AN: Chapter eleven have the stamp of approval from my beta reader and I'm myself very pleased with this chapter. Both story and character. I truly hope that you'll enjoy reading this chapter and get another piece of the puzzle in place.

The only warning for this chapter is some minor cursing, nothing new.

Disclaimer: Everything you recognize from Flashpoint is NOT mine.

Again, thank you everyone for your support!

Chapter eleven

My feet drum a steady beat against the wet concrete, the drizzling rain is more than welcome as it cools my quickly warming skin. My tongue sneaks out to catch the few drops running from my cheeks past my lips and I grin, forcing back the laugh threatening to break free. The thrill of the chase, I love it.

The young man in front of me makes a sudden turn, his feet skidding against the slippery asphalt and he almost falls over, throwing a glance over his shoulder before continuing down the alley.

It won't help him. He may be the fox, but I'm not the hunter. I'm the bloodhound snapping and growling at his heels, herding him straight to my waiting master.

A very fitting idiom I'm sure.

I speed up, quickly gaining ground as I navigate between the containers and out on the next open street. And there it is.

"Scarlatti!"

The man does not stand a chance, and I can't help but to wince in sympathy as he is tackled to the ground as my colleague comes barreling from another backstreet. The man is in cuffs before he even knows what hit him. "And another excellent takedown from Mr. Scarlatti, well done Spike." Parkers praise sound over the radio. "Thank you Boss."

"And Terrano, remind me to never give you a reason to chase me." I grin, grabbing the man on the ground by his arm to haul him up. "Copy that Boss." I throw a look over my shoulder, half in mind to give my colleague a word or two of appreciation, only to find him halfway down the street to free Sam of one of the two subjects he is dragging with him.

Alrighty then…

Michelangelo Scarlatti, though never right-out unpleasant and always the picture of polite professionalism, was not fond of me. At all. And even though I kept telling myself that it didn't really matter, as long as we could work together and keep it civil, each cold shoulder caused an unfamiliar tightening around my chest. I did not like it.

I scowl, tightening the grip on the subject in my care and start to lead the constantly cursing man down the street.

"Shut up!"

"Are you sure? It'll be fun." Jules gives me hopeful smile in the mirror as she puts the last earring in place. "You can't run from team outings forever." I snort, lifting my head from the bench I'm lying on to throw her a challenging look. "Try me!"

My phone makes an annoyed buzzing sound from its place on the floor and I all but dive at it. Jules snicker. "Could it be…that you have a date?" I freeze, giving my friend an incredulous look. "I, do not, have a date…ever!"

"Uhu, you've been guarding that phone like a hawk since we got back to the station, and you're all but glowing. It's a date." I refuse to answer, noting the time and coordinates in the text I just received. Fifteen minutes, if I run. I've got time.

So when, exactly, did Jules became a friend?

No idea, sneaky woman.

"So what's his name?"

"It's not a date Jules."

She leers at me. "But you did not deny that it's a he."

God damnit!

"Bye Jules." I make a very swift and strategic retreat down the corridor, I'm just saying my goodbyes to Sam and Wordy when Jules sticks her head out through the door behind me.

"I want details tomorrow!"

"You're not getting any!...And it's not a date!"

"Use protection!"

"God! Yes mom!"

It's good to know that I, at least, can amuse my teammates and fellow SRU colleagues, and that they have the decency to keep their laughter to a minimum until I've exited the building.

The rain has finally stopped and the air is fresh and cool around me as I jog through the streets. The black asphalt shimmers under the orange streetlights as the last light of the day dies out. I'm nervous, excited, it crawls under my skin like bolts of electricity and I instinctively speed up until my light jog has turned into a full-out sprint, dashing through the streets like my life was hanging in the balance. The dark silhouette of the old warehouse against the now dark blue sky is unnervingly familiar as I skid to a stop outside the massive doors. I stand there for a minute, catching my breath, calming my heart as I study the shadows moving over the dirty, graffiti sprayed walls.

The significantly smaller side-door is still broken, after all this time, and I slink in like a thief in the night. Considering this is a 'authorized personnel only' area, that's pretty close description. I sneak through the abandoned building with ease, not much have changed, a few new crates here, some new vandalism there and it doesn't take long to get to the big main hall. The big construction-lights cut dust-filled pillars in the compact dark, giving the room a concert like feeling. Old furniture and broken gear is pushed up against the walls, clearing a wide area on the filthy concrete floor.

And there he is. Standing in the middle, surrounded by the light, the dirt and dust like a frozen memory.

Large, strong hands, littered with scars. Strong arms attached to broad shoulders, a straight waistline and back hidden under a worn t-shirt. Wiry muscles that could not be made in the controlled environment of a gym, only years of physical work could carve that kind of strength into a body. The flicker of a small flame illuminates a face with a sharp, strong jaw line and smooth tan skin. I follow the trail of cigarette smoke with a small smile on my lips.

"How long are you planning to hide in the dark, little one?"

Ah, yes. And that voice. Like the engine of an old, well-loved bike, deep and smooth, but with an always present rasp that spoke of long nights with alcohol and cigarettes.

My grin is sharp, feral, but the spring in my step as I move out into the light is more akin to a little cub toddling towards its mother.

"I'm not hiding, Jay…I'm lurking. Two very different things, as you should know." I stop in front of him, close enough to be able to smell him, gasoline, cigarettes, weapon oil and leather. Close enough to feel the controlled strength radiating off him. I breathe in deep, enjoying the familiarity of it all. If I ever had a teenage crush on anyone, or maybe hero-worship, it would be this man.

He sniffs. "You're still terrible at it, I'm surprised you're alive at all." An easy smirk. "A pleasant surprise, but a surprise all the same." I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "Well thanks for your vote of confidence." He laughs as he walks past me, a soft rumbling sound. "Now, now, no need to get stingy. You were so angry and reckless back then, it has been a while after all."

I laugh, stretching my arms and back without taking my eyes of him. "Six years Jay…It's good to see you again, been out of town?" He stretches his hands, knuckles popping with each bend of his fingers. "You could say that, so what do you do these days kid? Something must have changed, since you're not pushing up daisies." I shrug, pulling my hoddie and tank-top off in one motion, leaving me in only a black sports-bra. Rolling my shoulders I grin again. "I'm a cop. SRU. And I'm still angry and reckless." He snorts. "I thought as much. But a cop, huh? Should I call you officer?"

"Don't be stupid."

"Oh, but people are stupid, little one."

"Yes, yes. Tell me about it, could we get started?"

He laughs again, pulling his own shirt over his head. "So eager. As usual then? First blood?"

I take a shaky breath, the change in the air is immediate and it makes my blood simmer as my body tenses for the storm that is about to come. "Bring it!"

"The blood of yours for the blood of mine, little one."

We move around each other like two dancers, testing the waters, lashing out, blocking, kicking and punching. Clashing together and tearing apart like the waves on a rocky shore. I twist and duck, blocking a fist aimed for my face only to get a foot in my side. The force sends me reeling and I stumble for balance, grabbing his wrist I move back in, and with another twist I send him flying over my shoulder. He moves with ease, winding, rolling and is back on his feet in the blink of an eye, throwing himself back into the fray.

Time seems to stop, the span of six years nothing as we fall back into that same familiar rhythm, like two old lovers, like we've never been apart.

He has lost speed in the favor of strength and precision. I have reigned my fury in favor of efficient defense. The adrenaline is surging and we laugh in between the gasps for air, good-natured insults flying like daggers as the hitting and kicking turns into wrestling on the cold ground and then back up again. In the frosty air the heat from our bodies move around us like thin mist, the dust mixing with sweat and smearing in streaks over our skin.

It could be the adrenaline and endorphins coursing through my veins, but I'm happy, content, I feel free, liberated from the inside-out. Unbound by rules and regulations the stress and tension melts away until I'm moving with an ease I haven't felt in years, like a shadow I move around my opponent, feather-light on my feet as my hand lashes out one last time. The strike is perfectly timed, the power flawlessly calculated and I know, instinctively, that I have won before Jay has even hit the ground. He rolls once, the momentum bringing him back to his feet but he does not attack again. In the sudden stillness our panting breaths sound unnaturally loud and I watch with rapt attention as he brings a finger to his lips. The deep crimson sparkles in the sharp light.

First blood. I won.

Jay laughs then, head thrown back as the throaty sound fills the air. "I never thought that I would lose a First blood against you, of all people, little one. You were always more of a Blood fighter after all." I grin, feeling oddly proud as I reach for the duffle bag placed on a crate. "I'm not fifteen anymore Jay, more of a First fall these days." He nods, taking the offered towel and beer can from my hands. "I thought you'd be, eventually, if you survived long enough." I take a long swig of my own beer before dragging the towel over my face, getting rid of the worst sweat and grime.

"The tendencies are still there, but it's…not weaker…but, it's like the urge is easier to control. If you know what I mean." I pick a small first-aid kit from the bag, motioning for him to sit. "Well, I've never been a Blood fighter myself, but I've fought many of you over the years. We all get addicted to different sides of the fight, and, in my experience, those who become Blood fighters are those feeling insecure. And I do not mean insecure in themselves, but they feel unsafe, threatened, usually during a very vulnerable time in their lives. So they lash out."

I nod. "And try to tear the world apart."

"Yes, and sadly, many Blood fighters never move on, they get stuck in that destructive circle, and usually end up in a high-security jail…or six feet under. Most times both." He grins. "While the rest of us know how to be somewhat discreet about our shady hobbies."

I give him a light slap on his sore cheek. "I do not have shady hobbies, the people I arrest have shady hobbies, like the brat I hunted down today, he had a shady hobby…I have…a questionable personal life that have made me exceptional at many parts of my job."

Jay gives me a stare, eyebrows raised with a cool-pack against his now very swollen cheek. "Whatever you say little one, just be careful. There's a storm coming."

I stop, a sudden uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach.

"What do you mean with that?"

"…Nothing."

"God, Jay! Don't say shit like that if there's nothing! Remember last time?"

"Sorry."

"You're not sorry at all you shifty bastard!"

"Easy now, little one, think of your delicate heart!"

"My delicate…That's it! You're under arrest!"

"What!? For what?"

"Trespassing."

"Now…you wouldn't arrest an old friend…would you?"

"Watch me!"