Disclaimer: I don't own CSI:NY.
Series: None.
Spoilers: Live or Let Die.

Chapter Twenty One – Live or Let Die

It was safe to say Aiden was pissed off.

Jess had been expecting a confrontation at some point, but she was expecting to get at least one cup of coffee in beforehand.

When she left her apartment to find Aiden leaning against her car, she knew it would come sooner rather than later.

"Hey." She greeted breezily.

"She's dead." Aiden stated bluntly. "Lillian Stanwick is dead because DJ Pratt killed her. I could have …"

"Nothing has happened this time that didn't last time." Jess whispered. "There was no evidence to put him away, which is why you came so close to tampering with evidence and how you got yourself fired."

"But …" Aiden began.

"You were right." Jess said quietly. "COD wasn't exhaustion or frustration. It was blunt force trauma. I don't know Lillian Stanwick; I do know you. So please, for the love of God, try not to do anything stupid."

Aiden seemed to shrink. "I thought so." She murmured. "When … How?"

Jess shook her head. "I'm saying nothing. Just stay away from him and you'll be fine."

"Jess …" Aiden began.

"I mean it." Jess cut her off.

"No." Aiden shook her head. "Over there. That Mercedes."

Jess glanced over her shoulder to see two men loading what looked like an ice-box into the trunk. That in itself wasn't that strange, but the furtive looks they were casting around definitely struck her as suspicious.

"It wasn't the blood; it was the organs. Haven't tossed my cookies like that since I found a stolen frozen liver in the trunk of a car."

Don's voice floated into her head, explaining – though he didn't have to – his violent reaction to the scene that had met them at Marty Pino's apartment.

Better remember that. She noted. She'd never met Marty the first time round and was finding it difficult to reconcile the cheerful young ME she'd met once or twice with the disgusting story Don had brought home.

Jess frowned, pulling her cellphone out. She made sure one of the men was looking her way and pushed her jacket aside so they could see her shield, holding up her phone as though she was checking a photo against their faces.

True to her guesses, he dropped his end of the cooler and ran for it.

"Got him." Aiden took off. "NYPD, freeze!"

"Is there a problem, Detective?" The second man asked calmly.

"You tell me." Jess suggested. "You know why your friend bolted as soon as he saw I was a cop?"

"Maybe he's got an outstanding parking ticket."

"You planning on a picnic?" Jess asked, nodding to the cooler. "Bit cold, isn't it?"

"That against the law now, Detective?"

Jess smiled. "Of course not. I'm just trying to make conversation. You see, when my partner catches your friend, and she will, I'm gonna have to sit in interrogation for hours trying to work out why he ran, which means a lot of paperwork. I was hoping you could clear that matter up for me."

"No idea. Sorry."

Jess's phone beeped and she glanced down at it. "Just a second, sir." She said, putting out a hand to stop him from closing the trunk. "I'm afraid I need to ask you to open that cooler."

"This is harassment!"

"No, this is an APB on this Mercedes in connection with an ongoing case." Jess corrected. "Open the cooler please."

He held her gaze for a moment, then took off running.

It was a short chase. Jess had known the moment she asked that he was going to run and she was obviously in a much better shape that he was.

Within a few minutes, he was in cuffs, sitting in the back of her car, still ranting about harassment.

Jess returned to the Mercedes, just as Aiden returned with his friend, also in cuffs.

"Has the phrase 'NYPD freeze' ever worked?" She asked.

"Not that I've seen." Jess slipped a pair of gloves on and lifted the lid of the ice-box. "Hello!"

"Looks like we found the missing liver." Aiden commented. "I'll call Danny."

"You were right."

When Don arrived at her apartment that evening, Jess had every intention of asking him if he knew what Aiden was doing that evening and making sure that her hunch that Danny would take care of her was correct.

But the look in his eyes was enough to stop her cold.

"What about?" Jess asked quietly.

Don took a deep breath. "Dean Truby is no longer a detective with the NYPD."

Jess had been expecting that sooner or later, but that didn't mean she wasn't surprised. "What happened?"

"Just what you said." Don answered flatly. "Glocks on the kitchen table, African-American male, 5'9. When Truby, Greenburg and Marks came out with the drugs, I asked him how much he had. He muttered something about being screwed anyway and said 53kg, all in the same place."

"They swore they'd only found 50?" Jess asked.

Don nodded. "There's a little known protocol that says we have to listen to dealers and pat down the officers on scene." He shook his head. "No one follows it, because …"

"But you did?" Jess guessed.

"Looks on their faces …" Don sighed. "There was an awkward few seconds; I'd gotten the two officers who'd been in the kitchen with me to take the perp down to the squad car. I pointed out to them that his confession was down in my memo book now, so I had to follow protocol …"

"Flack, it's us." Greenburg frowned. "You know we wouldn't …"

Don laughed. "Well, yeah, Dan, of course I do. I just don't want the captain on my ass when he reads this, 'cause you know he will."

"He's right." Marks pointed out. "Come on, it's a quick pat down; no one else is gonna know and it covers our asses when captain reads that confession."

Greenburg sighed. "I still don't like it." He muttered. "But I suppose quiet in here is better than IA dragging us through the mud. Alright, go ahead."

Flack smirked. "You wanna assume the position or what?"

"Don't push it." Greenburg warned with a hint of a smile. "Actually, this is kinda funny."

"I know." Marks put a hand on Truby's shoulder and squeezed lightly before searching him. "Don't look so tense, Dean; it'll all be over in …"

"What's up, Rob?" Don asked, straightening up. "Alright, you're clean, but don't let me catch you hanging around here anymore."

"Yes, officer." Greenburg joked, with mock-fear in his voice.

"Rob?" Don asked again, when he got no response.

"Flack …" Marks said quietly. "In his pocket."

The smile on Don's face faded as he stared at the 3kg pack of cocaine in his colleague's hand.

"I never thought you'd lie to me." Don whispered. "But I still didn't want to believe it."

"Better now than after a dead teenager in six months time, Don." Jess said quietly. "I know that doesn't help."

"Not really, no." Don sighed.

"Anything I can do?" Jess asked.

"Yeah." Don whispered, so quietly that she wasn't entirely sure she heard him. His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her close, walking back towards the couch at the same time. Her legs collided with the cushion and she sat down heavily, with Don sprawling almost on top of her.

His head rested on her stomach, his body curled up half at her side, half on her lap, and he breathed yet another heavy sighed.

"Yes." He repeated, slightly louder. "Just hold me."

Jess ran her fingers through his hair, massaging lightly as she did. "Anything."

AN: Ideas for Super Men? Review please!