A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating - I got sidetracked with a couple of other projects, but now I'm back into it and looking forward to writing more. Let me know if you have thoughts or questions along the way!

Stan hadn't even seen pictures of Kyle for over a year, and the sight of his face was an unwanted trip back through time. It had always been that way: disarmingly familiar, a relic from Stan's earliest memories of happiness and terror. It wasn't Kyle that had scared him, back then, but what might happen to Kyle if he succumbed to his various illnesses or fell prey to Cartman's schemes. Now Stan was experiencing something akin to terror just from seeing him without warning, and he was afraid to do or say the wrong thing, which brought to mind another kind of Kyle memory altogether.

"You," Stan managed to say while Kyle and his partner stared.

"I'll be damned," Bebe said. "I mean, I guess it makes sense. You do know the neighborhood." She scoffed and stepped forward to whack Kyle on the shoulder. He didn't seem especially receptive to the gesture. "Welcome to the investigation," Bebe said, a bit sharply.

"You're being pulled from it," Mac said. "We need you to help keep the street clear while we survey the crime scene."

"I'll wait to hear that from my actual boss," Bebe said. "Thanks."

"Stan, Bebe, this is my partner, Ryan MacKenzie," Kyle said, and that took the wind out of Stan like a sock to the gut, as if Kyle was introducing his husband. "Mac, these are some of the friends I was telling you about. I'm sure they'll be very helpful."

Stan made an insulted noise without meaning to. Kyle seemed to be avoiding his eyes, his mouth a little pinched.

"Of course we can help," Bebe said. "If you really are going to take over the investigation, you'll need to talk to us. Me and Stan discovered the first vic, and we were on the scene before the coroner took the second one."

"Oh," Kyle said. He met Stan's gaze then, and for a moment he seemed a bit lost. "That's. I'm sure you don't see crime scenes like that often, um. Here in South Park."

"Stevens! Marsh!"

The Chief was heading toward them, and he looked so pissed off that for a moment Stan felt a prehistoric twinge of protectiveness, as if he should step in front of Kyle and shield him.

"Chief Yates," Kyle said, showing no sign of intimidation, which Stan thought was pretty ballsy. Kyle could at least defer to Yates a little, based on their age difference. Instead, Kyle flashed his badge in the Chief's face as he arrived. "I'm Special Agent Broflovski, and this is my partner, Special Agent MacKenzie. We were told there's been some kind of misunderstanding-"

"You're goddamn right there's been a misunderstanding," Yates said. "Nobody in Denver cleared this through me. This is an ambush, and I won't-"

"We've got our paperwork in order," MacKenzie said. He was almost smiling as he presented a dossier to Yates. "We didn't think it would be an issue when our field agents arrived, but if you truly doubt that we've been properly assigned here, feel free to review the Bureau signatures. You can call our boss, if you like?" MacKenzie dug out his cell phone, as if Yates wouldn't have one. Yates threw the dossier back at him, and MacKenzie's small smile quirked. He was a good-looking guy with dark brown hair and a day's worth of stubble, and he appeared to be about Kyle's age. Stan wanted to stomp on his foot. Kyle seemed mildly embarrassed; he was touching his tie.

"Shove your signatures up your ass," Yates said. "This is our investigation, and two murders are hardly grounds for an FBI takeover. We can handle this, and I will be calling your supervisor, kid."

"Feel free," MacKenzie said, offering the phone again. Bebe caught Yates' arm when he moved as if to slap it out of MacKenzie's hand.

"Chief," Bebe said, and her cheeks went red when Yates turned his furious look on her. "It's been a long night. Do you want me to get in touch with the Denver FBI? We can sort this all out, I'm sure."

The Chief and Bebe stepped aside to have a muttered conversation, and MacKenzie pulled Kyle away to do the same. Stan stood between the two factions, staring openly at Kyle. He had stopped fidgeting with his tie and now had his hands crossed over his chest, his head tilted down as he listened to MacKenzie, nodding. When Kyle looked up and saw Stan watching him, his expression took on a pitying quality that made Stan scowl and turn away. He walked over to Bebe and Yates, shaking with a kind of rage that made him feel exposed, as if this was one of his dreams where he showed up to work in his underwear.

"This is exactly how an investigation gets screwed up," Yates was saying, almost spitting with anger. "Bureaucratic crap, and this imaginary idea that some outside organization is going to run a tighter ship, despite the fact that they don't know shit from shinola about what goes on in this town. It's bullshit!"

"I agree," Bebe said. "But Kyle, well. He did grow up here."

"So?" Stan said, and they both turned to him as if they hadn't realized he was there. "That doesn't mean. He doesn't know shit, Bebe. He's been away for a long time."

"Well, sure." Bebe frowned a little and turned back to the Chief. "Do you want me to look into this?" she asked. He shook his head.

"I'll take care of it," he said, muttering. "Back at the station, I'll make some calls. You two stay here and make sure they don't screw anything up."

Stan wasn't sure what could be screwed up, with the body already moved from the crime scene and the surviving members of the Harrison family staying across town at the Holiday Inn, awaiting the arrival of more relatives. He stood beside Bebe as they watched the Chief walking toward his car, barking at guys in black FBI windbreakers to get out of his way.

"This is fucking weird," Bebe said, peeking over her shoulder at Kyle and MacKenzie. "Oh, shit," she said, under her breath. "He's coming over here."

"Kyle?" Stan's heart was already racing.

"Uh-huh."

Stan braced himself and turned, glad to see that MacKenzie was wandering off in the other direction, toward the house. Kyle was pale but seemed healthy, not as underfed as he'd appeared to be throughout high school. The short hair was odd, but Stan could see why he'd styled it that way. Kyle looked professional, serious, and, when his tie blew back over his shoulder, cute. Stan was infuriated, by this and by everything that was suddenly happening, and as Kyle drew closer he gave Stan a look that clearly asked him to calm the fuck down, please.

"Wow," Bebe said. "Your partner is pretty impressed with himself."

"Sorry about that." Kyle grabbed his tie and tucked it back into his jacket. "He's, um. Anyway, I will need your help, and I'm sorry your Chief is taking this so personally-"

"It is personal," Stan said, sharply. "This was Gary's brother. Our friend's brother. This is our town, and-"

"Don't make this a pissing contest," Kyle said, holding up his hands. "Stan, seriously. I thought you, of all people, would-"

"Well, you don't really know me anymore, Kyle, so you can stop making assumptions about what I will or won't do."

"Whoa," Bebe said, laughing a little. "Hey, okay. Stan."

"You could have given us some advance warning," Stan said. "It's pretty fucking weird for you to just show up like this, like a stranger, and then proclaim yourself an expert on the indigenous population of South Park."

"What is wrong with you?" Kyle asked, glowering now. "You've got bags under your eyes. Are you alright?"

"Hey," Bebe said, to Kyle this time. "It's been a long week. This isn't just a job for us, this is our community. You could tell your FBI buddies that showing a little respect might go a long way toward gaining our cooperation."

"They have been respectful," Kyle said. "Okay, Mac was a little snotty toward Yates, and I talked to him about that. But this resistance from your Chief is pointless and immature. People are dead. You don't think we take that seriously? That I don't?" He glanced at Stan, his expression softening a little. Stan huffed and looked away.

"It's been a long week," Bebe said again, more tightly this time. "Just don't think you can show up and pick up where we've left off. People are scared. The Harrison murder just happened yesterday, and there's a lot of fear about what could happen next."

"That's exactly why we're here," Kyle said. "To help. Do people know about the tongues?" he asked, lowering his voice.

"Kenny told us there's been some gossip about that," Bebe said. "But I'm not sure how it got out. We did let Craig and his father read the full police report about Ruby."

"Craig," Kyle said, his hand going to his tie again. "Kenny. Jesus. It has been a while, I know. I'm sorry, ah. I haven't really kept in touch."

"It's fine," Stan said, attempting to sound dismissive. "Do you want us inside? We can tell you what we know so far."

"We can do that elsewhere," Kyle said. "Over coffee, maybe? I haven't had breakfast. I can leave Mac here to keep an eye on things while I interview you guys. If you're free?"

"Stan's free," Bebe said, and Stan cut her a very not-subtle outraged look. "What?" she said. "Chief asked me to stay on site until he gets back."

"He asked both of us to do that," Stan said, tightly. Bebe shrugged.

"He said we should keep an eye on the FBI guys," she said. "If Kyle's going for breakfast, you'd better go along. To keep an eye on him, and he can interview you in the meantime. What?"

"I need to get my bearings," Kyle said. He put his hands on his hips and surveyed the neighborhood, rolling his shoulders back. "It would help if I could get coffee with you, Stan," he said, still looking out toward the mountains. "You guys will be an invaluable resource to our investigation here. Nobody's denying that. With two organizations working together, we can cover more ground."

"You said this was your investigation now," Stan said.

"I'm lead detective," Kyle said. "Specially appointed, and we've been given federal jurisdiction to take over the investigation, yes. FBI trumps local law enforcement."

"I thought you didn't want a pissing contest."

"I don't, that's just protocol! Jesus, why are you being such an asshole?"

"You guys go get coffee," Bebe said, pressing Stan toward Kyle, her hands on the small of his back. "Talk it out. Think of the relatives of the deceased," she said, flicking Stan's shoulder. "Don't let old - whatever - get in the way of all of us working together to find this killer. Kyle's right, Stan. The FBI can help. Don't be like Yates. This is about bringing a murderer to justice, not about anybody's pride."

"Oh, great speech," Stan mumbled, annoyed by her continued attempts to nudge him in Kyle's direction. He turned to give her an apologetic look, because he knew she was right. "I'll go," he said. "You let me know if you need me here."

"Will do."

"Should I drive?" Kyle asked, patting his pockets. "Oh - hang on, Mac's got the keys."

"I'll drive," Stan said. He squared his shoulders and pulled out his own keys. "You guys share a car?" he said, muttering this as Bebe headed up toward the house.

"FBI only wants to pay for one rental," Kyle said. Stan headed for his car, and Kyle fell into step beside him. Looking at the top of Kyle's head, which was so goddamn familiar that Stan's eyes stung a little, Stan wanted to retract every shitbag thing he'd just barked at Kyle, who was only trying to do his job. "You should see the crappy motel they've put us up in," Kyle said. "It's that old Travelodge out by the highway." Kyle looked up at Stan and smiled. "Separate rooms, at least," he said, as if Stan had asked out loud. He had wondered, of course, immediately. It was very annoying that Kyle could still read his mind.

"So you're coming from D.C.?" Stan asked as they approached his car.

"No, no," Kyle said. "I haven't worked out of D.C. in over a year. I'm in Denver now."

"Really. Why?"

"Why not?" Kyle gave Stan a look and walked around to the front passenger side of his squad car. He tried the door, but it was locked.

"Legally, you should ride in the back," Stan said. "You know. Since you're not a cop."

Kyle snorted. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I could get in trouble. Dude, don't take it personally."

"Oh, god," Kyle said, mumbling, but he moved to the backseat.

Stan felt bad about putting him there, behind the steel grille that separated the front seats from the back, especially when Kyle was silent during the drive. Stan kept coming up with and rejecting ice breakers.

"How are your folks?" he finally asked.

"You don't have to shout," Kyle said. "I'm right here."

"I wasn't shouting."

"You - never mind. My parents are fine. They love New York. They want me to move up there, of course."

"Will you?"

"No. I missed Colorado. That's why I came back. Also, because they offered to promote me if I moved to Denver. It's a tough game in D.C., man. I was working myself sick out there."

"So Colorado's good for your health?" Stan felt himself taking this as a kind of compliment, absurdly. Kyle smiled as if he could tell.

"Good for my mental health," Kyle said. "So far, anyway. This is my first high profile case that doesn't involve drugs. Potentially high profile, anyway."

"It might involve drugs," Stan said, then he remembered David Harrison and felt like an asshole. "Probably not, though. Ruby's tox screen was clean, and I'd be really surprised if Gary's brother was into - anything. I mean, I'm sure he wasn't."

"I read the initial profile of David this morning," Kyle said. "Have you, um. Is Gary still living here?"

"No. Craig isn't, either, but he came back for his sister's funeral. Me and Bebe got a drink with him the other night. He was really shaken. For Craig."

"Craig," Kyle said, again pronouncing this name as if he'd just been told that an extinct species prowled the streets of South Park. "What a nightmare for that family. And the Harrisons, my god. Are you still friendly with Gary?"

"I was when he lived here," Stan said. Kyle had always been jealous of his friendship with Gary Harrison, and he appreciated this question a great deal. "But I haven't talked with him much since he moved away. I suppose he'll be back, for. Jesus. The funeral."

"Is Kenny still the local mortician?"

"Yep."

"That's so weirdly fitting," Kyle said. "Though I can't really figure out why."

"Mhm." Stan had always felt that way, too, in both senses. He'd forgotten how easy it was to talk to Kyle, even after yelling at him over nothing. "Sorry," he said as he pulled into the diner's parking lot. "For, like. Going off on you, before."

"You look so tired," Kyle said, leaning toward the grille that separated them. "It must have been horrible, discovering a body. I saw bloody crime scenes back in D.C., and I've seen a few corpses in Denver, but. To be the one who, like. Walked in, who found them. God."

"I'm alright." Stan turned the car off and climbed out, realizing only after a few steps away from the vehicle that he hadn't released the auto locks on the backseat. He turned around and gave Kyle a sheepish grin. Kyle was staring grimly from the locked backseat, trying the door for the third time. "Sorry," Stan said when he'd hurried over to let him out. "Sorry, I don't usually, uh. Go for coffee with the perp."

"Uh-huh," Kyle said. He stared up at Stan after he'd gotten out of the car, looking annoyed. "Why do I feel as though you just whisked me away from my own crime scene in cuffs?"

"Kyle, what the hell? This was your idea."

"I know," Kyle said, walking toward the door. "You just. Never mind, ugh."

Inside, the diner was more crowded than Stan usually saw it. The sun was up now, shaded by heavy cloud cover, and pre-work patrons were sipping coffee and forking eggs. The usual waitress gave Kyle and his tailored suit a long appraisal after handing them the menus.

"Bebe's not on shift?" she said when she poured Stan's coffee.

"She is," Stan said. "Just working on site, um. In the field, at the moment."

"Down at the Harrison house?" The waitress made a mournful sound, bringing the coffee pot to her chest. She still hadn't filled Kyle's mug. "What in the hell is going on around here, Stan?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," he said. He looked at Kyle's empty mug, and she filled it. "Don't worry. We've got help now, too, from Denver."

"It's that serious?" Her eyes went wide as if this news was the furthest thing from a comfort.

"We'll nip it in the bud," Stan said, and he wanted to groan when he heard himself sounding so glib about two violent deaths. "I mean. Don't worry."

"You said that already, but I'm worried as hell. No offense to law enforcement, but I won't sleep well until somebody's caught for this. You boys know what you want?"

Stan ordered pancakes and bacon. Kyle asked for scrambled eggs and toast, then called the waitress back to ask for bacon as well. He put a lot of cream in his coffee, no sugar.

"I read this news story about an implant diabetics can get to regulate their insulin," Stan said. He could feel his face coloring as he spoke, but Kyle was staring down into his milky coffee, stirring it up. "Thought of you," Stan muttered, and he drank too soon from his mug, burning his tongue.

"I read that, too," Kyle said. "I don't think it's for me. Anyway, Stan." Kyle looked up then, and the color of his eyes seemed too brilliant for the florescent-lit diner and its greasy surfaces. Ostentatious, almost. "How are you?" Kyle asked, softly. "How are your kids?"

"They're good. Wayne just turned thirteen." He started to mention the arrest, then stopped himself. "I got divorced," he said instead, staring Kyle straight on to judge his reaction. Kyle nodded and blew into his coffee cup.

"I know," he said.

"How?"

"I, oh. I guess I looked at Lola's Facebook page. Since you don't have one. I do wonder how you're doing, sometimes."

"You and Lola are Facebook friends?"

"No, but she, um. Her public profile shows her relationship status, so. Anyway, are you seeing anybody?" Kyle asked, and now he was the one speaking too loudly, turning red across the cheeks.

"A couple people," Stan said, and he laughed at himself for referring to the Kevins this way, imagining how Kyle would react if he knew who Stan's latest conquests were.

"People?" Kyle said, raising his eyebrows, and Stan's heart dropped into his stomach so fast that he almost threw up right there at the table. He hadn't meant to say it like that. He had forgotten, sort of, somehow, that Kyle didn't know he slept with men. It had always been his default to assume Kyle already knew everything about him. All the important stuff, anyway.

"How about you?" Stan said, and he knew he was showing his hand just by avoiding the question. Kyle's face was frozen into a kind of pre-shock, and he didn't seem to have heard the returned question. "Hmm?" Stan said. "You dating anybody in Denver?"

"No - nobody." Kyle frowned and sat back. He drank from his coffee. "Hmm," he said, judgmentally.

"Don't 'hmmm' me. How about that Mac guy, he in love with you yet?"

"Yet!" Kyle guffawed and thunked his coffee cup down so hard that some nearly sloshed out. "He's straight, for one thing. Yet." Kyle was smiling now, and Stan hoped he was pleased enough with that compliment not to be cruel and ask about Stan's sexual partners or the genders thereof. "A lot's changed," Kyle said. "Around here, it seems."

"Not so much as you'd think. Did you read Ruby's profile, too?" Stan was glad when the food arrived to accompany this subject change.

"I did," Kyle said, nodding slowly. "I would have guessed her a random selection based on her looks, age, the fact that she's a woman living alone, but the second victim is virtually opposite. Married, male, fair-haired. Ruby was a natural red head."

Stan caught himself wanting to reach across the table and place his hand over Kyle's in some kind of weird protective gesture, in defense of imperiled natural red heads. Kyle sighed.

"Poor girl," he said. "Anyway, the only thing they have in common is their age range. Mid to late twenties. That's not much."

"And they both had brothers in our grade," Stan said, realizing this as he spoke. Kyle's interested frown mirrored his own. "Shit," Stan said. "You think that means something?"

"It could." Kyle whipped out his phone and started thumb typing.

"Are you texting MacKenzie?" Stan asked, annoyed. Kyle snorted, still typing.

"No," he said. "I'm making a note to myself. Hey, good thinking, Stan. But what could that mean?"

"Hell if I know. Probably nothing. Seems like a coincidence."

"No, this killer is specifically motivated by something. The tongues tell you that much, and taking the risk of choosing two victims in a very small town, over a short period. This was all planned out - my guess is that our suspect is on a timetable that's probably been years in the making. Wow, okay. Let's think."

Kyle tossed his phone down on the table and began shoveling eggs in his mouth. He looked excited, his eyes lighting up and looking less ostentatious now, alive with questions unasked and unanswered. Stan forked pancakes into his mouth to hide a stupid grin. This wasn't a game, or a charming high school reunion. This was work, the important kind, and it would stay that way until Kyle disappeared back into the city.

"Can't believe you've been in Denver for a year," Stan said, unable to hold it in. Kyle shrugged.

"I thought about calling you when I saw that your marriage was, uh. Breaking up. But I thought I'd be the last person you'd want to hear from."

Stan didn't refute that. Kyle had never supported his decision to get married. He had never forgiven Stan for getting Lola pregnant in the first place, and when he heard that Stan was going to make a go of being a husband as well as a father he put an invisible but powerful force field between them and gave Stan no opportunities to catch more than the occasional distant glimpse of him once it was in place.

"Anyway," Kyle said, pointedly. He drank some more coffee, picked up a piece of bacon and sighed. "I shouldn't eat this," he said, and then he did.

"Who else has younger siblings?" Stan asked. "Of the boys who were in our grade?"

"Well, me," Kyle said. "But hopefully Ike is safe in Switzerland."

"He's - yeah?"

"Yeah, he got a grant, he's a really big deal." Kyle rolled his eyes and ate more bacon. "I'm surprised you haven't come across articles about his research, it's-"

"Oh, god," Stan said, dropping his fork. "Kenny - Karen."

"Call him," Kyle said, and he grabbed his napkin, balling it up in his fist. "I mean. She's probably fine, but. Couldn't hurt."

"Right."

Stan grabbed his phone and dialed Kenny's number. There was no answer, unsurprisingly; Kenny did his work at night, unless he was hosting a funeral at the parlor, and he slept during the day. Karen had just started grad school in Boulder, and she commuted there from South Park, where she still lived with Mrs. McCormick. Their house wasn't far from the apartments were Ruby was killed.

"Kenny," Stan said, when his voicemail picked up. "It's Stan, look. We realized something about the victims of the two murders. Gary and Craig were in the same graduating class in high school - ours. Their younger siblings were both killed. It might be nothing, but I wanted to give you a heads up, because, Karen. I'll head over to her place and give her a courtesy visit, um. Don't worry."

"Should we go?" Kyle asked when Stan hung up.

"Yeah," Stan said, and he waved for the check. "I mean. It's probably fine-"

"Unlikely that two would be killed in a twenty-four hour period," Kyle said. He looked less excited now, more nervous.

"Fuck, except for - the numbers." Stan hopped up, and Kyle did, too. "Sorry," Stan called when he met the waitress' eyes, headed for the door. "I've got an emergency call, put that on my tab."

"Oh, lord," she said, standing behind the counter with the coffee pot. "Not another one?"

"No," Stan said, but he could tell by the expressions of everyone in the diner, all of them suddenly staring at him, that this wasn't convincing.

"What numbers?" Kyle asked when they jogged to the car.

"On their chests," Stan said. "Ruby had three horizontal slashes. Michael had a horizontal slash on his throat and stomach, but the one across his chest was diagonal. Making a kind of number two, maybe, I thought."

"Jesus," Kyle said. "I noticed the difference in the pictures, but I didn't see David's wounds as a two."

"No, hey," Stan said when Kyle went for the backseat. "Fuck that. Sit up front, with me."

Stan put his siren on, and they were silent on the ride to Karen and Carol's house. Stan couldn't have concentrated on even the smallest of talk; he was praying in a kind of mental gibberish, the start of one desperate prayer tripping over the end of the last one. He couldn't remember the last time he'd prayed for anything, unless those fumbling seconds before he heard that Wayne was at the police station and not the hospital counted. He cut the siren when they turned onto Karen's street, and laughed out loud with relief when he saw Carol taking out the garbage, wearing a tank top and a pair of sweatpants with BRONCOS printed on the ass.

"Looks like everything's okay," Stan said, slightly breathless as he parked near the curb. Kyle glanced over at him with that pitying expression again.

"Oh," Kyle said. "You really thought-? But we should check and see if she's home."

"Right," Stan said, and he cut the engine. Carol was scowling at them from the end of the driveway, still holding the bag of trash. She had never liked cops and wasn't easy to deal with.

"What do ya'll want?" she asked when they approached. She was addressing Stan, but turned to frown at Kyle when they got closer. "Oh, hey," she said. "I remember you." She gasped and dropped the trash bag, clapping her hands over her mouth. Stan could seen Kyle flinch; he was probably thinking of the germs. "Shit, no!" Carol said. "Something's happened to Kenny, hasn't it?"

"No, no," Stan said. "We just wanted to check on Karen. Is she home?"

"Check on - well, yeah, she's home, she's gettin' ready to drive to class. What do you want with her?"

"We just need to talk to her," Kyle said, and he flashed his FBI badge. "On official business."

Stan snorted, and Kyle gave him a sideways glance.

"She ain't done nothing wrong!" Carol said. "Why are ya'll harassing us? I'm clean since Stuart moved out, ask anybody!"

"Nobody's in trouble," Kyle explained while Stan went toward the house, still unsettled. Horrible images had been flashing through his mind on the drive over, despite his praying. He knocked on the door and let out his breath when Karen answered right away, frowning.

"Stan?" she said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Stan said, beaming. He wanted to hug her, his fear about Kenny and Kevin crumpling with grief receding. "Hey, okay. You're alright."

"Why shouldn't I be?" She frowned more deeply when Kyle appeared at Stan's shoulder. "What's Kyle doing here? Mom?"

"They say everything's fine," Carol said. She pushed around Stan and into the house, giving him an unwelcoming look when she stood behind Karen. "But they won't tell me just what in the hell they're doing here."

"We're investigating two homicides," Kyle said. Stan noticed that his voice changed, just slightly, when he was in FBI mode. It was a bit flatter, less excitable. "We made the connection just now that the victims both had brothers who graduated with us, in our class. It's a long shot, but the only real connection we've made so far. Well, Stan made the connection," he said, his FBI voice faltering slightly. Stan shrugged.

"We were just brainstorming," Stan said. "Trying to think of anyone else in our grade who had younger siblings. Kenny's name came up, so we wanted to check on you, make sure you're safe. And you might, uh. Take extra precautions until we figure out what's going on with these murders. Who did them, I mean - until we catch the killer."

"Jesus Christ," Karen said, her eyes bugging out. "What am I supposed to do? Why would they want to kill me?" Her eyes fogged up. "Ruby was my friend," she said. "But I haven't spoken to David Harrison in years."

"I could be totally off base with this," Stan said. "But is it possible for you to avoid being alone for the next few days? I don't know if I have enough grounds to get an officer detail assigned as your bodyguard, but-"

"Whoa, what?" Karen scoffed. "You're seriously saying that I should be on the lookout for someone who wants to murder me? What the fuck!" Tears were brimming in her eyes now, and Stan could see her trembling when Carol put her arms around her, shushing her.

"There's no need for alarm at this stage," Kyle said. "Just caution. Particularly since you were friends with one of the victims. I'm, um. I'm very sorry for your loss, by the way."

"What are you doing here?" Karen asked, and she sobbed once before clearing her eyes. "I thought you moved away."

"I did. I'm here with the FBI. We're treating this as a serial killer case."

"Oh my god!" Karen turned into her mother's arms and wept, hiding her face. Carol glared at Kyle, then Stan.

"What the hell do you mean to do, coming here and telling her this? You'll give the girl a nervous breakdown!"

"Maybe Kenny could accompany her to her classes for a few days," Stan said, feeling like an idiot. Carol scoffed.

"Kenny's up to his ass in funerals this week, no thanks to ya'll!"

When they left, Stan felt chastised and winded, and the feeling didn't dissipate when he was back in his squad car with Kyle in the passenger seat. Stan couldn't help but stare. In his early days at the Academy, he'd envisioned Kyle as his ideal partner, though they hadn't spoken in years. Where ideal partners were concerned, visions of Kyle tended to pop up, typically unwelcome and often without logical explanation.

"Well," Kyle said. "That was probably ridiculous. Certainly it wasn't protocol. See, this is what I feared. I'm back in my hometown and already I'm behaving like an overly emotional teenager."

"You mean by listening to my stupid theory," Stan said, and he started the car.

"No," Kyle said. He groaned. "Maybe we shouldn't work together too closely. You get me - worked up, you always have."

"Roger that," Stan said, gripping the wheel with both hands. "I'll be sure to stay out of your way from here on out."

"Oh, stop." Kyle was quiet for a long time, staring out the window, and Stan knew him well enough, even now, to await the forthcoming explosion. "God!" Kyle said, shouting, when he apparently couldn't hold it back any longer. "You know, I've really missed you, in some ways? But I haven't missed these disorienting goddamn mood swings of yours. You're run so hot and cold, it makes me dizzy!"

Stan said nothing, feeling disoriented himself. On one hand, it was electrifying to be able to talk frankly with Kyle again, and Stan was so thankful that Kyle wasn't closed off like he had been last time they met. On the other hand, he thought it was pretty goddamn ironic and so typical of Kyle to accuse him of being hot and cold after sitting in icy silence until he couldn't stop himself from exploding with anger.

"Maybe you're right," Stan said. "About working together. I don't want to complicate things or get in the way. You drive me up the damn wall, too."

Kyle scoffed and turned back to the window. When they parked at the crime scene, it seemed the FBI had gotten their way: only agents in FBI windbreakers were on the lawn, the police cordoned off to the area near the road block. Stan couldn't see Bebe or Yates, and he wasn't sure if he should stay or report to headquarters. Kyle climbed out of the car, and Stan fully expected him to storm off without another word, because that was his style. Instead, he poked his head back in and gave Stan a look that was equal parts stubborn and pleading. Stan almost whimpered, because it was painful to see Kyle look so young while he had that grownup hair.

"That looks good on you," Kyle said. He shut the door and headed away, toward the house. Stan was left reeling, at first assuming that Kyle was talking about Stan's grownup hair, but he wore it the same way he always had. He looked down at himself and realized Kyle had been referring to his police uniform. Heat pooled in Stan's gut and spread downward. He bent over the steering wheel, craning his neck to see Kyle's ass as he walked uphill toward the Harrison house.

"Fuck," Stan said, the warmth creeping along the insides of his thighs and solidifying into arousal that was powerful the way that the oldest magic was in fairy tales, the kind of thing that could shift the whole universe sideways if the right words were uttered by the right tongue. Kyle had missed him. He'd said so, straight off, and had couched it in criticism that was intimate enough to make Stan's bones ache.

Stan radioed the station, and he could tell just from his conversation with the operator that things were tense there. She gave him orders to report to a minor traffic accident near the highway, and his remaining hours on shift were a tiring combination of directing traffic and doing paperwork. At the station, the Chief had closed himself into his office, and Stan got the feeling he might have passed out with his head on his desk. Stan was ready to do so himself toward the end of the shift.

His cell phone rang as he was heading toward his car, planning to head home and crawl into bed. It was Kenny calling.

"Got your message," Kenny said. "Karen's here with me now, at the parlor. She skipped class today. You guys really freaked her out."

"Sorry," Stan said.

"No, it's okay. I'd rather have her be paranoid than clueless and in danger. You really think. Shit, you think this is something to do with younger siblings from our class?"

"I don't know, it's just what Ruby and David have in common. The only real thing we've come up with so far. Is there anyone else we need to warn? I couldn't think of another guy with younger siblings."

"Well, Kyle."

"Yeah, but Ike's living in Europe these days, apparently. Doing science, or whatever."

"Uh-huh. I talked to him just now."

"Ike?"

"No, Stan. Kyle, I talked to Kyle."

"Oh. Fuck, Kenny- you didn't tell him about the Kevins? Did you?"

"What?" Kenny laughed. "No, your fuck buddies didn't come up. Are you high?"

"No, I'm not high! I'm just coming off shift. Jesus, just. Don't tell him anything about me. I mean, I think he might have guessed, but. We saw each other, did he tell you?"

"Yeah. He said you seemed kind of unwell."

"Jesus, that asshole- he took me totally off guard! And I'm just, like, tired, okay, it's been a long week." Stan rolled his eyes at himself and leaned against his car, feeling almost faint with exhaustion that was still threaded through with the adrenaline rush that seeing Kyle had brought on.

"Anyway, I figured we should round the whole gang up tonight," Kenny said. "For old times' sake. Bebe's in. Are you?"

"The gang, what. And Kyle?"

"Yeah, the three of us and Kyle. I figured inviting Cartman wouldn't go over well with anyone, and Craig hasn't returned my call. But hey, Bebe said Nicole might come. She's still in town, reporting on the murders."

"Hmm. Where is this happening?"

"Bennigan's, dude! I'll drive Karen over to Kevin's place on the way, have him takeover the bodyguard duty for the night. I'll make sure he doesn't smoke."

"Good luck with that. Oh, god, look. I think Clyde's back in town. Don't let him and Kevin - his Kevin - get wind of this little reunion, whatever you do."

"Of course I won't, those guys are the worst. So you're coming?"

"Yeah," Stan said, groaning. "What time?"

"Eight o'clock. Weird to have Kyle here again, huh?"

"That's an understatement. See you tonight."

Stan drove home in a fog, wondering why he'd agreed to an evening of socializing with the old gang when it sounded more or less like torture. He was pretty sure it was entirely because Kyle had said he looked good in his uniform, which wasn't fair. He thought about going over to Kevin McCormick's place to blow off some sexual tension, but he knew it wouldn't work, and Kevin was probably asleep.

When he got home, he took off his gun belt and uniform shirt and flopped into bed still wearing his pants and undershirt. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it, burying his face in downy softness and trying not to think about Kyle. As he was drifting off he realized he hadn't set an alarm to wake him for the trip to Bennigan's, but he rightly predicted that nightmares would startle him out of sleep before long. The one that woke him was about the front yard at David Harrison's house. Stan was digging madly, through the lawn and into the soil below. At first he seemed to have a shovel, but eventually he realized he was digging with his bare, bloody hands. He was screaming, or trying to, because someone was trapped down there and he was pretty sure it was Kyle, a natural red head. The killer was going after red haired people. David's murder was purely a diversion tactic, and Stan was sure of it. He kept screaming at the many people who were standing around the hole that he was frantically digging - other cops from his department, strange cops, random townspeople, and some FBI types who were wearing sunglasses, though it was dark outside. They only stared at him with vague concern, nobody offering to help. Stan's throat was raw as he tried to scream louder, harder, and finally he realized they couldn't hear him because he didn't have a tongue.

He woke in his dark bedroom, a sizable puddle of drool on his pillow. His mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. He might have actually screamed; no one was home to hear him. He scrambled for his phone to check the time and was disappointed to see that there was still an hour before he was due to meet Kenny and the others at Bennigan's. He didn't particularly feel like being alone, or like he would be able to get back to sleep.

Stan put the light on his bedside table on and rolled onto his back. He took some deep breaths and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his racing heart. His bedroom was drafty, and he could feel that the temperature had dropped more dramatically than it had the night before. There was a popping sound in the distance, somewhere out in the neighborhood. It wasn't loud enough to be gun fire or cheerful enough to be fireworks. When it stopped, Stan closed his eyes and spread his legs, shifted his hips. He took another deep breath and let it out slowly. He was starting to get an erection, the adrenaline-fueled fear from his dream morphing into adrenaline-fueled arousal. It was strange how smooth the transition felt. He was thinking about Kyle, letting himself sink into the old, bad habit of wondering where Kyle was just then, what he was doing, and if he was wishing Stan was there with him.

He always thought of the summer before their senior year of high school as when things changed, but they had actually been changing all along, every year. There was never a static stretch in his and Kyle's closeness; since the day they met it had always been increasing exponentially, until one of them altered things enough to require a renegotiation of their friendship. That had only happened twice: when Stan turned ten years old and was so depressed that he was finally diagnosed as clinical, and again when they were fourteen years old and Kyle came out to Stan on Valentine's Day.

It wasn't a love confession directed at Stan, but Stan had arrogantly assumed that it might as well have been. They were in Stan's bedroom, talking after school. Kyle was clearly upset and pretending not to be. Stan kept needling him, gently, to say what was bothering him. Stan had been in therapy all throughout middle school, which was a secret that only Kyle knew, and he had been told, a lot, that talking about things helped. He wasn't sure that was true and had been overjoyed when his mother let him whittle his appointments to once a month for the purposes of having his antidepressant prescription refilled, but he knew Kyle well enough to understand that he kept things pent up until he burst, and that something was about to break free. Stan wanted for it to happen then and there, in the quiet of his bedroom with a heavy snowfall gliding steadily past his window, Kyle curled into a half-moon on his bed and already sniffling a little.

"You don't want to hear this," Kyle kept saying, avoiding Stan's eyes. "You'll be sorry that you have to deal with it, too."

"Dude, it's okay if you're gay," Stan had said, joking. "I don't care."

"Well," Kyle said, staring down at his hat, which he'd been worrying in his hands since he'd flopped onto Stan's bed. "I want you to care, because you're my best friend and it's important to me that you know exactly who I am."

He had said all of that in a mumbled rush, and it hit Stan in slow motion. Stan had assumed Kyle was going to lament about something Cartman had recently done and confess that it was still bothering him. At school, Kyle had gotten good at pretending that nothing got in past his cool exterior anymore, but Stan still saw all the cracks and meltdowns, and Cartman still had the ability to work a merciless chisel into Kyle's weak spots.

Stan had sat on the bed staring at Kyle after his confession, waiting to figure out what he should do or say about this. When tears streaked down Kyle's cheeks, Stan leaned over to pour himself around Kyle in a kind of shell-like hug, and he stayed that way while Kyle cried. Kyle didn't sound sad, just relieved and very tired, as if he'd finally set down something very heavy that he'd been carrying for years.

"It's okay," Stan had whispered, probably a hundred times. "I'm here, you're fine, everything's okay." He said this while privately praying that Kyle wouldn't try to kiss him. Stan hadn't cared much about the idea of having sex with anybody since he started on his medication, and he didn't want to break Kyle's heart. He wanted to put it back together, always, but not with his lips.

After that, Stan was the proud steward of Kyle's big secret, and eventually it felt like his secret, too, a special bond they had forged that night with a long, platonic hug. All throughout high school, Kyle confided in Stan about all matters relating to his sexuality: he'd tried watching gay porn and found it mostly upsetting, he'd been hurt by the f-word even when it wasn't directed at him, the erotic Avengers slash fiction he read online was mostly sub-par. He never confessed a crush or a kiss, and Stan assumed those things were reserved for him, though he also didn't want to confront how he might actually feel about them. He spent his first two years of high school in a state of pleasant semi-numbness, and only when he turned sixteen did he start questioning if his medication was right for him anymore. He'd taken to rushing through his appointments with his psychiatrist, nodding along and saying everything was normal, that he was feeling fine. He was, but he was also feeling a little disconnected, maybe too perennially fine to really be living. With his mother's permission, and under her careful observation, he decided to try to get through his junior year without medication.

He had been weaned off under the supervision of his psychiatrist, and even in the first few weeks with no medication at all, there wasn't a dramatic sea change. Certain experiences returned to him gradually, like boats spotted in the distance that slowly drew close enough for Stan to read the lettering on their hulls. He bottomed out a few times, told his mom and Kyle about it and was able to get through these as bad days instead of an enduring emotional flat-line. He started speaking up more in class, getting angrier about the things in the news that made Kyle angry, and smoking with Kenny when life stressed him out. He had random boners again, and explosively intense orgasms. When the only thing he could get off to were his fantasies about Kyle, he considered it a side effect of two years of being indifferent to sex while listening to Kyle reminisce about his personal gay porn habits and masturbatory concerns. It didn't seem like a big deal, because Stan still enjoyed looking at girls and regularly wanted to suck on tits. He liked the way girls smelled, and was turned off by dark body hair on guys. Kyle's body hair wasn't dark; it was actually kind of pretty, Stan realized, like a red-gold sheen that made him glow. The hair on Kyle's head smelled like autumn, somehow, and his skin was like creamy milk. Stan arrived at these conclusions slowly, at first with wonder and eventually with growing anxiety about what it all meant. As the summer after junior year began he was feeling like himself again, and also starting to wonder if he really knew who that was anymore.

He sat up in bed before he could get started on wallowing in his memories of that summer, how the whole universe seemed to have been nudging him toward Kyle the way Bebe had earlier that day. He checked his phone again and saw that he had time for a shower before the get-together. There were no new messages, which presumably meant no new murders. Twice, in the shower, he thought he heard his phone ringing and poked his head out from behind the curtain, but he was only imagining things. He jerked himself off with white-knuckled determination, thinking only of porn videos he'd seen. His orgasm was particularly fleeting, and it didn't do much to ease his jumpiness after a long, weird day that was probably about to get weirder.

Choosing an outfit was daunting, and all of Stan's clothes looked unimpressive compared with his uniform. He picked out a blue and black flannel shirt that Lola used to say made his eyes look nice and put it on over a pair of jeans that were just tight enough to show a bit of bulge. It had occurred to him before that he had never been on a real date; he and Lola were fuck buddies during his senior year, then she was pregnant, and since the divorce he'd just been sneaking around with the Kevins for sex, not taking them to the movies. His lack of dating history had depressed him in the past, but now it felt like a death sentence: he had sleep-walked past his chance for romantic love, first during his over-medicated adolescence and then during his friendly but passionless marriage, and now he was in his thirties, showcasing his bulge for a weeknight group dinner because a boy he'd once masturbated to would be there.

"Pathetic," he said, looking at his reflection, and he instantly felt bad. 'Don't be cruel to yourself' was an old lesson from therapy. Stan smoothed down his shirt, took a deep breath and shook his head. "Nah," he said. "You'll be fine." And then he felt pathetic again.

He made to Bennigan's at exactly eight o'clock, and was relieved to see that he wasn't the first one there. Bebe and Nicole were at a table to the left of the bar, waving him over.

"Hey there!" Nicole said, getting up to hug him in greeting. "How are you holding up?" she asked.

"I'm doing okay," Stan said. He took the seat beside hers, across from Bebe. There were three other chairs at the table, and Stan wondered if Kenny had convinced Craig to come after all. "You both look pretty," Stan said when Bebe gave him a tired smile.

"You, too," Bebe said. "Or handsome, I guess. Stan isn't a pretty man, really, is he?"

"Mhmm," Nicole said, leaning over to examine Stan's face. "Nah, more handsome. Seriously, Stan you look great."

"Did Kenny tell you that Kyle is coming?" Bebe asked, and Stan felt as if she was accusing him of looking great solely to impress Kyle. Stan nodded and drank from a glass of melty ice water that a bus boy had set down for him.

"Who else is coming?" Stan asked.

"Nobody, as far as I know," Bebe said. "Just him and Kenny."

"Bebe was just telling me that Token is still out in California," Nicole said. "But Kyle has moved back?"

"Not back," Stan said. "Just to Denver."

"Too bad you can't have both of your old flames here at the reunion," Bebe said, and Nicole laughed.

"I only ever had the one date with Kyle," she said. "And Cartman busted that right up. Is he still around?"

"Yes," Bebe said, groaning. "He owns a car dealership. Ironically, he's going to lose his license if he gets another DUI this year."

They ordered drinks and talked about the murders. Stan found himself tuning the conversation out, tired of pouring over the gory details and checking the door of the place every time he heard it open. Kenny arrived next, grinning on his way to the table and looking carefree as ever, despite the warning Stan had given him about Karen. He supposed it was kind of a stupid theory, really.

"Where's Kyle?" Stan asked when Kenny had taken a seat next to Bebe, ordered a beer, and slung his arm around the back of Bebe's chair.

"He's coming," Kenny said. "He texted me to say they would be late. Held up with work and so forth."

"They?" Stan said.

"Yeah, he wants to bring his partner, introduce him to everyone."

"What – that FBI asshole?" Stan was fuming already, an angry heat fogging up around the collar of his shirt. "Why?"

"It does seem strange," Bebe said. "The guy was a real prick to us earlier."

"Maybe he wants to apologize," Kenny said, and Stan scoffed, annoyed by his sunny magnanimity. "What?" Kenny said. "I don't think it's weird for Kyle to want us to meet his boyfriend."

"It's not his boyfriend!" Stan said, too loudly. "He said, I asked him. He said that guy is straight."

"Yeah, Kenny," Bebe said. "I don't think they're together."

"Oh, I just assumed," Kenny said, shrugging. "When he said partner, and that he wanted to bring him to dinner."

"Call him up and tell him not to bring that guy," Stan said. "That's stupid. It makes no sense. This is- we're all old friends, here, and he's-"

"Stan," Bebe said. "Calm down."

"I'm not- I am calm! You just said so yourself, it's a dumb fucking idea."

"Hey, man," Kenny said. "Drink some of your beer. You're all wound up."

"He hasn't been sleeping," Bebe said. "He won't let me lend him some sleeping pills to take the edge off, even after everything we've been through this week."

"I don't like pills," Stan muttered, and he gulped some beer. He checked the doorway as he did. It had become crowded with irritable-looking families who were waiting for tables.

Stan was unable to pay attention to the chit chat at the table, except when they debated whether or not to order or wait for Kyle and his partner to arrive. Stan insisted that he didn't care, though he was hungry, and angry, and hurt. Kyle would have to know that bringing that guy would hurt Stan's feelings, eat into their time together, and make everything between them more awkward. Apparently he didn't care.

Kyle and MacKenzie finally arrived forty minutes later, after the complimentary bread basket had been emptied and replenished three times. Stan had finished two beers and was working on a third. He knew that he should act nonchalant instead of glowering down at his crumb-filled plate, but he'd always had a hard time hiding his feelings around Kyle.

"I'm so sorry," Kyle said, sitting beside Bebe. MacKenzie took the seat across from him, next to Stan. "It's just been a whirlwind," Kyle said. "Trying to get caught up and dealing with the police Chief throwing roadblocks in our way."

"He's a spiteful little bastard," MacKenzie said, though Yates wasn't more than an inch or two shorter than him and was by no means thin. "Must be a pain in the ass to work for the guy."

"Actually," Bebe said, before Stan could blurt something in protest. "He's great. It's just been hard on the whole town, seeing this happen and knowing that the killer is still at large. I guess you wouldn't understand," she said. "If you're not from a small town."

Stan wanted to high five her. He gave Kyle a cursory glance, noting that he was still wearing the same suit and tie from earlier. He had taken a roll and was buttering it.

"I'm from Rhode Island," MacKenzie said. "I know about small towns. I hope you'll all trust that we're here to help, not to get in the way. I'm following Kyle's lead on this case, since he knows the terrain."

"I've made a lot of notes today," Kyle said. "And I still need to properly interview you and Bebe," he said, looking at Stan, who shrugged.

"My hunches haven't amounted to much so far," he said.

"But we've only just begun!" Kyle said, huffing. "These investigations can take years."

"Well, I guess you'd better move back to South Park, then," Stan said. Awkward silence followed, and Stan felt like an idiot. He drank from his beer and decided not to order another. When he'd set his glass down he peeked at Kyle, wanting to offer a non-verbal apology, but Kyle didn't look up from his menu.

As they were placing their orders, Stan saw someone approaching the table and withheld a groan when he realized it was Kevin Stoley-Donovan. Clyde was trailing behind him, looking confused as usual. Kevin looked angry.

"Ah, hey," Kenny said. "Kev, Clyde. How's it going?"

"Fine," Kevin said, surveying the faces at the table. "Nicole, wow. Long time no see."

"Heya," she said. "I'm in town for the serial killer story. Just found out I'm staying in the same dump as the FBI agents, so I guess I'll be well-protected."

"Uh-huh." Kevin stared down at Stan, who was overwhelmed by too many other minor ordeals to care much about Kevin being upset that he wasn't invited to this mini-reunion. "Clyde just got back from a major book tour," Kevin said, pulling Clyde forward. "We're here to celebrate his new contract with Dutton. That's the children's book division of Penguin," Kevin said, giving Stan another hateful look.

"Are you still writing about talking bananas?" Bebe asked.

"It's a talking banana, singular," Clyde said. "His name is Theodore. He's the only one of his kind."

"Theodore, ugh," Kyle said. "Why did you name it that?"

"Why not?"

"That's Cartman's middle name," Kyle said, muttering this into his wine glass before he drank from it.

"We were talking about Cartman before you got here," Nicole said. "Apparently he's still up to no good, endangering the public."

"Well," Kevin said, loudly. "I guess we'll go find a table. Sorry to interrupt your gathering."

Stan saw Kenny trying to hold in his laughter until Kevin and Clyde were out of earshot, and that set Stan off, too. He laughed into his beer glass, shaking his head.

"That was awkward," Kenny said.

"Why didn't you invite them?" Kyle asked. "I like Kevin."

"I didn't want to talk about Clyde's banana all night," Kenny said. "Plus, well." He glanced at Stan, and Stan wanted to kick him under the table, but MacKenzie would see if he did. "Anyway," Kenny said. "Um, what were we talking about?"

"Cartman," Kyle said, and he set his wine glass down hard. "And Nicole was mentioning that he's a public menace? I saw his record when we visited the station today. Five arrests for DUI? How are you people still letting him drive?"

"He spaces them out just enough," Bebe said. "There's a statute of limitations-"

"What were you doing looking at Cartman's criminal record?" Stan asked. Kyle scoffed.

"Are you joking?" he said. "Until we have a better lead, he's my number one suspect."

"Cartman?" Stan laughed. "He's a drunken buffoon who can't even take a piss in public without making a scene and getting caught. If he murdered someone he'd probably pass out next to their corpse with blood all over his hands."

"Regardless," Kyle said, beginning to get red. "He's a violent sociopath with a history of abusive behavior. That makes him worth looking into for this, or any other nefarious business that should happen within a hundred miles of him."

"Who did Cartman abuse?" Kenny asked. "Butters?"

Kyle drank from his wine glass and said nothing, his face very red now. Cartman had given Kyle hell when they were kids, but Stan wasn't sure that Kyle would want him to mention it. Kenny's mind had probably gone to Butters because he thought of domestic situations when he heard the word abuse, understandably. That didn't mean he'd forgotten what Kyle went through with Cartman when they were kids.

"Seriously, dude," Stan said, wanting Kyle to look at him again, or anyone. "Don't waste your time researching that idiot. He's a blight on society, sure, but he never got past murdering his stuffed animals."

"Well," Bebe said. "There was the whole Tenorman thing, too."

"Right," Stan said. "But that was before he started drinking. These days, I can't imagine him having the patience to plan anything other than his next trip to the liquor store."

"Okay," Kyle said, standing. He threw his napkin on the table. "Just, no, okay. I have to leave. This was a bad idea." He took out his wallet and began rifling through the billfold. His hands were shaking.

"Kyle," Stan said. "What-"

"Brof-ski," Mac said, not in protest but with a kind of gentle sympathy that made Stan boggle at him with disgust. Mac didn't seem to notice. He stood when Kyle threw ten dollars onto the table.

"That should cover the wine," Kyle said, still avoiding everyone's eyes. "Goodnight."

"Whoa, wait a second," Kenny said. "What's the matter?"

Kyle walked away from the table, hurried toward the door and pushed through the throng of waiting families on his way out of the restaurant. Mac sighed and tossed his own napkin down beside Kyle's.

"It's hard for him to be back here," Mac said, his gaze skipping from person to person at the table, as if to pass the blame around. He locked eyes with Stan last. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll make sure he's okay."

"What just happened?" Bebe asked, opening her palms on the table. "I don't understand."

"Don't worry about it," Mac said. "We'll see you around, I'm sure, during the investigation. Kyle will be fine."

Mac turned and left. He didn't seem to be in a hurry, as if he knew Kyle was waiting for him outside, in their shared rental car. Stan wanted to get up, grab Mac, and tell him that he had some fucking nerve thinking he could decide if Kyle was fine or not. Nobody but Stan could ever know that, because Stan knew Kyle best.

Stan stayed in his seat, defeated by the awareness that he couldn't make that claim anymore. He finished his beer and ordered another. He'd have Kenny drive him home, or maybe back to Kenny's place, where Stan had a standing invitation to crash on the upstairs couch. Stan really didn't want to sleep above a morgue, but he'd rather do that than sleep alone.