in high school – the lovebirds, remember?"

"But I . . ."

"Honey, it would have happened whether you interfered or not."

She seems to contemplate my statement. "Well . . . close friendship has proven to lead to romance in several cases, due to the idea that one would know the other well enough to make what could be a relatively small transition . . ."

"See? I told you."

"But to go from friends to lovers, even from best friends is still such a huge step in more than one aspect . . ."

I can't help it – I have to laugh. She gives me a half-hearted glare; "Sorry, sorry. Jazzy, you may have helped it along just a little – but you're overanalyzing things again. Stuff happens, you know, and like I said before, it would have happened eventually. You said it yourself, friendship can turn into dating."

"You're paraphrasing."

"Jazz."

She sighs, and finally smiles. It's weak, but it's a smile. "I love you."

I smile back and press a soft kiss to her lips. "That was random. Love you too."

My Jazz giggles. "Who'd have thought that we'd end up dating? Me, the brilliant psychologist and you, the absent-minded jock . . ."

"Hey!"

"Baby, I know you've gotten much better, but it was still true."

I let loose an exaggerated sigh, and again she giggles as she kisses the tip of my nose.

She gets up and starts gathering her materials for her class, and I watch her with what I know has to be a soft gaze.

Our relationship . . . started out rather unconventionally. Originally I was dating her brother, but by spending more time with him I was spending more time with her. It wasn't long before I realized I'd fallen for the wrong sibling – but to dump Danny to pursue his sister was too cruel. I'd always figured I could deal with it later, or deluded myself into thinking it would resolve on its own.

Instead, I got caught, and all three of us ended up tangled in a long line of lies and half-truths.

To cover her own tail, Paulina lied and claimed that she was dating me as well, and I almost lost both of the Fentons completely. It took ages of appealing to Danny before he'd listen to me, and then even longer for the two of us to convince Jazz to listen as well.

And now . . . I'm so in love with her, I can't imagine living life without her.

The implications of Manson's visit suddenly crashed down on me. Manson . . . was going to try to sabotage Dash and Danny.

Relationships can be so fragile . . .

I tried not to disturb Jazz's puttering as I stood and snuck into our shared bedroom. My underwear drawer was slid open as silently as possible, and I dug out my secret from where I'd balled it up in a pair of old boxers that no longer fit.

She was glancing over her lecture plan when I stole back down the hall and stood in the doorway. For a long moment, I could only stare – oh, God, I love her so much . . .

". . . baby?" Her concerned voice startled me out of my thoughts, and I blinked at her blankly. I'd probably been staring too long again – like I had been since the secret was ready, since I'd started waiting for just the right time.

. . . there's no time like the present.

"Jazz, I love you."

"I love you too. You look a little upset – what's up?"

". . . I've been waiting for just the right time, but Manson made me realize . . . Jazz, I don't want to lose you, ever . . ."

I took a deep breath, playing with my secret . . .

. . . and dropped to one knee.

". . . Kwan? Baby, what are you doing?"

"I know this isn't the best time, or the most romantic way to do this. But, Jazz . . ." I opened my secret's box and took her shaking left hand in my right. "I didn't have enough money for a larger one, so . . ."

I offer her the box with the silver band adorned with a tiny diamond. ". . . can this work for now?"

I sigh happily to myself when I happen to catch a glance of the ring on my left hand for what has to be the millionth time. Three days after the heartfelt, very Kwan-like proposal, I still have a hard time believing I'm an engaged woman!

The knock on the door interrupts my daydreams of floating down the aisle, and I jump. Whoever it is knocks again, sounding more than a little frantic.

Grudgingly, I open the door – it's probably Sam, still trying to get help; she had stopped by again the day after her first visit, while Kwan was out buying groceries. Right now, he was at an interview for another announcing job, and it would be just like Sam to try again and again until she got what she wanted.

"Jazz!" Danny's voice greets me instead, and before I can really register what's happening he's clinging to me in a tight hug.

"Danny?" He's bent slightly to accommodate my shorter height, but his shoulders are shaking. "Danny, what's wrong?"

"I . . . Jazz, I can't believe it, but . . ."

I don't say anything as he trails off, the shaking increasing. All I do is pull him inside, nudging the door closed with a foot as I hug my little brother.

He lets me lead him to the couch, where he all but collapses onto the cushions. Black bangs hide his eyes as he holds his head in his hands – I absently note that he needs a haircut before I sit next to him.

Danny doesn't say anything for a long moment, only letting out rattling breaths. Tenatively, I wrap an arm around his shoulders . . .

. . . and a hysterical quivering mess of a man sobs into my shoulder as I move to hug my baby brother as close as I can.

I rub soothing circles on his back, murmuring gentle reassurances in his ear as he lets his tears flow. I've no clue what's going on – something horrible must have happened, to upset him this much. My curiosity and worry for him is growing at each heart-wrenching gasp – I'd do anything to take this pain away from him.

Neither of us knows how long it takes for him to cry it all out, and even then he won't – can't – let go. For a long moment, we sit in a pregnant silence.

"Dash . . ." Danny all but whimpers, and he clutches me even tighter.

"Danny . . . what happened?"

All he can do is let out a choked mess of gibberish, and I quietly sigh.

He lets go, and I smooth his hair before rising and quickly retrieving a soda from the fridge. I sit back down next to him again, and when I hand him the can he just holds it loosely.

"Little brother . . ." I start, but I don't ask again.

For a long, tense minute, Danny doesn't even acknowledge the unasked query, but finally he speaks.

"Remember . . . the case I've been working on?

"Still no leads?"

His shoulders shuddered, and he took a deep breath before continuing. "We . . . the station got an anonymous tip today, said they thought the next robbery would be at the jewelry store on South Main. I was so stupid . . . I gathered up a few squads and we staked out the place."

"The guy got away anyways? Danny, you'll catch him eventually-"

"The guy never showed," he speaks over me. "It was a false lead. The . . . the real robbery was at the complete opposite side of town."

"One mistake . . ."

". . . the girl who tripped the store's alarm was shot. Sh-she's in . . . Jazz, she's in the ICU. They're not sure if . . ." he doesn't finish, a sob rising in his throat, and his grip tightens on the soda can.

There's nothing I can say to that. No way I can make him feel better, no way I can ease this pain, and I want nothing more than to cry for Danny . . . and for the girl who just tried to do the right thing.

Danny speaks again, voice lowered and quieter in even deeper pain. "I got h-home . . . and Da-" His voice catches on the name, and he swallows his tears before continuing.

It's said in nothing more than a whisper.

"Dash was in the bedroom, lying on the bed – our bed – with Valerie. Kissing her."

What?

No.

"Dash cheated on me. Jazz, he doesn't love me. At least . . . not anymore."