A/N: I apologize for the huge delay, everyone! I was sick for a while then left the country on a cruise. Got back day before yesterday, but I have a full weekend and another busy week ahead. So.

Feather, so good to hear from you again. Hope moving is going well and you haven't lost anything important. :D I'll have to consider that one shot ROFL. WE ALL MISS LEO! Just a little more time (and by that, I mean Heroes and Shift) until we see him again. Can't wait. Meanwhile, prepare yourself. Kukuku

WOLF, look forward to more twists. Here's to hoping the whole book will keep you guessing. Thanks for the reviews! :D

Sciencegal, I just love Hamato family interactions. :)

Chapter 12: Nightfall

Hugh rummaged through miscellaneous crap on his assigned desk, huffing and cursing while piles of papers and Chocolate Nutty Bar wrappers tipped into the narrow office isle.

"Still looking for your badge?" asked Noah.

Hugh had little patience to meet the brawny Grecian towards the side, and thus scowled as Precinct Nineteen's regular chatter settled between them.

"Is that a 'yes'?"

"It's not your fault, Hughy," Donna's nasally voice added from her work chair.

When Hugh spun on his dress shoe, he noted the mischievous grin the blonde flashed in Noah's direction and waited for her to continue.

"After the EPF's opening ceremony the other week, we were so upset we gave our formal things to Boa Boy to put away."

"First," Noah started in a thin tone, "that sounds like a stripper name, so stop. Second, I put everything back where it belongs."

"Which is why your spare uniform is missing, right?" Donna shot back, leaning forward. Her smile accentuated her face's width, but it was such a common sight that Hugh rarely acknowledged its prominence.

"How do you know its missing?" Noah inquired lowly.

The blonde returned his narrowed gaze with a snort-laugh. "I spilt coffee on me earlier and spares were right there."

"So you looked for mine because?"

"It's big! I love the flow."

"You talk like you know from experience."

"Oh, don't worry; it wasn't there. Or maybe you should worry. Who knows if you did something similar to the CVC incident."

"There was nothing for me to"—Noah paused, reining in his bellow—"accidentally exchange."

"You play it down like mixing up your coat with a victim's isn't a big deal," Hugh remarked, cool.

"I noticed!"

"Yeah; a mile down the road in your cruiser," Blaine interjected. Hugh shared a smirk with his best friend when he joined the group in the aisle; then nodded as the rugged blonde crossed his arms and leaned against an empty desk.

"That happened once," Noah hissed.

"For exchanging evidence," Donna concluded after a firm nod. "Now, misplacing?"

"What'd he misplace this time?" In seconds, Blaine's smirk dropped—his usual flip. "If this has something do with the case files he was supposed to give the Inspector for the domestic disturbances we worked together last week—"

"I thought you had that covered."

Blaine sent Noah a pallid look. "Please tell me you're kidding."

"You should be careful how often your mind slips, McGinnis," a new voice noted. "It'd be such a shame to lose you because you're so skilled at rundowns."

Halting beside Blaine, in front of Donna's desk, Kyle Erlich stood tall in his detective suit. His small mouth formed a smile across his sunken face—although its owner seemed genuinely troubled by the idea—and Hugh left his desk so the group formed a full circle, obscured from others eyes.

"Kyle, haven't seen you in a while," the African-American said while pocketing his hands.

"Well, you have been busy busting large organizations like Black Lotus, haven't you?" the pale-skinned man countered.

"New Jersey had that case. Mainly, I've been focused on losing my wheelchair. And now, my desk."

"Even so, you and Blaine are"—Kyle chuckled—"heroes. Against the odds, tracking leads no one else believed. Wound up responsible for the release of dozens of homeless and missing persons from an underground imprisonment. Sounds like a movie, doesn't it?"

"Kyle—"

"I'm being transferred south."

Hugh blinked at the sharp change of subject, like Kyle's sharp change of tone. "Is that bad?"

"Guess not," the younger man answered, running a hand along his slicked hair. "I just get the feeling my father arranged it."

"Why?"

"Because my eccentric nature about the homeless is too notable here."

"Ya kinda wear the belief on your sleeve," Donna added, blithe.

But Kyle disregarded her like she had said nothing. "Despite Black Lotus' exposure, my focus isn't where Father wants it to be. He often moves me when I 'get out of hand'. Seems ridiculous, though. How am I any more out of hand than Bishop? He's the one insisting on more Hubs to ensure every face is cataloged and traceable."

"Not the most comforting feeling, is it?" Blaine growled.

"Not really," Kyle answered. "But if those Hubs could help some way…"

"Reese!"

Hugh's head jerked up from instinct at Wendell Erb's voice, but once he did, his dropping stomach wished he hadn't.

"You have a visitor," the older man continued. His round form walked stiffly down the aisle to meet his underlings, the refrained abhorrence in his gaze clear. It wasn't likely that Bishop missed it, even standing by the second floor stairwell, which made his smile all the more loathsome.

"B—Bishop wants to see Hugh?" Though Donna's dread didn't ease the detective's gut, he spared her a lopsided grin, shrugging before passing Blaine and Kyle.

"Guess I'll see you guys later," he said calmly.

"Wait"—Wendell's fat hand gripped Hugh's bicep with surprising strength—"watch your mouth."

"Believe it or not, I always do," the taller male retorted.

He whisked by his boss then strolled down the aisle of noisy office workers like his goal meant little. He'd be damned before giving Bishop the pleasure of knowing how loud his heart thumped in his chest, and feigned a smile once he reached the agent dressed in a black suit.

"Mister Reese." Bishop spoke with refinement, as if to further embitter the true standing between them.

"Agent Bishop," Hugh countered, stoic. "What would you like to talk about?"

"Oh, it's a simple matter, really."

"Will it take us elsewhere?"

"Is that a concern?"

The test left the detective undaunted, and forced his smile back. "I am a bit busy."

"Such is our lives, right?"

"I assume," Hugh started over the agent's chuckle, "you're here for something important?"

Bishop sent an easy grin, running a casual hand along the stair rail behind him. "Just a reminder. Agent Patterson has reported several instances of uncooperative behavior in Precinct Nineteen. The Commissioner is closely monitoring the EPF-NYPD department merges, so he tends to worry about reports like that. It, uh—"the man clicked his tongue—"it hampers the vision he has."

"You don't say."

"Yes. So I promised I would handle any and all complications that arise."

"To prove what a great guy you are. How touching." Flashes of Wendell's glare raced through Hugh's mind, yet his control was kept by rubbing the side of his stretched neck.

"I want this merge to work."

'Don't doubt that, crazy man.'

"For such to happen, we must be on the same page. So," like the imposing calm before a storm, Bishop's voice lowered dangerously, "you should focus on your contracted job. And only that. It would be a shame if outside relations were to affect your coworkers, would it not?"

Hugh froze, and for some reason he could hear the idle chatter of his friends as if they were right next to him.

"Taking my man was not your wisest choice. I know what you did in the evidence locker, despite Samuel Renald's testimony. But you were not the only one there, were you?"

"Leave them out of this," Hugh hissed. He surprised himself at how dark his voice grew, but Bishop's grin widened.

"If you work against me, Reese, who knows what might happen to them—in the field, at home, at work. So be careful where you tread because a lack in evidence may not save you all the time. And it surely would not save them."

"Why aren't you threatening my life? Why them?"

"Obviously, because it bothers you more. And they are so clueless to the danger you have involved them in." With a light chortle, the agent lowered his hand from the railing then gave an approving nod around the open room; though Hugh was sure he damned everyone in there. "Keep up the good work," he added, louder.

"Always," Hugh answered through gritted teeth. He eyed Bishop like a shark as he rounded the railing and started to descend the stairs.

"Nightfall is coming, Detective Reese!" the awful man cried upwards. "Be prepared!"

One glance at the indent Bishop's hand left on the railing convinced Hugh the approaching night outside his precinct was not what his enemy had meant.

Okay. Sophia knew her personality could be abrasive at times. And maybe her sour mood yesterday had led to some confrontation. Even so, she didn't expect the silent treatment from Sarah Brown at Warner-Frost Services.

Slumped in a narrow hall, the blonde posed with her cheek in one hand, her bony elbow prodding her leg as she watched the artist paint. "Silence doesn't bother you?" she blurted through pressed lips.

The black-haired female paused a brush stroke against the abstract mural, her long ponytail swaying. "I—I'm not much of a talker," she said in an impossibly small voice.

"Why not?"

Sarah shrugged, returning to her casual work, so Sophia sighed.

"Look," she started, "I didn't mean to get off on a bad start yesterday. It just…it really irks me when others don't flaunt who they are. It's a waste."

"You could clearly see why they don't want to, though." While Sarah didn't turn around, her frown couldn't be missed by the blonde's trained senses.

"They shouldn't be so scared."

"They're kids."

"Alright, let me rephrase: they shouldn't have to be so scared."

The moment Sophia's tone dropped, Sarah spun on her red Converse. Kneeling, she regarded the petite blonde as if deeply assessing something. Then, her thick eyebrows furrowed below side-swept bangs.

"Y—you haven't told anyone, have you?"

Sophia raised a thin eyebrow. "Come on, I'm not that mean."

"It's important you keep it secret."

"Alright, alright." The blonde raised her hands in surrender to ease her companion's troubled look. "I wouldn't do that. What kind of person do you think I am?"

"I—I don't know…" Sarah seemed awfully troubled with her own mumbling. Wonder why that was. When the dark-haired artist failed to continued, Sophia folded her legs Indian style and leaned forward.

"I haven't said a word," she spoke lowly for respect, "but, seriously…they can't stay down there."

Sarah released a shuddering breath. "I know. I—I'm working on a way to help them, so…"

"If you need backup, let me know. Maybe I could do something."

"But I thought you—" The artist caught herself like she was about to spurt an insult. Maybe she was.

"I what?" Sophia pressed while crossing her arms. However, Sarah remained quiet, causing the blonde to smirk. "Guess I made a worse first impression than I thought. And after all the pizzas I delivered for you and Rosso, Calza."

"You're confusing," whispered Sarah. She caught herself again then shook her head, glancing downwards at the spread of paints on the tarp the females shared.

'I'm confusing? She's the one with all the weird ticks!'

"Wh—what does Calza mean?"

"I told you before."

"I…forgot."

"Eh, whatever. Not like I expect anyone to remember a simple delivery girl. Though I thought we had a special connection: you, me, Rosso, and those piles of pizzas that only you two ate."

Sarah flinched. There was no way under the blue sky Sophia could ignore such a sign. But it wouldn't do any good to push right now. She knew that much. So, inhaling, she grinned.

"'Calza' is short for 'calzamaglia'. Essentially, it means 'tights'"

"Oh…"

"Is that insulting?" The blonde puckered her lips and her vision fell from the artist's pale face to the multi-color dot-print tights she sported below dark-wash shorts.

"N—not really."

"Good. Because it's kind of a habit; I probably wouldn't be able to stop if I tried. Like denying another doughnut."

A huff sounded. Or, a snort. Sophia wasn't quite sure until she caught the slight up-turn of Sarah's dark lips. Grin widening, the blonde threw her arms in the air and cheered so loudly that the artist rolled on her side in surprise.

"That was a giggle, right? You laughed? So you can laugh!"

"Y—yes?" Sarah answered stiffly. She blinked slowly then again, quicker. Her colorful body shot up as she glanced at a pail lid her hand landed on. Lifting it revealed a coating of orange paint across its underside, and the artist slowly rubbed her fingers together. "Great."

"Hey, orange happens to be my second favorite color," Sophia contributed with a light chuckle. "Why not incorporate it into your work?"

Sarah paused at first—a long, pensive action, which was only smothered by a spark igniting like blue fire behind her teal eyes. Snapping the fingers of her clean hand, she spun, knelt at the grassy part of the mural's scenery, and then made quick strokes with her fingers. Sophia cocked her head above the artist, not comprehending what the orange glob was supposed to be. As it layered through presses and smudges over the green-scape, though, an animal emerged.

"An orange tartaruga?" she questioned.

"Tar"—Sarah drew her stained hand away from the little creature—"like 'tortuga'?"

"Yeah. Turtle."

"Oh. I—is there something wrong with him being orange?"

"Nah. Like I said, it's a favorite color of mine. And I don't mind turtles either. Combining them is fun and weird. I like weird! Are you always this weird?"

Sarah's response came in the form of another pensive stare, and Sophia straightened from the bend that placed her face close with the artist. 'Perbacco. Why does she have to think so much? I can't be that hard to talk with, can I?'

"Hey"—the blonde's sudden voice caused the paler female to jolt—"there's nothing wrong with weird, ya know? I happen to be a fan of weird things. I mean, how many girls do you know that have a pet tarantula?"

"Y—you own a tarantula?"

An unmistakable edge of interest in the artist's voice brought a smirk to Sophia. "Si! So don't hesitate to be who you are. I really do hate it when others aren't honest with themselves."

"And yet you fight with children?"

Sophia twitched. 'Well, least she's taking my advice and not holding back.'

"I, uh, think that may be a patience issue," the blonde said uneasily.

"You did seem on edge when you arrived," Sarah muttered. Probably to herself. No matter; Sophia tapped her pink High-Top against the tarp in slight shame.

"I'm rough with them, but that doesn't mean I don't care. So I really do want to help…as long as you let me volunteer as your assistant?"

"What?" Sarah blinked. "I—I don't need a—"

Sophia dropped to her knees, dangerously close to three pail lids. "Please! If I say I'm attached to you, it means I don't have to go anywhere else."

"I—I don't get it. Why would you sign up for volunteer work at a giant foster home, slash adoption center when you, uh, d—don't get along with kids?"

"Mum made me." Frank, truthful, the blonde could say no more as she kneeled beside the paints.

"And you won't skip out because…"

"Because she would know, and do something worse. Believe me, her only aim is to make sure my time is eaten outside my job."

"Why?"

Sophia shrugged, although her stomach twisted with frustration when she rose to her feet. "I go out and do things. She's not fond of what I do."

"Is it…bad?" The timidness in Sarah's voice was almost laughable. Almost.

"Not at all. I do good things. Like tonight, I'm heading for Lacio Circus."

"Really?"

"I'm meeting someone."

"Like a date?"

"Sort of," Sophia answered with a snort. "Nightfall's almost here; so I'll probably be leaving soon, actually." The growing reds and orange outside the tall window at the end of the hall signified that much. Now if only… "Could you do me a favor?"

"What kind of favor?"

Hands behind her back, Sophia flashed a sheepish smile. "If Mum contacts the center, can you tell her I stayed later?"

"You want me to lie?"

"Just a little. In turn, if I find out anything about the kids, I'll let you know. Deal?"

Sarah's sigh was low and long, yet she nodded afterwards, standing as well. "To help the kids."

"Right," Sophia shot back. She leapt forward for a friendly hug, wrapping her thin arms around the thicker female's frame. The artist hissed, though, as if struck by an iron prod, so the blonde drew back with her hands on Sarah's shoulders. "A—are you okay?"

Sarah blinked in what looked to be an attempt at clearing her glazed vision. But it remained cloudy while she brought her arms to her stomach, crouching down.

"H—hey!"

"I'm—okay," Sarah managed. "Just…give me a minute."

That wouldn't do. Sophia reached for her again, only to be stopped by a pain of her own. Something like flames bit her chest and she backpedaled, pulling out the collar of her pink t-shirt so she could see between her near-flat breasts. There, the pendulum of a quaint necklace resided, its wire frame and thin chain still warm against her freckled skin.

'That's weird; since when does the Jade get this hot? It's never done something like this before…'

"Wait, a—are you okay?"

Sophia glanced up from the hidden necklace, stared blankly at the artist, and then laughed awkwardly. 'Bet that looked odd!'

"Yeah, I'm fine," the blonde said after clearing her throat. "Now you take a minute. Drink some water. I'll help you clean up a bit before I leave. Okay?"

Sarah nodded while reaching for a water bottle beside her, though she swayed when she did. All Sophia could hope was that the pale young woman didn't fall over.

A/N: So, there you have a little insight into Hugh's general work day. Seems things are turning south, but this is just the start. Next up, "Lacio Circus", where we introduce another member of the Heroes cast and follow Mikey on his investigation. ;)