A/N: Thanks to everyone who's still following, reading, and reviewing this fic! Segue chapter first.

Chapter 17: Owning Up to It

On the third morning that Bahorel wakes up to the sight of Karen's golden hair all over his pillows, he finds himself wondering if something has suddenly gone wrong in his system. 'You've just hit the third time and before you know it you'll be so far gone,' he chides himself silently as he moves to lie on his back, taking care not to wake his bedmate. Yet who is he to deny himself his favourite sort of languor, or even just that pleasant feeling from being in such charming company?

A moment later he hears Karen yawn and groan softly. "What time is it already?"

"I'd know if I only had my watch," Bahorel jokes as he holds up his bare wrists. He's sure though that the gadget is somewhere in his room, perhaps in the same vicinity where he discarded his shirt and his socks. "Are you going somewhere?"

"Home. I have to shower," Karen says with a grimace. "No offense, Remy, but your bathroom doesn't exactly appear friendly to company."

"It's called a sanctum," Bahorel points out as he throws an arm over Karen's waist to keep her in bed. He laughs when she pouts; little does she know that this expression of hers is one of his favorites. "You only have to ask for the password."

Karen whines as she tries to push his elbow off her midsection. "I have to go to work. Don't you also have a job too?"

"I don't call it a job. Give me a stack of papers, and you can call that a job."

"Most other weapons specialists are lab rats. You're the only one I know who goes out and about."

He chuckles before rolling so that he is atop of her, gently but firmly pressing her form into the mattress. "What can I say? I'm versatile," he says in her ear.

"You sneak," she mutters, only to hiss and whine again when he aligns his hips with hers. She tugs on his hair to draw up his mouth to hers before he can leave any incriminating marks on her neck and shoulders. "Don't do that. People are going to ask."

He looks at her confusedly. "What do you mean by people?"

"My squad. Your friends," she says, gripping his chin to hold him in place. "Maybe your boss is perfectly understanding about this, but what about mine?"

"Enjolras isn't my boss, he's my buddy. We go a long way back," Bahorel corrects her as he grabs her hands to hold them above her head. "As for the other part, Karen, you're not an agent 24/7."

"I am one of the few ladies in this city's SOCO arm," she says in a terse, breathless voice even as she draws up her legs to settle around his waist. "That comes with certain...liabilities."

"Screw that," he mutters before smashing his lips onto hers so hard, fully intent on kissing away this problem of hers, or at least the awareness of it. He feels her lips part eagerly under his, only a moment before he hears both their phones ringing from someplace in the room. "Karen, please tell me you're not going to take that," he whispers.

"It's not going to kill you." She bucks her hips against his, making his breath catch for a moment. "We'll have more time for this tonight, Remy."

"Whatever happened to caution?" he wonders aloud even as he finally lets her up so she can get out of bed. He is not sure how long they can keep coasting on this edge; either they will soon let this drop or fall into someplace comfortable. 'What is that then?' he wonders as he gets up to retrieve his phone. He laughs when he sees the name on the screen. "How's everything, St-Just?"

"Bahorel, I think your plan backfired," Armand St-Just's nervous voice replies. "I don't know what the hell you told my colleagues on the business pages, but whatever it is, it's gone too far. Why is Claude Enjolras threatening legal action against every single press outfit in this city for writing up about his business issues?"

"He can only do that if there's a charge of libel, which I'm pretty sure there isn't. Besides all I gave were a name and an idea to look into his stuff. I didn't hand over any evidence," Bahorel argues. "Besides it's about time someone hauled him in for something."

"I know, but all the trouble it's causing-"

"St-Just, you're journalists. If you're not ruffling feathers, you're not doing it right."

The newsman grinds his teeth quite audibly. "Does Auguste know what you did?"

"He'll figure it out," Bahorel replies. Although he is confident in his own ability to cover his tracks, he does acknowledge the fact that his friend is just as good an investigator, and thus is likely to get to the bottom of the matter once he starts widening his own search. "I'll deal with him, so there's no need for you guys to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire."

"I hope you know what you've unleashed. Every bit of Claude's business is under scrutiny now, and no press statement is going to refute the evidence of bankruptcy and financial chicanery." Armand clucks his tongue. "He's as good as gone."

"Precisely the point of this lesson, St-Just," Bahorel says. This is one thing he is not about to apologize for, and it is clear that Armand gets the message judging by the tone with which he ends the call. When he looks around he finds Karen already pulling on her blue long-sleeved t-shirt over her black slacks. "Work calls already?"

"Monthly report to the department chief," She gets up to retrieve her purse from where it had been hastily tossed on the floor the night before. "If I'm coming back tonight, I don't think I can stay over."

Bahorel feels something twist in his gut as he takes in her words. "Is something wrong?"

"People are asking." She drops her purse on his bed and crosses her arms. "I'm the one who has the walk of shame going on. It doesn't apply to you."

"Maybe I could be the one to come over," he offers. "It's no problem with me."

Karen shakes her head. "That's the thing. You have nothing to lose. You can get away with being with anyone, wherever you want. I don't have that luxury, Remy."

"It shouldn't be anyone's business if you want to do things," Bahorel argues. "You're not accountable to anyone, as far as your personal life is concerned."

"Easy for you to say." She looks at him for a long moment, as if trying to figure out if he is ready for what she may have to tell him. "I like you, really. You're hilarious, you're passionate, you're brilliant, and I knew that even before the first time you had me in your bed. But it doesn't change the fact that we're still sleeping together while we're supposed to be resolving all these cases."

This time Bahorel doesn't dare to say anything, knowing that each second now brings them closer to a knife's edge. He can no longer picture her in his bed, but nor does he want to imagine her walking out the door. "This case, or rather cases, will end some time," he finally says.

"Words." She shrugs and takes a deep breath as she picks up her purse. "I have to go, right now. I'll try to call you later. Have a good day, Remy."

"You too, Karen." He feels the urge to call to her and ask her to stay a little longer, but the time on his phone already tells him that he needs to begin his own day. Thankfully the shower is cold and it clears his mind only for a little while.

It doesn't help that when he gets to the office he finds only Enjolras there, apparently viewing something online. His brow is furrowed in a way that Bahorel knows only too well. The attorney looks up from his work and nods by way of greeting. "I need to have a word with you."

"Knew you'd guess it, Chief," Bahorel says as he crosses to his friend's cubicle. Sure enough, the computer there shows a screenshot of the article detailing Claude's business troubles. "How were you able to trace it?"

"The journalists also hang out where Grantaire does his art workshops. I only had to make a few calls," Enjolras answers, moving away from the computer. He puts his hands on the desk and looks his friend in the face. "I appreciate the underlying sentiment. I want to know though what exactly you told them."

"All I just said was that your father was worth looking into. I didn't quote any figures. They did the rest of the investigating," Bahorel replies candidly. "You've known for years that your dad doesn't run a squeaky clean game even if everything is legit, and it's only now he's finally paying for it."

"Publicly," Enjolras points out sternly. He considers the article again and grits his teeth. "Naturally he intends to bring everyone up on libel charges, but that may not entirely be possible for him."

"Only with those who fired too wide," Bahorel quips. "Thankfully there aren't many, if at all."

Enjolras nods slowly. "Are the writers aware of this?"

"It's their own lookout."

"What if it gets back to you?"

"I dare him to bite me."

Enjolras smirks for a moment but he soon levels a serious look at his friend. "What is done is done. In these instances, prudence is the preferred course of action."

"Got it, Chief." All the same Bahorel is not about to apologize for this particular deed, especially when he sincerely believes that this has been long in coming. "I imagine you would want to do dish out far more than a restraining order though," he remarks as he goes to his cubicle.

Enjolras raises an eyebrow. "If you're referring to a full on litigation, well that would hardly be reformatory in this case. I prefer a more efficient use of fire."

"Your call," Bahorel says cockily as he gets back to his seat. He can feel the weight of his phone in his pocket and for a moment he thinks of simply asking Karen how she is. 'You'll get over it,' he tells himself as he begins looking through ballistics reports, but even so he can't banish that feeling that he's just fooling himself.