(Thanks to demonchilde.)

I WILL BURN FOR YOU

He felt like he was burning up from within. He felt like lashing out, like unleashing his rage indiscriminately.

He felt like his eyes were seared into his skull. He wanted to claw them out.

No. He wanted to claw Malone's eyes out. He wanted to break every bone in Malone's body. He wanted to watch the light of life go out in Malone's eyes.

He watched, his fists closed so forcefully that his fingers almost drew blood from his palms, as Malone finally headed inside the hotel. Bastard.

He stayed where he was for a while, forcing himself to take deep breaths. He gulped down the last of his martini, then exited the bar.

Sam... She'd really hurt him. She needed to know it.

There was a pay phone close by where he'd parked the car. He took some small change from his pockets, put them into the phone and waited for his call to be picked up. It was an automated line, which he knew already. He'd been planning to send Sam a message through radio even before this revolting incident.

The line opened, he listened to the message from the line operator, drew a shuddering breath and began speaking.

"Sam, you really hurt me. Not like you've hurt me before. But I know you'll eventually come around. I know that this was just a misstep in the road we've been given. So, for the time being, I will crawl on my hands and knees until you see you're just like me. Until then... I will pray for you, I will long for you, I will burn for you, Sam."

Officer Patrick Moses reached for the dial on his car and turned down the volume. Lots of weird messages going out on the airwaves tonight, he thought to himself. The last one had given him a creepy feeling, in particular. Over the decades he'd grown accustomed to listening to the radio during the night shifts. It gave him a feeling of being in someone's company in the middle of the night. It had been a way of passing the time, too, in between pulling over reckless drivers or alerting other units. He wondered if he'd miss the constant chatter of the radio, after all. Usually it was the little things people missed the most.

He drummed his fingers on the wheel and looked out on the street. It seemed like the crowds had thinned out for the night. There was very little traffic. He was about to open his thermos containing the last of his coffee when he noticed a car careening onto the street he was on. The driver hadn't taken notice of the stop sign. He grabbed the police radio, advising his precinct watch commander of his actions, then turned the key in the ignition and drove on after the reckless driver, with emergency lights flashing.

Moses chased the driver for a half a mile before the vehicle pulled over. He radioed in the licence plate of the car and his intent to cite the driver for his violation, then grabbed a flash light and exited his car. He approached the car slowly, his hand on the gun on his waist. You never knew.

He noticed that there was no one on the passenger seat. He walked to stand at the front door, shining his flash light on the inside of the car. He made a motion for the driver to roll down the window. The driver complied and asked, politely enough: "What seems to be the problem, officer?"

"Driver's licence and registration, please," Moses requested. The driver fumbled around, and finally produced the documentation.

"I don't live in Chicago. Did I miss a traffic sign or something?"

Moses took his time to inspect the id and the registration. "You ran a stop sign when you turned onto this street, mr Pabe." He flashed on the driver's licence to read the man's first name again. "Mr Jerry Pabe, is that right?"

Jerry was cursing his bad luck. This night was about to turn into a complete disaster. First, he'd been forced to watch his Sam dance with Malone. Second, that sickening kiss had happened. Now, he'd been pulled over by an elderly beat cop. His thoughts flew to the gun he had hidden underneath the seat. He could just pull it out and take care of one problem right then and there. Then, he came to his senses. His killing a cop would spark a manhunt he didn't need right now. He had to be smart.

He would kill the man later.

He realised that the officer had asked after his name. "Yes, it's Jerry Pabe."

"I see that you're from Atlanta. You're driving a rental car, is that correct? The registration belongs to Rental Chi-car-go Ltd."

"Yes, I rented this car for the weekend," he replied, trying to peer into the officer's chest to see his name and badge number in case he got out of his predicament without a ticket.

"Wait here, please, mr Pabe," the officer uttered and excused himself. Jerry watched in the rearview mirror as the officer walked back to his car and grabbed the car radio. He guessed that he'd get a ticket, after all. In addition to killing the man, he'd have to hack into the Chicago police department's digital records and get rid of his citation. The car rental firm was run so shoddily that he didn't worry about it at all. He'd just break in, ransack the place and get rid of any mention of himself.

He snapped to when he heard footsteps. The officer was returning. "Step out of the car, please."

Jerry complied. The officer shone his flash light on the ticket pad and explained it to him. "I'm citing you for two hundred dollars for violation code 11-605.3c, failure to obey stop sign, committed on Pearl Street. Here is my signature, it reads Patrick Moses. Please sign on the line here," the cop pointed to a dotted line on the ticket. He signed the ticket meekly.

"The ticket details how you can pay the fine or, should you choose to, how you can pursue this matter in the courts," Moses carried on. "Have a good night, now," Moses wished him, handing him the ticket. Jerry just nodded, got into his car and drove off at a slow pace.

Moses had backed away when Pabe got into his car. He watched the man drive off down the street. He sighed, thinking to himself that this was probably his last ticket. His shift would end in an hour. He shook his head and headed back to his car. He'd drink his coffee there, then drive back to the intersection of Pearl and Hunter.

The last hour unfolded without incident. He drove the car to the precinct and sat in it for a while before clearing it of his belongings, savouring the bittersweet moment. Then, he sprung into action. He entered the precinct, grateful to have only one citation to turn in. Less paperwork, and he was on a deadline.

He made swift work of his last report, then crossed the room to where Mel Hodgins, the report clerk, was struggling to keep his eyes open. It had been a slow night for the clerk, who was fast approaching retirement, too.

"Hodgins, one more citation for you," Moses waved the papers in his hand.

"A departing gift, huh?" Hodgins grabbed the report and assessed it. "Hm, tidy as usual. Much appreciated." He let the citation rest on the desk while he talked to the retiring cop. He'd read it in greater detail and punch it into the system later. Moses had always been a stickler for precise citation reports.

"Your last shift, isn't it?" At Moses' tired nod, Hodgins grumbled: "Lucky numb nuts."

"You'll be out in less than a year, Mel. Stop whining," Moses laughed off his friend's resentment.

"With my luck, I'll get shot a week before," Hodgins looked gloomy.

"Here's hoping," Moses smirked.

Hodgins made a face. "Anyway, have a good time in Australia. How long are you there for, again?"

"Who knows? I'll be there for the birth, at the very least. Before that, we'll be exploring the outback," Moses extrapolated on his sojourn down under.

Hodgins didn't look impressed. "Bring me some kangaroo meat, whenever you get back."

"I think that's a no-go, but how about a frisbee? Might help you to get in shape, again."

"Screw you," Moses' friend gruffed.

"Love you, too," Moses teased his partner from ten years ago. "Take care, now. I'll send a postcard."

"Yeah, yeah," Hodgins replied nonchalantly and started to pore over the citation report. Moses took that as his cue to leave. He headed down to the locker room, grabbed his already-packed bag and took the picture of him with his late wife and his daughter off the door. He left the locker door open, the keys dangling from the lock.

He walked out of his precinct, the skies still black over the parking lot. He drove out into the quiet streets and headed for the airport. He was off to reunite with his daughter after two long years.