Author's Note: Bloody car crash. Bloody drunk drivers (literally). Oh well, at least I have more time to write now! I won't be back at work until the cast comes off my leg, so I might actually finish this thing while I'm working on further inspiration for my HP fic.

Warnings: Same old, same old.

Disclaimer: Me no own.

By the time they got halfway through the day, Damien felt like he'd strayed into a dream. This was what he had been missing, all this time: this was what he needed, to fill that hole in his heart that had previously refused to heal. It was mending now, though - now that Gerald was back.

All day, the adept had been alternating between a rather frightening intensity of concentration on the case, and a pulse-pounding level of flirtation with Damien. The profiler was seriously wondering when Gerald had gotten this aggressive - or maybe this was what Gerald had always been like, and Damien just hadn't seen it because the Hunter had been incapable of having that kind of relationship. Now, though...

When they were compiling a preliminary profile, the adept was all business. He asked all the right questions, pointed out flaws in the team's logic, and deduced a few possible conclusions that had Rossi clapping him on the back in open admiration. Once they had identified the victim, though - her name was Julia Edwards - Damien, Gerald, and Derek went out to her apartment while the rest of the team starting looking into similar crimes over the last several years and interviewing the dead girl's friends and coworkers. At that point, Gerald appeared to decide that Damien was now fair game.

It started innocently enough. Little accidental touches, their hands just brushing when they reached for the door at the same time. The way Gerald would smile at him, grey eyes sparkling with an unfamiliar teasing warmth. Then it got more serious.

Gerald started standing close enough to Damien that he could feel the heat from the adept's body on his skin. The touches got bolder, Gerald's slender, skilled fingers grazing along his arms and chest: once, the adept seemed to stumble on the uneven cobbles of the apartment's front walkway, and Damien caught him reflexively. He had one glorious instant of holding Gerald in his arms, feeling the man's warmth seeping into him, feeling the subtle musculature of that lithe body - then Gerald was on his feet again with the swift grace of a cat, and smiling at him with a look in his silver eyes that proclaimed he knew exactly what he was doing to Damien. After that incident, Damien had to grind his teeth so hard he was sure Gerald could hear him, just to keep from jumping the golden haired tease.

By the time they left the office the rest of the team were smirking amongst themselves at every turn, clearly aware of the expert seduction being played out in their midst. What really starting driving Damien's blood pressure through the roof, though, was the antics of Derek Morgan. The black man was flirting shamelessly with Gerald, going so far as to drag out his vast store of patented pick-up lines. It was rather amusing, though, to watch Gerald shoot him down over and over again. Morgan was clearly baffled: he'd never run into that level of indifference before, not once. He didn't know how to handle it - so he simply flirted even more determinedly.

Julia Edwards' apartment was fairly standard: small but nicely furnished, tastefully done in shades of yellow and pale blue, with a few personal touches here and there. According to Garcia, the girl had no living relatives, her parents having died of Southern Swamp-pox a few years ago. She worked as a barmaid at a downtown nightclub: her coworkers had seen her leave as usual the night before, but she appeared to never have made it home. After going through her belongings, Damien shook his head.

"There's nothing here that would suggest she was being targeted." he said, picking up a framed miniature portrait from the coffee table. It showed Julia standing with her parents, all of them smiling, perfectly happy and content. "According to her friends she was fairly street-savvy from working in a nightclub, and she took a well-lit path home. A pretty low-risk victim all around. No one seems to know of any enemies she might have had: looks like it might have been simple opportunity."

"Which makes it more likely the killer's working from a physical type." Gerald put in. He'd been scanning the place thoroughly using the fae, trying to pick up on any suspicious traces. Damien felt a chill, remembering: that was how the Hunter had chosen his victims. Pale-skinned young women, dark-haired and beautiful, foolish enough to walk alone after Coreset...

Morgan shot a sideways glance at Gerald. "I guess this unsub's targeting girls with dark hair, then? Personally, I prefer blondes. Of either team."

Because he was watching for it, Damien saw the slight flicker when Gerald started to roll his eyes before catching himself. Before the adept could respond, though, Damien forced himself to speak levelly.

"Keep looking. Just in case. We can't rule anything out yet."

"You're not going to find anything helpful here, she wasn't targeted."

Morgan swore and whipped out his gun: a man had appeared out of thin air just inside the door. Slightly portly, wearing a ridiculous ensemble of vividly purple robes, and lounging nonchalantly against the wall with his arms folded across his chest. Damien sighed.

"Derek, put your gun down. Karril, you really shouldn't do that. I'm used to you, but profilers in general tend to be high-strung."

Morgan gaped. "Wait - you know this character?"

Karril grinned and bowed with a flourish. "Karril, at your service - you can refer to me as God if you like."

"He's an Iezu with a superiority complex." Gerald said acerbically. "What are you doing here, Karril?"

"Mes Edwards was one of my sister's disciples." Karril said with a shrug. "Saris is rather distressed over the matter, so she bullied me into coming and talking to you. Apparently, Mes Edwards was attacked in the alley over on Evergreen Street. Whoever it was had a rather unorthodox method of shielding: they were throwing off such chaotic signals that Saris couldn't sort them out in time before the attacker was out of range. They were either deliberately scrambling their signature somehow, or they were way insane."

Damien sighed again. "Great. We're looking for a lunatic who's killing at random and could strike again at any time. Just wonderful."

They finished their scan and headed back to headquarters. This was usually the point where Damien would begin to brood, worrying over different aspects of the case. This would continue until he became utterly unapproachable, and would remain so until the case was solved. This time, though, Gerald clearly didn't intend to let that happen. He kept up a constant stream of banter and flirting, and in spite of himself Damien felt his spirits lift. After all, nearly every day they had one case or another: this was the first time in five years that he had had Gerald by his side. That had to count for something.

Apparently prompted by a question from Morgan, Gerald had launched into a spirited account of the one time he'd been foolhardy enough to try Working the tidal fae. Damien had to smile.

"You never could just accept the laws of nature, could you, Gerald?"

The adept laughed, silver eyes sparkling as he threw a grin at the ex-priest. "I've always considered them more as guidelines, Vryce. Meant for the unimaginative. I will admit to being many things, but unimaginative is not one of them."

"No, it certainly isn't." Damien said dryly. "That's like saying Karril's polite and circumspect."

Gerald actually burst out laughing. Real, genuine, heartfelt laughter, as warm as the summer sunlight streaming over them. Damien felt a strange twisting sensation in his chest, as though something were tearing apart only to knit itself back together instantly, a wound reopening just to heal stronger than before. He smiled, feeling happiness radiate through him at that rich, musical sound. God, how long he'd wanted to hear Gerald truly laugh, with that honest happiness that the shroud of the Hunter had denied him.

Gerald looked over at him, and their eyes locked for a moment: one corner of the adept's mouth curved up further, and his eyes shone. Damien knew that Gerald had read his thoughts on his face, but he only smiled wider, because he really didn't care if Gerald knew. As much fun as this strange game of teasing flirtation was at the moment, in truth this was far more than a game, and they both knew that.

Derek Morgan, watching, felt a sudden pang as he saw the look the two men shared. It was the kind of look that said louder than words how much they cared. The kind of look that meant they were seeing only each other, that for a few seconds the rest of the world had simply ceased to exist. It shook Morgan, seeing that depth of connection. Then it was gone again, so fast that he wondered if he had seen it at all - but in the back of his mind he knew he had.

Morgan sighed silently. He'd try a few more passes, because that's just how he rolled, but clearly he'd been wrong. Gerald Tarrant wasn't a free agent at all. He was a man on a mission, and the only person he wanted was clearly Damien Vryce.

Ah, well. He'd keep flirting for a while. It was too much fun to give up.

Had anyone heard Morgan's thoughts, even someone as oblivious as Karril, they would have been able to tell him exactly how terrible that idea was. Sadly, the Iezu was absent, so Morgan was just going to have to learn the hard way.