No excuses in this one, really.

Disclaimer: Cold Case is not mine...

When the door closes behind Scotty, I flinch. It isn't as if he slammed the door, but he might as well have. I feel his fury all the same.

What the hell?

One moment he's just sitting on the edge of my couch—confused as hell, probably, because I pushed him away—and the next, he's snarling through his teeth at me, his voice steely. I knew he'd be mad—I knew he'd been hurt because I told him he was the problem—but I hadn't figured on him being furious. What for?

Slowly, slowly, I unfreeze. I remember suddenly that Trevor is still standing outside in the cold, and I automatically start up, heading to open the door and apologize for making him wait. Halfway up, I stop and wonder why Trevor's here in the first place. He moved out three weeks ago. We haven't spoken since. He isn't…he isn't back to make amends, is he? For a moment, I freeze at the thought. Of course. How typical. A man leaves me, then comes back wanting to pick up exactly where we left off. He wants to jump back into my life like he can leave and return whenever he feels like it, like I'll still be here waiting. Anger rushes through me instantly at the thought, and I sit back down.

The door opens slowly, hesitantly. I take a deep breath, then another.

"Lil?"

"Don't call me that," I say automatically, my voice biting. He always likes calling me Lil, says he thinks it's cute, but I don't like the way it rolls off his tongue. I don't like the way it only sounds right coming off of someone else's lips, with a trace of Spanish accent.

I can almost picture his sheepish grin. "Sorry, sorry, I forgot. Hey, Lilly."

I swallow. "What are you doing here, Trevor?" I ask evenly, still staring straight at the TV. The movie's still playing, and the two main characters are kissing again. I shiver involuntarily as I remember Scotty's lips on mine. Instantly, I shove the thought away and cross my arms, determinedly staring away from the screen.

"I…" He hesitates. "How are you?"

"Sick," I reply flatly. "And tired."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Yes, I bet he is. For more than my broken leg.

"Why are you here?" I repeat, bringing my knees up and folding my arms around them. I still don't turn to look at him.

He walks slowly around the couch until he can look me in the eye. I catch sight of the flowers and narrow my eyes. He has come to make amends, hasn't he? He wants another chance, like all the others. I can't help the scowl that spreads across my face, and I glare at him with all the ice I can muster.

He flinches and swallows. "Look, Lil…Lilly. That night…I was mad. I wasn't thinking straight, really. It's just—it was the third time you'd missed our dinner, and I felt neglected, that's all. I was stupid that night, and I regret it every day. Can you…will you give us another chance?"

No. Hell no. He walked out on me. He doesn't deserve a second chance. None of my ex-boyfriends ever do.

But I don't say it. Even though every instinct is demanding that I leap up and whack him across the face, I don't. There's that one part of me that desperately wants to take him back, the part that just wants to be loved, no matter what. No matter if I deserve more. Better. There's that part that thinks, You aren't getting a man any better, Rush, so you'd better chin up and keep what you got.

He clears his throat nervously and thrusts the flowers at me in a sudden movement. "Flowers," he says unnecessarily. "They're for you."

Slowly, I take them without smiling, breathing in the scent of lilies. How poetic. Lilies also happen to be one of my least favorite flowers, but no one ever asks. They just assume that I must like flowers I'm named after, and I don't bother to correct them. Why should I? Do they even care?

I sigh. "Thank you."

His face lightens, and he tries a smile. I realize belatedly that by taking the flowers and by thanking him, I've encouraged him. Damn it.

"Does that mean…?" he ventures, stepping in closer.

I rise off the couch and step back away from him, flowers held between us almost like a shield. "I don't think that's a good idea, Trevor."

He pauses, frowning. "Why not?"

"Why not?" I echo, surprised. "Don't you remember why you left me in the first place?"

He winces. "Of course I do."

"Then what's changed?"

He sighs heavily and sits down beside me. Almost subconsciously, I shift away from him, toward the other end of the couch. I stop, though, when I realize that I'm inching toward the spot where Scotty held me in his arms not even an hour ago. I remember how it felt and shiver, half in desire and half in sudden loneliness. I look at Trevor and resist the intense urge to have him hold me, to be loved. But I don't move. Because if there's one thing I've learned in the past three weeks, it's that Scotty's touch is different. Deeper, somehow. Something I've never felt before. So I sit still and wait.

"I told you," he says at last, looking at his hands. "I was mad. I was stupid. I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry."

"You didn't mean that a guy has got to be plain stupid to put up with my working hours?" I say harshly, refusing to look at him.

He swallows. "That was wrong of me to say."

"What's to stop you from saying it next time?" I ask. "Next time my job gets in the way of our dates?"

He's silent for a moment. Good, I think angrily. Now just leave. But then he smiles roguishly at me and says, "Maybe I'm that stupid guy."

It's my turn to swallow hard. He's putting himself out there for me. For me. He's brought me flowers, he's apologized, he's asked for a second chance. He's genuinely sincere, and he's admitted his mistakes. He's one of the best men I've ever known.

I open my mouth, intending to cave, but what comes out is completely unexpected.

"My job isn't stupid," I say, my voice sharp. "It's important, and it's the one thing I love in my life. So will you respect it?"

"Of course I'll put up with it," he says, sounding confused.

I shake my head. "Not put up with it. Will you respect it? Will you respect that I do what I have to, that it isn't a burden to me? That it's something I have to do and that nothing will ever change that?"

He frowns. "If you want me to, I will, Lilly. But will you respect our relationship too? Will you consider it something as important as your job? I can't be in this if you don't commit, Lilly. I want to know you're in this."

I hesitate. He doesn't understand. He doesn't understand that when I'm in a relationship, I'm in as far as I can possibly be. He doesn't understand that no matter what, there will always be a part of me that isn't in it, that there will always be a part that values the job before anything else. That I will always value the job above a relationship. It's who I am.

He senses my reluctance, and his eyes harden. "That's the point, Lilly. You have to choose: the job or me. It's that simple."

Except it isn't, and he knows it. It isn't simple at all. It's choosing between something I love, something that has never failed me, and the chance of something more. Can I risk losing the job to gain what I've been missing all my life? Will I risk it?

I sigh heavily, torn. He sees it and stands.

"You can't choose," he guesses, disappointment clear in his tone, "which means the job will always be more important than I am."

He's leaving? Just like that? Desperation swamps me, desperation at the prospect of being left. Again. I want suddenly to promise him that I'll put him first, to swear that the job won't interfere anymore. But I can't get the words out, so I blurt instead, "Wait!"

He stops at the edge of the couch, his back to me. I plead quickly, "Give me some time. Just time to think."

He doesn't speak for a long moment, and for that moment, I hold my breath. Hoping he'll give me time. Praying this won't be another time a man turns his back on me.

Finally, he says, "Fine, Lilly. Some time."

He opens the door and leaves, shutting the door behind him with almost the same finality Scotty did. I wonder how the hell he came here to beg me to take him back and ended up making me almost beg him. When have I become so desperate for company?

I sigh heavily and bury my head into the pillows, my headache suddenly returning twofold. I want to get up to hunt down some aspirin, but I don't have the energy anymore. Instead, I just pull up the covers and close my eyes, like all my problems will disappear if only I can't see them.

I'm back at work on Monday. It's difficult enough to get into a car, let alone drive it, so I take a cab to the precinct. Usually, I'd call Scotty for a ride, but since the incident on Friday, I'm hesitant to call him. Is he still angry at me? Will things be unbearably awkward? I hope not. How else are we supposed to function as partners?

I take the elevator up the bullpen and limp out on my crutch, already in a pretty crappy mood. I haven't had a chance to take a good look at the case files, and my head aches like hell. The aspirin doesn't seem to be helping, and my leg itches. Badly. I try to ignore it all as I stick my gun in my locker and make my way into the bullpen.

"Look who's back!" Kat calls, raising an eyebrow as she spots me. "You look like hell, Lil."

"Feel like it too," I grumble, limping to my desk. I slap the case files down on my desk and can't help but glance over to the desk across from mine. "Where's Scotty?"

Kat shrugs. "Not here yet. And Vera's piggin' out in the break room, in case you wanted to know."

I smile. Well. Things haven't changed at all. Not that I'd expected them to, but it's nice to have some normalcy. That's what the job's for.

"So," I say, easing into my chair, "what's up with the case?"

Kat sighs. "Bunch of dead ends, that's what. Jefferies went out early to talk to some family, but we ain't too hopeful. It's one of those cases that make you frustrated as hell."

Great. Just the perfect case to come back on. As if I can handle any more stress in my life right now. With a long sigh, I flip open the first file and try to concentrate.

I'm halfway through the third page of the report when Scotty drops his coat onto his chair and sits down heavily across from me. I glance up at him furtively, trying to gauge his mood, and am surprised to find a smile on his face.

"Hey, Lil," he says cheerfully. "How you feelin'?"

"Better," I say in confusion. I expected him to at least give me the cold shoulder, not pretend as if nothing happened. I lean back in my chair and say slowly, "What's up?"

He shrugs. "Nothin'. Hell of a case though, huh?"

I shake my head. "I don't know. Haven't had time to read through it." Or the energy.

He nods understandingly. "Yeah, it's okay. Vera and I have it covered. Take your time."

What the hell is going on? Scotty's never this nice, even to me. Especially if he's angry at someone. I stare at him in confusion.

He catches my expression and laughs. "What?"

"What's up with you?" I ask, forcing a smile. "You're acting all smiley today."

He shrugs nonchalantly. "Had a good weekend, that's all."

Good weekend. Which, knowing him, means he found a girl and made the most of it. I'm shocked at the instant, intense rush of jealousy that swamps me. God, why do I feel so hurt?

"Oh," I say stiffly, looking back down at the file. "Good for you, Valens."

He doesn't miss the sharp edge to my tone; he's a detective, after all. "You okay, Lil?" he asks, brow furrowing as he studies me.

"Yeah," I say, waving my hand dismissively at him. "I'm fine." He looks unconvinced, so I sigh and add, "It's just a headache, that's all."

He frowns and says, "You take medicine yet?"

I smile wryly. "Yeah, this morning. Thanks, Nurse Valens."

He smiles too and reaches for the files on his desk. "Who else is gonna look after you, huh?" And then his smile fades abruptly, his eyes hardening, and he says, "Oh, right. Trevor."

I have never seen anyone's mood take a one-eighty so quickly. I stare at him for a moment before saying slowly, "Trevor and I aren't back together."

He snorts and doesn't look at me. Staring resolutely at the file in front of him, he says, "You don't have to lie to me, Lil. I'm your partner, not your dad or somethin'. I don't care who you're seein'."

But something in his voice tells me he does. He does care. He isn't good at hiding what he feels—since when has anyone ever been fooled by Scotty's act?—but sometimes he can be a little hard to read. I can't tell exactly what it is in his voice, but I can tell he's lying.

Why?

I shake my head with a sigh. "I'm telling the truth, Scotty. I'm not seeing him."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, and I wonder what the hell that's for. And then he clears it up by saying, "All right. I get that you don't trust me enough to tell me the truth, Lil. I get it."

And he drops his eyes to the files, his expression stony.

I pretty much want to pull out my gun and shoot him. I lie to him all the time—something I'm not proud to admit—and he swallows it, usually. And this one time I tell him the truth, he doesn't believe me? Unbelievable. Unbelievable.

I'm not in the mood to argue with him anymore, so I focus on the file on my desk. For a long moment, I study the photo of the victim, a fourteen-year-old girl with flowing brown locks and a smile that looks like it could light up the whole room. Her face is so full of life that it makes me ache. It's these cases that I hate the most, the cases of victims who were truly innocent, victims who don't deserve the injustice done against them. It's these cases that push me the hardest, hit me the hardest. It's a terrible case for me to come back to.

I skip over the murder photos and jump straight to the autopsy report. I read about how Lorraine was stabbed six times, about how she died a slow, agonizing death in her kitchen, alone and most likely terrified. It makes me shudder to think of it. Dying painfully is bad enough, but dying alone is the worst thing I can imagine. I know because I've almost gone through it, that night in the office facing off Ed Martenson, hearing his harsh voice in my ears, watching him curl his finger around that trigger…

I shake the thoughts away, swallowing hard. Focus, Rush.

I spend the rest of the morning catching up on the case. Some time before noon, Kat and Vera cut out to find a suspect, and Jefferies brings some pizza for those of us still at the precinct. I help myself to some pieces and when Scotty and Jefferies aren't looking, I pop some aspirin, knowing if either of them catch me showing any sign of fatigue, they'll be sending me straight home. Orders from Boss, apparently. I smile through my headache and keep looking over the details of the case.

A commotion pulls my attention away from the files. Kat and Vera march into the bullpen, leading a tall, angry man in handcuffs. He snarls curses left and right and tries to lash out at Vera, who catches him by the shoulder and slams him against the wall.

Scotty and Jefferies leap up to help restrain the guy, and I turn in my chair, feeling helpless as I reach awkwardly for my crutches. By the time I maneuver myself to my feet, Scotty and Vera are already dragging the man toward the interview rooms. Breathing hard, Kat makes her way over to me, her expression dark.

"Who's that?" I ask, leaning on my crutches.

"Casey Thomas," she answers sourly. "Witness saw him sellin' crack on the same corner Lorraine was seen on the day she died. Nabbed him on the same corner just now."

"Foul temper," I remark, watching Scotty and Vera wrestle him down the hallway.

Kat snorts. "Understatement of the century. You're lucky you didn't have to spend thirty minutes cooped up in a car with him."

She sits back down at her desk, still clearly in a bad mood, and I sit too, since I can't do anything else. I pick up my pen and read over some details for the umpteenth time, making some notes in the margins of the pages. Casey Thomas…He didn't come up in the original investigation, and drugs never came up before. I wonder what the connection is.

"Lil!"

I glance up to find Boss striding over, followed by Scotty and Jefferies. Boss looks grim, Scotty stony again, and Jefferies worried. Awkwardly, I stand with the crutches and send them a questioning look.

"Thomas is asking for you," Boss explains with a sigh, his voice bleak. "I think he's the killer, but he won't talk to anyone but you."

"Why?" I ask, confused.

Boss shakes his head. "I don't know. He just said he wanted you only."

I know it would be stupid for me to go in and face a hostile suspect with crutches and probably no chance at self defense. I know no one would blame me if I refused to go. But I don't refuse. I'm Lilly Rush. I'm stronger than this, stronger than a broken leg and a pounding headache. I can deal with it.

So I nod calmly and say, "Which room is he in?"

"Wait!" Scotty breaks in incredulously, holding up a hand. "You ain't lettin' her in there, Boss? That's crazy!"

Boss sighs and nods. "I agree with you, Scotty. But there's a chance we're letting a killer slip if we don't let Lil go in."

"You ain't considerin' it?" Scotty demands, his expression thunderstruck. "You ain't really gonna put her in danger like that? She's got a broken leg, for God's sake!"

"What if he lawyers up and gets away with it?" I retort, my own temper rising. "What if I can get a confession out of him?"

"And I can't?" Scotty snaps back, his eyes flashing. "Give me ten minutes, Boss, and I'll beat a confession outta him."

"But that's not how we do it," Boss says sternly.

Scotty opens his mouth angrily, and I see the words in his eyes. Screw the rules, he's going to say, followed by some probably un-cop-like conduct. All because of me, because he thinks I can't handle myself.

"I'll be fine," I say, annoyed, picking up the files with my free hand. "I'm not completely defenseless. Which room, Boss?"

Scotty snatches the files from my hands. "There's no way Lil's goin' in there. No way."

"I gotta agree with Scotty on this one," Jefferies says slowly. "Lil is in no condition to face-off with some jackass with a mouth too big for his own good. She just got back."

They're looking out for me. I know it. I even appreciate it, on some level. But most of me hates being looked after like a damsel in distress, like I'm incapable of taking care of myself and making my own decisions.

"Let me in there," I snap, clenching my crutches tightly. "If this is Lorraine's killer, I don't care if it's dangerous."

Boss nods reluctantly. "I don't like it, but we'll do the best we can to keep you safe while you're in there."

"Boss!" Scotty exclaims in disbelief and outrage. "You can't just put Lil in danger like that! She ain't even capable of walkin' without crutches, and you want to stick her in a room with a suspected killer?"

"I'm going," I say coldly, glaring at him. He meets my eyes, matching my glower, and for a long moment, we just stare at each other tensely, waiting for the other to break. His eyes are full of the familiar fury, but it's laced with some unfamiliar emotion too. I don't try to figure him out, just focus instead on staring him down. I know I've got a pretty good icy glare, so I'm not surprised when Scotty eventually drops his eyes. But his expression doesn't lose any of its anger.

"Fine," he snarls through clenched teeth. "But I wanna be in there with her."

I open my mouth to protest, but Boss says, "That's just what I was going to suggest. Good."

I don't protest because one, I know that it makes perfect sense for someone to be in the room with me, and two, because oddly enough (or maybe not so oddly), I feel comforted having Scotty with me. I don't trust anyone else nearly as much as I trust my own partner, so if anyone's got to be in there with me, it'd better be him.

Silently, on edge, we walk together to the interview rooms. Boss stops outside Interview B and nods at the door. He and Jefferies slip into Observation, and I take a breath before throwing open the door, Scotty on my heels.

"Casey Thomas," I say as I enter, taking on the detective tone. "Convicted of drug possession and assault." I've done some light reading of his file, and he certainly looks like a guy capable of stabbing a girl to death. He's got muscular forearms, a menacing face, and eyes that look that they'd be perfectly fine with committing murder. He's the kind of guy I peg as a killer, and my gut says he's the one.

He looks up as I enter, and his eyes darken even as he smiles widely. It's all teeth, with a threatening edge to it that makes me want to automatically reach for my gun.

"Lilly Rush," he drawls, leaning back in his chair. "Detective of the Philly PD, Homicide. Cold cases, right?"

I meet his gaze evenly, keeping my face impassive. "And how do you know all that, Casey?"

His smile widens. "2005. You arrested my cousin for the murder of his boss."

"Well, maybe it runs in the family," I say, smiling coldly as I pull back the chair across from him. I glance at Scotty, and he hands me the files, which I flip open on the table. "Lorraine Jackson, age fourteen. You remember her?"

He looks at the photo and shrugs. "Never seen her before. And I ain't interested in it either. It's you I want to talk about."

I smile coldly. "Well, this is a homicide investigation, not a tête-à-tête. I ask the questions. You get the easy part, Casey. You just tell me what I want to know. Did you kill Lorraine Jackson?"

He doesn't look down at the photo again. Instead, he just leans back in his chair and gazes at me, with a sardonic grin spread wide across his face.

"You know I did my research on you, Detective?" he asks conversationally. "After you arrested Kelvin, I did my research. Quite an impressive career you got. Pretty cool how you catch murderers."

"Like you?" I ask, picking up the photo of Lorraine. "Should I add you to the list, Casey?"

He laughs. "I didn't kill the girl. You got nothing on me there. But I do want a little talk with you, Detective. Didn't think I'd ever get it, but the world sure works in strange ways. Here I am, sitting across from you. Isn't that funny?"

I'm getting nowhere. I'm not so doped up on aspirin and pain medication that I can't tell that. This guy's one of the guys you have to listen to first, get him talking. Then, when he least expects it, I can seize the conversation and turn it in the direction I want. So I lay the photo of the dead girl down and look at him.

"So what do you want to talk about?" I ask evenly.

"You do know Kelvin's innocent, right?"

"I know I don't make arrests without confessions," I reply calmly. "Which means Kelvin must have confessed."

"He's stupid. He doesn't know what he's saying."

"Sounded pretty sure to me," I say, pretending I remember which case he's talking about. "Didn't take much convincing either."

He smiles sardonically. "That what you're gonna do to me too, Detective? Convince me?"

"If you got something to confess," I answer. "Do you?"

He shakes his head, never breaking eye contact. "I've never seen that girl before in my life." Before I can answer, he leans forward quickly, propping his elbows on the table. "You know, you're a pretty woman, Detective."

Behind me, I hear Scotty's jaw pop almost inaudibly. Refusing to be intimidated, I lean forward too, staring him straight in the eyes. "You're looking pretty good too," I say, raising an eyebrow. When he opens his mouth to reply, a smug look in his eyes, I lean back and add frostily, "Pretty good for murder."

His smile loses some of its pretended friendliness. "I told you already, Detective, I didn't kill the girl."

"You're gonna have to give me something better than that," I say, unconvinced. "Like, say, an alibi?"

His eyes narrow. He seems to be starting to get that no matter what he says to me, I'll lead him back to the murder until he answers my questions. Good. We're getting somewhere.

"I don't even know what the hell happened," he growls. "How the hell am I supposed to come up with an alibi?"

"Let me help you," I say, scanning one of the papers of the file. "Where were you on October 10, 2007?"

"Yeah, 'cause I can just remember that day on the top of my head," he says caustically. "I have no fucking idea."

Starting to get hostile, is he? Good, I'm getting to him.

"Witness puts you on the corner of Wilma and Gates that morning," I tell him, flipping a photo of the street corner around so he can see it. "That's two blocks away from where the girl was killed. She was on that street corner too, the day she died. You remember that?"

He shrugs. "Never been there."

"It isn't good to lie to me," I say evenly, meeting his eyes. "If you didn't hear me the first time, we have witnesses. So let's try that again. You remember selling drugs on this street corner?"

"No, I don't fucking remember, Detective," he sneers. "This how you caught Kelvin too? Accusing the wrong people?"

I stare at him, unruffled. "Trial and error, Casey. Now you'd better remember, and soon, or else you're gonna sit here until you do remember. I got all day."

"I never been there!" he snaps, anger flaring in his eyes.

"Really." I slide a police report across to him. "'Cause you were arrested there in 2003 for possession, and records say you used a pay phone on that street the day Lorraine was murdered. I told you not to lie to me, Casey."

He glares mutinously at me. "So? What are you gonna do about it?"

"I'm gonna convince you," I say easily, holding up Lorraine's photo again. "Now let's start again. What happened that day, Casey?"

Damn, she's good. I've been Lil's partner for years, and I never get over how amazin' she is in the interview room. She's got natural talent for weaselin' out answers from people, gettin' to their weaknesses. Like I said before, she's a crap liar in real life, but as a detective sittin' across from a suspect, she's a damn chameleon. I've seen her get all soft and sympathetic, comforting but firm, and angry and in-your-face. She can be anythin' she wants to be in the interview rooms, and she's incredible at it. Even with a broken leg and what looks like a pretty bad headache, she's the best.

I listen in admiration as she leads Casey Thomas back to the case, even after he tries to set her off by talkin' about his cousin. She doesn't get flustered when he gets angry, and she doesn't even bat an eye when he calls her pretty. Seein' a man like him givin' Lil a once-over gets me worked up, though. I clench my jaw hard, hard enough to make it pop. But Lil doesn't get thrown off, 'course not. She just rolls with it, somehow pullin' it back to the case.

Standin' close behind her chair, I watch Casey Thomas closely. He's got some strength in that body and a temper too. I watch anxiously as Lil riles him up, wonderin' how much it'll take for him to break, how far Lil can push him 'til he snaps. Afraid Lil will get hurt if she pushes too far.

I'm watchin' very closely, but when it happens, I almost miss it. One moment Casey Thomas is fumin' in his seat, lookin' tense but not too threatenin', and the next, he's lungin' across the table. I see Lil reach reflexively for her gun, but it's in the lockers. Of course it's in the lockers, mine too. Damn it, damn it, damn it. I reach out automatically and grab for Lil, wantin' both to pull her away and shield her from the suspect. She's faster than both of us, though, and she ducks as Casey lunges. He slides across the table empty-handed, and she staggers to her feet, stumblin' a little with her cast. I reach for her, her name on my lips, but she ain't panicked at all. She's damn calm for a person who's under attack and is practically cripple. When Casey Thomas leaps for her again, I manage to grab his arm and yank him back, away from Lil. He turns in fury, his fist swingin', but misses. I hear the door of Observation slam open as Boss, Jefferies, and Vera rush to the rescue.

But it turns out, as usual, that Lil ain't in need of rescuin' at all. When Casey whips around toward her again, she whacks him across the face with her crutch. Her crutch, of all things. The metal makes a resoundin' crack as it hits the side of his head, and he crumples instantly, his eyes rollin' back in his head. As he lies there in a heap on the ground, we all just stare in silence for a long moment, our brains strugglin' to catch up and process what just happened. My eyes flick automatically over to Lil, lookin' her up and down to make sure she's unhurt. She's breathin' hard, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed with adrenaline, but she seems fine. Boss and the others stand crowded in the doorway, eyes shootin' from Lil to Thomas back to Lil.

And then Lil reaches for her handcuffs at her hip, and we all unfreeze together. Boss and Jefferies haul Thomas up from the ground and take the handcuffs from Lil, slappin' them on Thomas's wrists. I go straight to her, my heart still poundin' a little, and look her up and down.

"You okay, Lil?" I ask, my voice sharp. I'm angry, at Casey Thomas for darin' to attack my partner, and at Lil for puttin' herself in danger in the first place. But mostly I'm angry at myself, angry that I couldn't protect her. Angry that she had to go protect herself.

She nods. "I'm fine. He didn't touch me."

Lookin' back at Thomas, I clench my fist. "Sorry, Lil." It comes out a mutter through gritted teeth.

I can feel her surprise. "For what?"

"I couldn't…get to him fast enough. He shoulda never gotten that far in the first place." Damn it, why is Lil always takin' care of stuff herself? Why can't I be the one to take care of her for once, so she learns she ain't gotta do everythin' by herself?

She laughs shortly. "Isn't your fault, Scotty. I'm okay, anyway. It's over."

No, it ain't okay. Boss looks over at me, catches my eyes, and nods once. He knows exactly what I'm feelin'; I imagine he feels a little bit of it himself, for lettin' Lil get this close so soon after she came back. We exchange a tight nod, and I move to help Lil with her crutches. She shakes off my helpin' hand, so I just trail behind her as she leaves Interview B. Slowly, she makes her way back to the bullpen, grimacin' a little. She turns her head away, but I notice anyway.

"You okay?" I ask her, instantly concerned.

She hesitates for a moment, and knowin' her, she's decidin' whether to feed me a lie or go with the truth—a half-truth anyway. After a moment, she answers, "Yeah, I'm fine. A little headache, that's all."

Well, she's tellin' the truth about the headache, I can tell. "You took aspirin?" I ask. "You want me to run and get somethin'?

She shakes her head tiredly. "I'm fine. I already took some medicine earlier."

I want to ask her when and how many she took and if she's gotten enough sleep, but I hold myself back. Why do I care so much anyway? I ain't Lil's father, or brother, or boyfriend. I'm her partner. It ain't my job to be worried about her like this.

I sigh inaudibly, makin' sure she doesn't hear me. The weekend had been great. I went out, got drunk, found a pretty girl to warm my bed, and forgot all about excuses and Lil. I forgot I had feelings for her, and I came to work this mornin' swearin' to myself I'd keep forgettin'. But it's a hell of a lot harder than I thought it'd be. One look at her and my defenses are already crackin', and rememberin' Trevor makes me jealous as hell. This whole gettin' over Lil thing ain't goin' so well.

Relax, Valens. It's only been two days.

Two days. Right. I ain't expectin' to get over her in two days. It'll take weeks. Months. And at the end of it all, I'll be free of Lil, free to watch her date any soul on earth without gettin' all twisted up with jealousy.

I hope.

We get back to the desks, where Miller raises an eyebrow questioningly. I shake my head, and she frowns; the scowl on my face must be enough to show her how badly it went. She looks at Lil, then back at me, and I nod. She gives me a look that says Lil okay? and I nod again. When has Lil not been okay?

We sit back down at our desks, and Lil groans. I look at her, resist the urge to ask what's wrong, and instead just send her a questioning glance.

"Forgot my files in the interview room," she explains, startin' up from her chair again.

"I got it," I say, risin' up much more quickly than she does. Before she can protest, I'm already headin' back toward the interview rooms, way ahead of her. Boss and Vera are havin' a go at Casey Thomas usin' Lil's files, so I duck into Observation and borrow Jefferies' files instead. Folders in hand, I head back to the bullpen.

And stop short when I spot a familiar redhead standin' next to Lil's desk, and my heart skips a beat.

She ain't here for anythin', I think to myself. She's here on business.

But somehow I know she ain't. Slowly, apprehensively, I approach the two of them, gettin' close enough to hear what they're talkin' about.

"Have you seen Scotty?" Alex asks almost pleasantly—or as pleasantly as she can get—, her back to me. "We're supposed to go for lunch."

Lil stiffens. She looks shocked and almost hurt for a half-second before the Ice Queen mask slips on, and she says evenly, "He went to get some files. He'll be back in a second."

Damn it. I want to move on from Lil, yes, but I sure as hell don't want my girl prancin' around in front of Lil like I'm tryin' to rub it in her face. I remember what Lil said that night over three weeks ago about bein' jealous about Alex and wince; here I am, steppin' out with her again, throwin' it in Lil's face. I know she'll be hurt by this, and I curse Alex for comin' in like this.

I hurry up behind Alex. "Hey, what're you doin' here?"

"Waiting to take you to lunch," she says, turnin' with a sly smile. "You ready?"

"Can I talk to you?" I say tersely, pullin' her to the side, away from Lil. When I'm sure Lil's outta earshot, I demand lowly, "What the hell, Alex? What part of a secret relationship do you not understand?"

She looks surprised. "Valens, you told me yesterday that you were fine with us being an open and known couple. You suggested it."

I did? God, I must've been drunk outta my mind. What was I thinkin'?

And then I remember I'm supposed to be gettin' over Lil. I ain't supposed to be carin' about what she thinks. It's my love life. It ain't anythin' she's supposed to be carin' about either.

So I force a smile and turn around again. Slidin' the files onto Lil's desk, I tell her, "Here, borrow Jefferies' files. They're usin' yours in the interview rooms. I'm gonna cut out early today, okay?"

She locks eyes with mine, and for an instant there, I see behind the walls, straight to her core. She ain't unaffected by this. She ain't all friendly and indifferent to it. She's hurt. She's jealous. She's angry.

And I feel like the biggest bastard in the world for makin' her feel that way. Part of me wants to scream at her. Part of me wants to demand why the hell she started up with Trevor again if she gets so jealous. Part of me wants to know why the hell we ain't together if we're both gettin' jealous and hurt over other people.

And then her eyes shutter again, and the emotion's gone. I can't read her anymore. The message is clear: she's sayin' it won't work between us. We're partners, nothin' more. No amount of excuses will ever change that. It's better for us to forget these feelings, move on. So I turn back to Alex and smile.

"Your ready?"

She smiles back, that wry smile with its mockin' undertone. "Been ready."

Together we walk outta the bullpen into the Philadelphia sun. I can feel Lil's eyes on me the whole way.

Happy ending coming...some time. Don't worry!