Wilhelmina Maddox

Will had a headache. She winced as she walked into the station, hoping Hoffman still had some aspirin for her to mooch off of. She was surprised to see him going through his mountain of folders, squinting down with pen in hand. How cute, he's trying new things.

"Who are you and what have you done with my partner?" She announced herself as she took her seat across from him. "What's up? You never do paperwork unless Grissom is right over your shoulder. I expected you were just going to one day get crushed by the inbox avalanche."

"Got to make sure Grissom doesn't keep me here late," he didn't look up, his nose to the grind while he frowned in concentration. "He's been pulling that shit the past two Fridays. Remember, dinner tonight."

"I know," she raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed. "You're so serious. Is Angie that intense? Oh! What does she like? Drink-wise?"

"White wines, but I already got some. Just make sure you're there. With Frank." He finally looked up, his blue eyes piercing through her. "How's it going?"

Her words caught in her throat and she looked away. "Honestly, I don't know."

"What happened?" He closed his folder and leaned back, folding his hands across his stomach. He was being surprisingly attentive. Something was off.

She felt her eyelids flutter as she recounted the past few hours of thrown glass bottles and the neighbors knocking to complain about the noise. "He's relapsed."

"Sorry, Will," his voice sounded genuinely grave. He pursed his lips in pity. It made her feel a swell of frustrated grief and she let out a huff.

"Forget it. He better behave tonight or he's only going to make a damn fool out of himself. I made that ultimatum. I'm seriously thinking it's time to go through with it. But not tonight. Don't worry, I'll try to make this as painless as possible." She rubbed her temples. "You got any more aspirin?"

He opened his drawer, took out the pills, and placed them near her. "I'll get you some water. Keep it together, Maddox."

She nodded, fingers pressing into the meat of her face while she clenched her teeth to try to shove away the migraine crashing through her like a wave. She took slow breaths, wishing she could go somewhere quiet and dark to lie down.

"Okay, Maddox?" A feminine voice, clipped and sharp, called out. She looked up to see fellow Detective, Allison Kerry, smiling down at her. The woman was cradling a steaming mug, a bulletproof vest on her small frame.

"Yeah, just didn't sleep well." She blinked through the pain and forced a smile. "Thanks. What's with the vest?"

"About to head south. I like the extra protection. Don't let Grissom work you too hard. I know you've been spending extra hours with Tapp and Sing. Glad you're on board. Let's grab coffee sometime. I've been meaning to get to know you. Nice to have another pretty face around." She smiled down at her before her eyes darted towards something behind Will.

"Kerry." Hoffman sounded passive and cool.

"Hoffman," Allison's face had gone from friendly to stone cold. She quickly walked by with a curt, "'Morning."

"Didn't know you two talked." Hoffman handed the styrofoam cup to her on the way back to his seat, and returned to his work. He didn't seem perturbed, his focus completely at the tasks on his desk.

"First time," She took double the recommended dosage and chewed the bitter pills, grimaced, and washed them down with the cool water. She hoped they'd kick in fast. Thankfully, she wasn't swamped with work like Hoffman was.

The morning was surprisingly slow for a Friday. The cooler seasons were like this. Most people wanted to bundle up and stay indoors rather than cause too much mayhem. It was a nice break.

The two of them sat in silence, the station's main floor full of the typical ambient telephone rings and footsteps. It was their background music. As Will continued to cradle her face in her desk and wait for the drugs to take effect, there was a sound that seemed… extraneous to the standard symphony of police business. Something soft and out of place. A song.

It was low, barely heard over the typical buzzing of their workspace. But she picked it up, a frequency that she could just detect. Her eyes darted up, watching her partner, who was responsibly reading through a police report. The sound seemed to resonate right in front of her, but that couldn't be right.

And yet. She noticed his nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled to continue the melody.

"Are you… humming?"

"What?" The music stopped and he looked up at her in confusion.

"You were humming," she finally declared, eyes wide with disbelief. She felt a triumphant smile spread on her face. "Oh my God, Hoffman, you're…" she looked him up and down, realizing she had missed the details earlier. His hair was combed back and held with product. He was wearing a freshly ironed, clean shirt. He was secured with a deep crimson set of suspenders, flashy, for him. His face was freshly shaven, something she rarely saw. He tended to just perpetually have a five o'clock shadow. "...you're like a different person."

His clear face quickly shut down into a scowl as he closed off. "Don't know what you mean."

Will went through the options in her head. What could it be? Her eyes darted around his cheeks and neck, noticing his collar was pressed and carefully buttoned all the way up. He normally didn't care too much about keeping his suits in place when he was at the station, often leaving the top button undone or his tie uneven and pulled loose.

It can't be. "What's her name?" Will smiled widely, confident she was right.

Hoffman cleared his throat and looked around, almost nervous. "Natalie," he softly admitted.

"Oh my God, Hoffman," She was gushing. "She must be stunning to have gotten you to sing at work on a Friday."

"Shut up." He pointedly ignored her and stared down at his desk.

"Uh-uh," her troubles melted away as she sat forward and leaned on the desk. This was just the type of distraction she needed. "You always get to hear all the juicy details about my problems. I've got to hear something sweet for a change. How did you two meet? Let me guess - coffee barista? Did she make the first move?"

"Uh, actually, she works at the liquor store by my building. And I asked her out."

"Huh." She blinked but pressed on. "Didn't know you had it in you. And I know how high your standards are," she felt her smile grow like the Cheshire Cat's. "She checks all the boxes? Does she tower over you in heels?"

Hoffman squinted at her but the faintest smile broke on his full lips. "You'll see tonight."

"I get to meet her?" She sat up and clapped her hands together. "Yes! You know how to brighten my day."

"You're a goof," he snapped, not enjoying the moment like she was.

"Yeah and you're totally in looove," she pulled the last word out, savoring Hoffman's discomfort. He continued to pretend to not hear her as she giggled, her migraine just barely throbbing as she giddily imagined what Natalie was like. She was absolutely going to get close to her, just to fuck with Hoffman.

She was pleased with how red his neck got under his shirt. "You're picking her up after work, I'd bet, judging from how cleaned up you look. You'd wear sweatpants on Fridays if Grissom would let you."

"If I don't get this shit done with, Grissom's going to keep me late," he gruffly stated. "So save the roast for tonight."

"Say no more." She leaned forward and lifted a healthy stack of files from his mountain peak. He looked at her in aggravation until she dropped them on her desk, held a hand up in the "stop" signal, and went serious. "Chill. Normally, I'd just watch you struggle, but you're not going to get this all done in time. I don't want to miss tonight now, not for the world. Oh, and you totally owe me." Frank won't get out of hand, she assured herself, now humming the very same tune Hoffman had been earlier. It had been Mi Vida Loca.

If Hoffman brings a lady friend tonight, this could just be the type of thing that'll make Frank see that there's nothing to worry about.

With high hopes, she and Hoffman dug deep into the neverending sea of court proceedings, testimonial confirmations, and subpoena documents.

Angelina Hoffman

"Mark, can you stir the sauce?" Angelina was dutifully turning the red sauce with a wooden spoon, the steam billowing into her face.

"Sure thing," Her older brother wasn't much on his own in the kitchen, but she had been patient with him and had got him to at least be capable of making his own meals that he didn't hate. He was always a responsive and obedient sous chef.

Her big brother went to her side and took the large saucepan's handle and began pushing around the bubbling tomato paste. He cast a look back to Natalie, who locked eyes with him and smiled behind her wine glass as she took a long and thoughtful sip. Angie was ecstatic, seeing the two of them share such cute looks at each other. It reminded her of when she and Peter had first dated.

"Natalie, can you peel the garlic?" Angie was back and forth in her own kitchen, checking the various pots and pans, adding seasonings while referencing her timer. She was head cook, giving orders and tasting the various dishes that steamed the most aromatic and delicious fragrances.

The space was relatively small compared to what she was used to at work, but it came with an industrial gas stove, granite countertops, and an overhead lighting fixture that also held the various quality kitchenwares she had collected since she began her career. Peter had renovated their apartment kitchen himself, even shifting the island counter back to give the stove area more wiggle room for her.

Angie retrieved a bulb of garlic and brought out a bowl. She handed it to Natalie with a gracious smile.

"Will do," Natalie dutifully put her glass down in a free spot on the island and began peeling. "Mark says you're an amazing chef."

"He's right, though I'll let you be the judge of that. I hope you like Italian."

"Love it."

"I'm so glad you could come. I know it's probably a little fast meeting family but know you're always welcome," She put a hand on the woman's shoulder, squeezing it warmly. She admitted Natalie was gorgeous. She could have been a model, with her full cupid's bow lips and slanted, almond eyes. Mark was clearly smitten with her, casting love-struck-puppy-dog stares towards her every couple of minutes. She already had an inkling that she was going to need to drive the conversation when Mark's partner got there.

"Nice to finally meet you two!" She heard Peter in the other room. She wiped her hands on a nearby kitchen towel and quickly exited the kitchen.

The man was surprisingly thin. Wiry, but cute in a boyish way. He had a long nose and an awkward grin on his face. "Will!" She came up and pulled the man into a warm hug. She was hit with a mix of cologne and alcohol but she pushed through. "I'm so happy to finally meet you. Thanks for coming!" She broke the hug, noticing how stiff he had gone as she looked at him. He looked confused and laughed nervously.

"Uh, actually, I'm Will," his wife waved awkwardly and Angie slowly turned her head. She had completely missed her at first, her short stature eclipsed by the man.

"Oh!" She felt her cheeks burst in heat and she covered her mouth. "I'm sorry-I had thought-," She looked towards the kitchen, her brain short-circuiting as she tried to process what had just happened. She felt quick anger rise up her chest. She was going to kill Mark. She spun back around and gave an apologetic grin. "Okay, Mark did not tell me you-sorry, I really messed up." She felt mortified, embarrassment making her limbs go stiff. Way to be passively sexist, Ang.

"No, you didn't," Will shook her head and quickly held her hands out for a make-up hug. "Don't worry, I get it all the time. It's totally understandable." Angie sighed in relief and hugged the woman, noticing she felt surprisingly firm and tight on her back. She was ripped. She was shorter than Angie and with a wild mane of red hair that reminded her of a halo of fire.

"Will! You're…" Angie trailed off, "totally going to have to go shopping with me sometime. I'm so happy to have a new girlfriend."

Will laughed and introduced her husband. "This is my husband, Frank Griffin."

"Hi," the man's grimace grew tighter as he looked around nervously. He looked to Peter who held up his beer.

"What'll you have? We've got Corona, Heineken, wine," Peter trailed off, looking back and forth to the guests. Angie noticed Will's shoulders had squared and had a nervous energy around her. Frank looked relieved. "How about I just show you two? Everyone's in the kitchen?"

"Wait-Peter, the kitchen may get a little cramped," Angie's protests were ignored as everyone made their way into her domain. She strode in, not about to back down. "Maybe you can turn on the game until dinner's ready-,"

"-we've got some various beers, pick your flavor." Peter had the refrigerator wide open, showcasing their stash to the guests.

"You got anything stronger?" Frank was squatting in front of the chiller, surveying his options.

"Frank!" Will had her arms crossed, shaking her head.

"Is this the man himself?" Mark's voice was loud over the sound of the stove's overhead fan. "Hey, Nat, take this, won't you?" He held the wooden spoon out towards Natalie, giving the newcomers a warm smile.

"Sure thing."

Mark wiped his hand on his pant leg and held it out to Will's husband. "Mark Hoffman. Will's told me a lot about you."

Frank looked at her brother as though dazed, taking in every inch from Hoffman's forehead to his knees. "Frank Griffin," the two men shook hands, a chill suddenly blew through the warm kitchen. Will was watching the two while biting her lower lip, her fingers tapping on her folded arm. She seemed nervous. How odd.

"So you're the reason Will's always missing dinner," Frank joked, flashing teeth. "I hope you're keeping her safe while she's out there."

Mark blinked then chuckled. "She's decent at taking care of herself. But I'll look after her."

"I bet you will." The way he said it seemed off. Aggressive. Angie's attention sharpened at this, noticing Will looked pained while Mark's eyes had narrowed. Natalie had turned at this, eyebrow raised in interest.

"Okay," Natalie fanned herself. "It's getting a little steamy in here. Do you all mind letting Angie have her kitchen back?" She smiled at her, tipping her wine glass in her direction. "Everyone who's not actively helping, grab your drinks and get out." Angie already knew this woman was a keeper.

"Right," Peter had picked up on the hostility as well. He cleared his throat. "Let's all give the chefs some space. While everyone grabbed their beverage of choice, he held the kitchen door open. The cooler apartment helped ease the sweltering heat.

Will, beer bottle in hand, took Frank's fingers and pulled him out. Mark gave Angie a, 'Can you believe this?' look.

Peter, always the good host, went out, saying loudly, "Did Mark tell you that I'm a magician?"

Angie sighed as soon as the doors were closed. "What did you do?" She gave Mark a suspicious, accusatory look. "And don't even get me started on how you just kept me in the dark on the fact that you've been working with a... Will, your-," she abruptly paused, "-partner, and you didn't correct me once when I kept referring to her as a 'he'."

Now Mark looked uncomfortable, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, it just didn't seem like it was ever going to matter. I didn't think she'd come."

"It matters. This whole time," she waved her hands and wanted to raise her voice but kept it level, "I could have gone out to watch romcoms with a buddy, since you know that Peter never takes me to see them, and you deprived me of that?"

"You don't even know if Will likes romcoms," Mark countered and she rolled her eyes. He was being the petulant brother who would do something wrong and pretend he was justified in doing so.

"Not the point. You're so lucky we're entertaining guests. I swear," she crossed her arms tightly and gave Natalie a sympathetic smile. "Be ready to pull teeth with this guy. I have to beg him to tell me when his work holds their potlucks. He's so private."

Natalie laughed softly while stirring the pot. Her voice was relaxed, but her tone had a knife's edge to it. "I've noticed."

Mark looked at both women, outnumbered. "Well, what do you need me to do?"

"You're done in here. Go entertain. Don't leave Peter alone. And make up with Frank, I don't know what you did to piss him off, but fix it. I want tonight to go smoothly."

She pointed at dessert, the tall chocolate cream puff cone against the kitchen table, golden caramel sparkling in the light. "Or no croquembouche."

"No!" Mark half-sarcastically, half-seriously whined as he took his beer, gave Natalie a kiss on her cheek, and gave Angie a salute. "I'll do my best. But no promises. If there's any drama, it won't be my doing."

Angie raised an eyebrow as her brother disappeared behind the door. What the hell is going on?

"Sounds like tonight's going to be fun," Natalie commented, smiling at her with an awareness in her eyes that made Angie nervous.

"I guess so."

Mark Hoffman

Hoffman took in a breath as he approached the living room. Frank had his arm wrapped around Will, his grip looking tight and possessive. He watched him through half-lidded eyes as he took long healthy gulps of his beer. Will's focus shot from watching Peter's magic trick to the TV to Hoffman and back to Peter. That instant, he had seen her brown eyes wide with panic and then back to its passive mask. He nodded at Peter who was currently showcasing one of his cliched stunts.

Peter held the quarter in his hand and then with a few flashy moves of his fingers, the coin disappeared. When he reached behind Frank's ear, he pulled out the very same quarter.

"Cool," Frank commented while Will clapped her hands enthusiastically. Peter gave a deep bow.

"And now, prepare to be astounded. Mrs. Maddox, if you would check your pocket," Peter's voice was deep with booming showmanship.

Hoffman couldn't help but smirk at the goof as he sighed into the recliner closest to the TV. He propped his legs up by leaning back and enjoyed watching the game. He took slow sips from his Heineken while watching their city's baseball team score a homerun. He tried to appear as unimposing as possible. He didn't give Will a single glance. He had a hunch that Frank was already wound up a little tight. The fucker had some insecurities he needed to work on.

Judging from how he reeked like the drunk tank did on a Saturday morning, he kept his ears sharpened to any trouble while making sure he wouldn't help start any.

Peter continued his parlor tricks and their team was winning by a wide margin. The evening was off to a good start. He felt Frank stare burning holes into his face but he wouldn't engage or look back. He wanted to, oh hell yes, but he wanted to do more than just mean mug the fucking prick. But he kept his composure. He wasn't going to go off and make things harder for Will. The gal didn't need any more shit on her plate.

"Yeah, you've already made stuff disappear," Frank sounded unimpressed, "but do you do anything else? Like saw assistants in half?"

"Well-,"

"Frank, how would he be able to do that here? Right now? Peter, I enjoyed your show. Thanks for sharing."

"Yeah."

Hoffman finally stole a gaze towards his fellow guests. Frank had already finished his beer and was waving it up to Peter. "Refill?"

"Sure thing," Peter took the empty green bottle and kept smiling. "I'll be right back." He retreated to the kitchen, walking by Hoffman with a quick glance that looked unhappy. Great, so it's just us. He already knew Peter would be taking his time getting that fresh bottle.

The three remaining sat in that awkward silence. He could have cut the tension with a knife. He kept his eyes on the TV screen.

"So, Mark," Frank was the first to break the silence. "You look like you're in decent shape. You work out?"

"Yeah. Part of the job."

"How much can you chest press?"

"Enough to get by." He finally turned from the game to face the prick. He looked at the man's narrow frame and didn't bother to ask how much he'd chest press. "I don't keep track," he lied.

"That's a shame. You and Will ever work out together?" Frank looked over to his wife. "After all, you two work late all the time. I bet it's hard to keep yourselves in shape without making the time."

He remembered to breathe long and deep through his nose but it did little to hold his anger at bay. The mandated anger management training was crap. He already knew what the fucker's angle was. "There's a gym at the station. I'm sure Will's told you."

"Yeah, but partners do everything together, right? Even working out?"

The piece of shit just wouldn't let it go. He barely refrained from rolling his eyes. Yeah. We even shower together. Wouldn't you love to hear that? "We work out at the same time occasionally. Not necessarily together."

"Interesting. Because if you two go to the gym together, wouldn't you effectively be working out together?" Frank's smile looked triumphant and he took his arm off of Will. "So just the two of you, working hard. Keeping yourself lookin' good. Must be sweaty work."

"What the fuck, Frank," Will's hand went to her temple and she rubbed it with eyes cast down to the wooden floors with intense interest. "Please. Stop."

"Heyyy," Peter came in with an arm wrapped around frosty glasses and an equally fogged bottle of green spirits. "Who wants some Jäger?"

He would have smacked Peter on the back of his head if he didn't love Angie so much. He couldn't be too mad at the guy, though. He just didn't have a lot of good sense in his thick skull. Pete is probably thinking he's going to save the night with this stunt. He shook his head solemnly. This was all on him. He should have warned Angie and Peter that Frank was an alcoholic. Will had dropped hints and he had figured as much. But he didn't realize Frank Griffin was not just an alcoholic, but a worthless piece of shit who couldn't keep his mouth shut sober. This was going to be a long night.

"You're a godsend," Frank let out a relieved sigh of pleasure as he took his glass. He downed it and held the empty cup back to their host before Peter had made the rounds.

"Whoops!" Peter poured him another. Peter handed Hoffman one with a hopeful smile and Hoffman wished he could communicate with his eyes that this was literally the worst thing he could be doing. Will looked defeated. "A toast!" Peter held out the glass. "To new friends and good food!"

"Here here," Will was always courteous, smiling sweetly up at Peter, despite the sadness lining her face. "Thank you so much for having us."

They downed the frigid licorice water with hearty gasps.

"So, Peter, how long have you and Angie been married?" Will asked, putting her empty glass on a coaster on the wooden coffee table at their knees.

"Oh, we're not married. Yet." Peter let out a small laugh.

"Oh. How long have you two been dating?"

"About six years."

"What are you two waiting for?!"

"That's what I ask," Hoffman interjected, smirking at the sweating man that could have been his brother years ago, if he just got off his ass and took the knee. Though Peter was an idiot, he was good to Angie. He made her happy, and he was an honest man. "My sister can't be expected to wait forever."

"Wow, gang up on me, why don't you?" Peter had taken a seat on the couch next to Frank, tapping his hand on his knee. "Well, I can't just propose without a steady job. The magic industry isn't quite as stable as it used to be."

"No shit," Hoffman muttered as he took another swig of his beer.

"But I was talking to a recruiter for the Marines. If I can get through the physical fitness assessment, it'll be a stable job with decent benefits."

Hoffman spun to stare at the man. "You serious?"

"Yep. Angie and I talked it over. She doesn't like the idea of me getting deployed but we'd make it work. We'd get married before then, of course. They're offering bonuses right now for infantry. They're desperate for people. If I enlist, Angie could open up her own restaurant. But before all that, I just want to make it through Bootcamp first. Got to prove I can do it."

"Wow. That's wonderful you're looking into that. Very honorable." Will gushed, "I'm sure you'll make it. Good luck to you."

"Thanks." Peter laughed while Hoffman felt his gaze go back to the kitchen door. Was Angie really fine with Peter just up and leaving? He felt a tinge of concern. She hadn't told him that. He wasn't the only one keeping things from the family.

"Dinner's ready!" Angie's voice called from the kitchen. "Mark, come help me bring things out."

"That's my cue," He got to his feet with a grunt, the beer and Jager starting to make his head go soft.

He went to the kitchen where serving platters of ravioli, salads, fresh-baked bread, roast, and vegetables greeted him warmly. His mouth watered as he took the heavier foods to the dining room table in the adjacent room, Natalie and Angie following his lead. Peter was at the head of the table, seated already.

Once the table was loaded everyone took their seats. Hoffman and Natalie sat across from Will and Frank, respectively. Hoffman and Will locked eyes and she smiled at him, flashing her eyes to Natalie and back to him, her eyebrows dancing up and down playfully. He couldn't help but smirk back at her, pleased she approved.

"Now, before we begin," Angie took her seat opposite Peter and stood like a queen in her court. "I want to thank you all for coming. It's always so wonderful to meet the people in Mark's life. He means everything to me and anyone who's a friend of Mark's is dear to me as well. I hope you enjoy the meal. It is a porcini mushroom, beef, and spinach ravioli with goat cheese and port wine marinara. The focaccia was taken out of the oven two hours ago. And just you all wait 'til dessert."

Peter raised his fist and lowered it close down his side in a triumphant motion and a pleased expression towards the ceiling. Hoffman's stomach growled.

"I hope you all enjoy your meal," Angie took her seat and everyone began to break bread. Hoffman helped pass the side dishes around the table, putting a generous portion on his plate before handing it off to Natalie.

While everyone took their first bites, there were soft moans of pleasure and delight that made Hoffman feel a swell of pride for his sister. She always impressed with her food.

"Wow, Angie, this is amazing." Will had her hand over her mouth, eyes wide with awe. "I don't think I've eaten anything so good in my life." She fidgeted slightly when Frank turned to her gaping, a hurt expression her way. They locked eyes but Will shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, Frank, I love your food too."

"It's fine," Frank let out a forced laugh and was cutting into his food quickly. "This is. Very good. Amazing." His smile was more of a grimace as he bowed his head to Angie. "If you are selling any cookbooks, I'll buy one."

"Thank you, Frank," Angie beamed at him. "I don't have one yet, but I'll get onto that. As soon as I open up my own restaurant."

This caught Hoffman's attention. He never realized she was so ambitious; he wanted her to talk more about it. "You can do it," he commented in between savoring mouthfuls. "You'd be the best."

"I don't know about that," Angie was swirling her wine and smelling it. "But I've always wanted to start a business. Maybe a bistro. It would be nice to be the one calling the shots. But it's hard to get started."

"I'd absolutely pay to eat this," Will commented, grinning through the meal. "When you get started, we'll be eager customers."

"So Will," Natalie had been quiet at the start, her expression dreamy, "What's it like, being a detective? It must be hard, being one of the only women at your job?"

Will pondered this question as she chewed, took a sip of beer before answering. "I think it's a lot better than it was just a generation ago. It's not so bad, in that aspect. Though I do have to prove myself a little bit more than the next guy. But the job is a thrill. Every day's an adventure," she gave a small smile, "I always go home with a story to tell."

Frank let out a small crow before blinking and looking up at everyone staring at the sudden outburst. "She doesn't tell me any stories."

"You never want to hear them," Will quipped, squinting at the man. "I've totally tried telling you about my day."

Hoffman's eyes flickered to the couple, noticing that Will seemed fatigued from Frank's bullshit. Her voice was irritable.

"Oh, I get it, honey," Natalie didn't seem perturbed by the bickering, her voice smooth and sweet. "I dated a guy who never wanted to hear about my day. And he'd always get so confused as to why I stopped talking about my job. It's a guy thing." She was full of sympathy, nodding to his partner.

"Oh, so you're just going to chock all our problems off to me being a guy?" Frank snapped, redirecting his meanspirited tone towards her.

This caused another pause in the room.

"Hey." Hoffman interjected. "Cool it. We're just having a conversation. No need to get so worked up." He kept his voice level but pushed the steel coldness into his glare, daring the pipsqueak to do something about it. Give me a reason.

"You're just going to sit there and let us be insulted by these-," he waved his hands at the women at the table but cut himself off. It didn't matter, though. The damage was being done.

"Frank," Will softly soothed but flinched when he slammed his fist on the table, shaking everyone's world. The sharp clink of silverware against porcelain was jarring.

Hoffman took action. "All right, guy," he got to his feet. "Let's take a walk. Cool down."

Frank glared menacingly up at Hoffman, uncowed. "Make me."

He felt his lips curl into a malicious smile and he leaned over the table, hunched over to not hit the lighting fixture, bracing himself for a fight. He squared his shoulders and leaned close to the shrimp's face. "You've got three seconds and I will."

Angie and Peter looked like deer caught in headlights. Natalie had her eyebrow raised, an amused smile on her face as she propped her chin with her elbows and took it all in like it was reality TV. Will's face and neck were as red as her hair, her grimace full of humiliating pain. And Frank seemed immune to the discomfort he spread to the room.

"Maybe it's best if we go," Will softly whispered and took her napkin from her lap. She placed it on the table and rose to her feet. "I am so sorry," she bowed her head in sorrow. "Thank you so much for having us-," she had her hand on Frank's shoulder but he shrugged out of her grasp and stomped to his feet. He stalked off out of the room with Will quickly going after him.

"Frank!" The door slammed sharply, followed by a softer reopening and closing.

Hoffman straightened his back, readjusted his shirt, and took a seat with a calm sigh. He returned to his food, pretending nothing was amiss. "Can someone pass the ravioli?" He asked the room of stunned patrons, taking another bite.

The rest of the meal had been quiet, everyone somber. Hoffman didn't let it bother his night too much. He didn't like seeing Angie look so troubled, her eyes brimming with tears from the stressful event. But she wouldn't need to worry. Frank was not welcome back. That was for sure.

Natalie tried to help keep the night going well. She was a real champ, talking about how she was a painter. An artist. Angie and Peter took in all her words religiously, clearly trying to distract from the intensity that had stormed through their evening.

Once the meal was done, dessert came and went. Hoffman didn't find himself enjoying it as much as he'd like, a flicker of thought on Will making his appetite flatten. He hoped she was fine. He should probably call her later that night, to check up on her. Unless that prick takes her phone. That could make things worse.

Finally, it was time to go home.

When Peter and Angie said their goodbyes, he took Peter aside and whispered in his ear. "You have your revolver?"

Peter's face was shocked. "Yeah-why?" He whispered back, casting a nervous glance at Angie.

"If that fucker comes back, don't open the door. Call the police. Call me. And keep your gun handy. Don't let him anywhere near Angie."

"Is he dangerous?" Peter was slow on the uptake but his eyes were all serious and prepared.

"Yeah. Just keep an eye out."

He and Natalie said their goodbyes, descending down the stairs of the apartment building.

"So…" Natalie had trailed off for a moment but stopped their descent midway down. "What was up with that guy?"

"Frank?"

"Yeah."

Hoffman shrugged. "He's a fuck."

"Yeah. I got that. But-I got some creepy vibes from him. He doesn't… hurt Will or anything, does he?"

Hoffman looked up at her, blinking. "It's not really your business."

She let out a harsh laugh. "Oh. I see." She folded her arms and leaned against the railing, looking cool and distant. "Well, it's your business. Isn't it?"

He didn't respond to this. He didn't like this conversation. She was still a stranger. A bystander. She wasn't involved. Why was she being so upset?

"The fact that you're not saying anything is telling me everything I need to know." She sighed and continued down the stairs. He had driven her there, but she didn't make a point to return to the car when they stepped outside. He stood waiting at the passenger side, holding the door for her. She shook her head, a sad frown on her lips. "Mark, I think I'll take a cab."

He blinked, confused. "Are you sure? You want me to hail you one?"

"I'm sure. And no." She started walking away, bewildering him.

"What's wrong?" He called out to her, not understanding the sudden shift in her demeanor. She had dismissed him, all her beauty and grace shelled off and shutting him out.

She stopped and turned around. "Look. I'm sure you mean well. You clearly care about your sister. But I've been getting some mixed signals from you. And red flags. I don't think this is going to work out," she shook her head, hands in her pockets.

"I don't get it," he bit his lip. "Can you explain?"

"Well, you're very private. You don't tell your sister your partner's a woman. I get not telling me. It's like the second date, why would you? But clearly, she seemed bothered by you lying to her about it. And just that whole," she waved her hand in a circle, "thing with you and your partner. I get some vibes that there's something there, something more than just a working relationship. That you two are close, which is fine, I'm not the jealous type. But if you really cared about her like a friend, then what's with her husband?" She slumped her shoulders. "Oh my God, that guy. I can't believe you just sit back and let him be that way. You must have known about him before today."

"Why do you care? You don't know the whole story."

"Maybe not, but I want no part in it after what I've seen." She took a step back to him, a solemn look on her face. "Sorry, but I'm just not feeling us anymore." She put a hand on his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. "Good luck to you. Take care."

She turned and walked off, the woman of his dreams disappearing before he even had a chance.

Wilhelmina Maddox

He had punched her in the stomach. It not only pushed the wind out of her lungs, but she dry heaved to the side as she bowed over, clutching her gut and coughed. She was in the foyer, so close to the door. Her purse was drawn across her chest. She had been so close.

It was over. She had told him as much as soon as they had gotten home. She was leaving. She would leave if it killed her.

"You think you can just go?!" He screamed, throwing the nearest object at her back, a picture frame. The glass exploded and her spine shot electric needles on her back ribs. She turned to see it had been the wedding photo she had hung when they first moved there.

"Yes," she choked out. "I can't do this anymore, Frank." She went to reach for the doorknob but felt herself get pulled back by her ponytail. Every inch of her begged for the pain to stop. She just wanted it all to stop.

She spun and punched him as hard as she could in the neck, finally letting her training take over. It horrified and excited her how good it felt. He had released her hair promptly and clutched his neck, gasping with the whites of his eyes growing into giant saucers that stared at her in disbelief. She had drawn her gun from her purse, pointing it at him. She knew she wouldn't shoot him but if the gun went off, she didn't think she'd be complaining too much.

He looked at the weapon with a newfound fear in his eye. "Will," he rasped.

"Back the fuck up." The safety was on. Her finger wasn't even in the trigger guard. But she wanted him to just leave her alone. Once and for all. She was so tired of the pain. She was so tired of being hurt by him. Her hand tremored, not from the weight of the gun, but from the adrenaline that coursed through her and from the muscle cramps that came from getting slammed against the wall.

She wouldn't cry. She was beyond that. She just wanted to make her escape. She backed out the door and slammed it shut behind her, briskly walking towards the stairs. If he chased her, he'd have to do so where plenty of neighbors could intervene. Or at least witness. She didn't care anymore about what people thought. She just wanted to get away. She heard footsteps behind her and her name, making her begin to sprint down the stairs while her heart thudded in her chest.

The humiliation was too much. This had happened too many times. She had come to this city for change; for a fresh start. And he went and poisoned all of it. All she heard was her scared breathing and her heart in her ears as she quickly descended the many levels of stairs. There was a ringing in her head and she felt as though she was not in her body, but watching it from above. It was like she was a character going about the motions of putting one foot on a step and repeating, until she rushed out to the front doors of the building and gasped in the sweetest, coldest air she had tasted since she had first arrived here.

She looked up at the starless sky and around at the city. She squeezed her grip on her gun. Amber lights illuminated the streetwalkers, who didn't look at her as they went about their business. She looked at her back, at the depressing bricks of the building that she always dreaded approaching when she got home from work.

This was it. She was leaving for the last time.

"Will?" A male voice called to her and she jumped, spinning her head, raising her gun. She immediately pointed the weapon to the air when the figure flinched.

"Hoffman?" She whispered, blinking fast. Her skull was prickling. She felt something wet trickle down her forehead. Was it raining? Was she sweating? Or was it... "Shit. I almost shot you. I thought-,"

"What happened?" He had held his hands up in rapid response to her weapon but lowered them and approached her once she no longer had the barrel pointed in his direction. "Where's Frank?"

She threw her chin to the building. "In there. I just ended things. I'm done."

"Sure," Hoffman's hand landed on her shoulder. She jumped and spun her face to look up at his, realizing she was hyperventilating. Panic attack. This is a panic attack. She felt the warm metal of her gun get gently tugged out of her grip. He had taken it from her, she realized. She looked up at his face, her vision cloudy. "You're shivering, Will." He looked around, checking the surroundings as though scanning for trouble, before taking his jacket off and putting it around her shoulders. "Come on. Let's get you out of the cold. It's going to rain. My car's right over there."

She nodded, following him numbly. She didn't recall getting in the car. She didn't recall the heat being turned on and blasting inher face. She didn't recall him saying anything until she noticed the car was parked somewhere that was not her stomping grounds. She hadn't even realized he had driven her somewhere.

"Where are we?" She scanned the unfamiliar streets, expecting the station to appear. She figured he was taking her to file a police report. Or maybe he was taking her to Angie's? Though that would simply be too embarrassing to deal with. She'd get a hotel. Yeah. A hotel would be nice.

"My place." Hoffman turned to her, eyes serious. "You left Frank. This is the most dangerous time for you. You know that. If Frank tries to find you, he knows where you work. He knows where Angie is. He knows where you like to go. But he doesn't know where I live. And if he happens to find out, he won't touch you. I promise. I won't let that happen."

She didn't fully register what he was saying but his words helped soothe her. His voice was deep and rich, confident and strong. He had a hand graze her shoulder, gentle. She just nodded. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it." He got out of the car and she followed, keeping her eyes downcast. Bits and pieces of the next few minutes unfolded in snapshots. She was entering an unfamiliar building. Blue. She saw pale blue. Maybe the walls. Maybe his eyes.

The ding of an elevator. The feeling of ventilation on her face as she walked by some air vents. The smell of cheap cleaning solution and the mustiness of an old building filled her nose. The sound of metal on metal and the sliding of a deadbolt. The creak of a rusty door hinge.

The click of a door closing. The sound of locks being engaged. Darkness. She was in darkness.

And then soft, yellow light shined, throwing her off guard for a moment. When her vision adjusted, she realized where she was.

His place.

Hoffman had gone into the kitchen, tossing his keys on the counter. His apartment was small, much smaller than his sister's, but had a coziness about it. The kitchen was compact and clean, the only appliance in view a coffee pot. On top of the fridge were various bottles of hard liquor, all brown spirits, and mostly bourbons and whiskeys. There was a small couch and recliner and a tube television that was perched on shelves full of VHS tapes.

The place had a neutral smell. There was a hint of coffee, bleach, aftershave, and a smell that she could only identify as his scent. A mix of musk and oak.

"It's clean," she muttered as she stepped deeper into his domain. There was a photo hanging on the wall, a picture of younger Hoffman and Angie, with two older adults that must have been their parents, smiling back at her.

"What, you assume I live like a slob?"

"Judging from your bar choices, yeah."

He was pouring himself a drink. "Want one? Or am I being insensitive," though he normally would say this with sarcasm, there was a hint of tactful awareness.

"You're fine," she whispered and eyeballed the glass. "I think I could use one. Or several."

"All right," Hoffman pulled out another glass, pouring her a healthy amount. "I don't think I've seen you drink much."

"Yeah. I just don't like hangovers." She threw the glass back, not caring if it was brash or uncultured. She just wanted to feel numb, not this hypersensitivity that made her fidget. She let out a gag at how hot her throat felt and tried to resist coughing. She was more of a wine and beer kind of firewater burned a hole in her chest. "But right now, I don't give a fuck." She placed the glass back on the counter and leaned over it. "Fuck, Hoffman. Fuck my life."

"Yeah," was all he said as the sound of liquid pouring trickled through the two of them. He slid the glass back at her and she heard him take a big gulp of his glass. "I feel that."

She looked up at him, realizing something else was amiss. "What happened with Natalie?"

"She dumped me." He poured himself another and downed it again with ease, unperturbed by the alcohol content. "Said I should be more involved with-," he looked at her, then, as though considering his next words carefully, "-the welfare of my friends. She's right."

Her face felt flush as the heat of the bourbon warmed her toes. "Damn. I'm sorry, Mark. That doesn't seem fair though. She ended it just like that?"

"Yeah." He stared into his glass, stoic but troubled.

"Did you tell her that your friend didn't need your help?"

"No. Because that's bullshit. I should have stepped in sooner. Instead of just watching you struggle through all of this on your own." He wouldn't look at her. "I just didn't believe it was that bad. I didn't want to believe it. I'm a prick who wanted to not be involved. And I'm an idiot. Seeing the way he treats you in public-,"

"Oh, you thought dinner was bad?" Will let out a crude laugh, taking her newly full glass to the couch, and collapsed into it. "Don't even get me started." She let out a loud, exasperated sigh. "Don't start going all guilty on me, Hoffman. I didn't want you to get involved. I want to handle my own problems. I thought Frank would change. I'm the idiot. You did the best thing, letting me see it for myself. You respected me when I told you to keep out." She felt herself relax, the toxins she was chugging softening her mind and helped melt away her anxieties. "You've been good to me. You-you came to check on me tonight, didn't you?"

Hoffman took his seat at the recliner, bringing the bottle with him. He placed it on the side table that separated the two of them and he kept both their glasses wetted. "Had to. I know he's roughed you up before. I've seen the bruises. And I got him worked up. I couldn't let him just hurt you. Not because he was too much of a coward to fight someone his own size. Fuck, Maddox, I let it go for too long." He clenched his jaw and stared off in the distance. "You need to press charges. File a restraining order. Make him stay far away from you."

She took slower sips, already her head spinning as she tried to listen to his words. "Yeah. I know." She hated thinking about it. "Hey. Change of subject. Mind if I take a shower?" She looked down at her dinner party attire, wishing she had a change of clothes. "And… got a spare shirt lying around?"

"Yeah-," he got to his feet quickly and hurried down the hall, his feet stomping firmly. While she waited, she took in the entertainment center. She noticed some of the titles shelved were old movies. John Wayne. Clint Eastwood. The corners of her mouth curled. He would be into westerns.

"I never wear these," he came back with sweats and a shirt from one of the Metropolitan Police Department fundraisers, holding it out to her. "I keep some spare toothbrushes. They're in the bathroom. You can take my bed."

"Oh, no," she got to her feet and took the clothes, "You don't have to do that. I can take the couch. I'd fit on it better."

"It's a pullout. And no, take the bed. I changed the sheets this morning. They're fresh." He gave her an embarrassed smile. "Consider it an extra boundary. For your safety. You can lock the door. Can't let you just be left out in the open here."

She blinked and laughed, figuring the alcohol was hitting the both of them quickly. He was going full tactical on her. It helped reassure her, his mind working defensively even so late in the night. "I trust you, Mark." She crinkled her face at him. "But please tell me you're not going old-fashioned on me."

"Maybe a little bit." Hoffman unbuttoned the top of his shirt. "Hurry up with that shower. I want to take one, too."

"'Kay. Just a heads up, though, I'm not that tired. So you can always take the bed. I think I'll be up for a while."

"Yeah. Me too. I don't mind staying up." He seemed flustered, his face pink. She noticed they were standing close to each other, close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek. She needed to take a step back, wondering how they gravitated towards each other.

"Maybe we can watch a movie? I love John Wayne."

"Really?" He seemed taken aback. "I'd never guess."

"'Talk low, talk slow, and don't talk too much,'" she quoted, realizing it was a fitting reference. "I'm a sucker for anything on the silver screen."

Hoffman smirked at her. "All right. I'm impressed."

"Ah, don't be. My Dad was just really into Wayne. He got me into old movies."

"Huh." Hoffman blinked. "My old man did the same."

"Small world." She smiled and slowly went to the bedroom. "I'll be quick."

She closed the door and locked it. When she entered and her gaze landed on the pristinely made bed, she felt her cheeks flush as the weight of where she was dawned on her.

Her curiosity drove her to scan the area, eager to get some clues as to understanding Mark Hoffman better. The bed was a queen size, gray comforter and muted blue sheets the color pallete. A dresser was against the wall, just underneath a wall mirror. She put her garments on the bed and ventured deeper into his territory. She noticed the dresser had a bottle of cologne, a comb, and a can of pomade. A picture of Angie and Peter, smiling, was pushed to the far back corner, along with what looked like some loose receipts and work notes that had been tossed half-hazardly there.

A knock on the door made her spin around. "Will-I need something in there real quick."

She went to unlock the door and let him in. He seemed hurried as he went to the nightstand and pulled out a box. She looked at him with a raised eyebrow, expecting him to explain.

"Shaving kit. I don't want to bother you tomorrow morning when I need it," he quickly explained and went to the bathroom to grab his toothbrush. "I'll get out of your hair."

She smiled as he retreated and went to close the door again. Once she was locked inside she decided to save snooping for later. Hoffman was a private man and was already going above and beyond to help her out. She didn't want to overwhelm his generosity.

Remembering the reason for her present circumstance quickly pulled her back to Earth. She took a shaky inhale as she made her way to the bathroom and began running the hot water. When she looked in the mirror she had to do a double-take. She looked far worse than she had initially thought. There was blood caked on the corner of her nose and hairline. Fresh red welts were up her neck and the sides of her cheeks. She touched her face gingerly, hissing at how much pain was there.

Frank hadn't let up on the car ride home. He had taken to throwing slaps and hailing punches at her face with one hand on the steering wheel, screaming and swerving throughout the entire trip. The memory was coming back and she let herself sob while the loud gush of shower water helped mask her weeping.

She went to unbutton her blouse, wincing at the strain it took to lift her arms. Her ribs felt as though she had gotten clobbered with a baseball bat. She pushed through and once she was completely nude, she studied the state of damage done to her. He had gone too far this time. She made herself look at the state of her body, willing herself to never go back to him. To never let him touch her again. Let this be a lesson.

The hot water scalded, the pressure strong and character building. It made the pain worse, but she pressed her hands against the tile and willed herself to have the shower pressure clean off the blood and drill into her that she could never take back Frank. She had done so far too many times. He could kill me, she felt her limbs tremble at the realization. She never considered this, not truly. She always held out hope that he deeply cared about her and would never do that. But he doesn't. He never did. She was admonishing herself, letting herself softly wail as she grieved for the many years wasted. For believing that he deserved so many second chances. She cried for the life she let get out of control because she just couldn't cut the cord. She cried until she had no more tears left to shed.

Mark Hoffman

His heart raced as he looked over his shoulder and opened the polished mahogany box. It had just two things in it.

Her lock of hair, from earlier that week, was wrapped carefully with twine. An old note she had scribbled and left on his desk months ago was underneath. The hair; he didn't know why he had kept it. He knew it would likely get him committed if anyone found out he was keeping it. At least, Will would probably never speak to him the same after its discovery. If at all. But he couldn't just get rid of it. It was a rich golden red, the curly rivulets like the color of maple trees in Autumn. It would just be a waste to let it go to the trash, like it was garbage. No part of her was garbage.

The note he took out to admire her handwriting. She had left it on his desk one Friday night earlier in their partnership. Grissom had chewed him out for neglecting his administrative duties, having pointed out that Will had gotten all of her work out of the way earlier that week. Apparently, Grissom decided he could have done so as well. He had hated her, then, having blamed her for his predicament of not being able to go home and enjoy his personal time off.

When he had gone back to his desk, ready to slam his fists and throw tables, a small pastry box and a tall cup of coffee waited for him there. The note had been displayed with his name in her penmanship. It had been cursive and elegant, something that was out of place from the chicken scratch he had been used to seeing. He had still been angry, about to toss the contents in the metal bin by his feet, until he decided to just read it.

Donut worry about a thing! I've already taken care of some of the workload. Hope it helps.

Also, donut give up.

-Will

The puns had made him groan at first but they had quickly diffused his rage. The donuts and coffee had eased the suffering of that night. The blistering anger in his chest had dampened as though cold water had been tossed onto the flames and a wave of shame had washed over him. He had felt like a real ass for blaming her for his blatant refusal to do any of the boring aspects of his job.

She had been patient with him those first few weeks together, patient on a level he knew was practically saintlike. He had never met a person, besides Angie, who had been so considerate to him. He thought it was just one of those things people didn't do for others unless they were bonded by blood.

She was just so fucking kind that he was at a loss of whether to thank her or to simply go about his business like it never happened. There was no protocol to deal with an overly cheerful redhead that kept doing small acts of kindness for him.

He chose his usual approach, of never acknowledging her actions, but couldn't find himself strong enough to just throw the note away to be forgotten. He didn't want to forget. That was the night he decided she wasn't so bad of company. That note made him decide to go all in with their partnership and give her a real chance. He felt like he owed her that, after all the peace offerings she shoved down his throat.

He carefully locked and hid his secret behind the air vents in the corner by the entertainment center. That was close. Too close. From all the chaos of the day he had completely forgotten to not have it so easy to reach. He hadn't planned on her coming over and he normally kept the box by his nightstand, to reference whenever he felt particularly hollow and alone.

Everything unfolded quicker than he had been prepared for and he was not equipped to handle Will getting this close to him. He hated not being prepared. He also had thrown back a few drinks, he rationalized, to make Will feel comfortable with helping herself to the booze. But really, he needed as much liquid courage as he could consume, anxiety itching up inside of his lungs as he kept reminding himself that she would be sleeping in his bed that night. It was overwhelming him.

He didn't like the idea of Will being able to poke and pry through his things like he expected her to do, but he was glad she was there with him. It's about time she left that fuck. He'd protect her, he was confident on that.

He turned on the TV and continued to nurse his drink, the rhythm of his pulse thundering in his ears. What would she do now? Probably try to live at work, if Grissom would let her. He smirked at the idea of her putting a bed next to her desk. He wouldn't put it past her. He had a feeling she didn't take the job at MPD just to get away from Frank but he didn't know much about her outside of their professional relationship. Did she have hobbies? Hell, he couldn't tell, unless it related to her career. She does like old movies, he reminded himself, pleased at the commonality they shared.

The door opened and she came out, hair wrapped in a towel and draped in saggy attire that he couldn't help but snicker at. She looked like a kid wearing her parents' clothes, his XL bulk not flattering to her petite frame. She let out a sigh of relief and curled up on the couch, toweling her hair and giving a gracious grin. "I needed that. Thanks." The sweat pants were not clinging to her hips, clearly sagging down to her thighs. She easily kicked them off her legs, folding them, and tossing them over the armrest. Thankfully the shirt was long enough that it went down to her knees. He made a point to look away, not wanting to come off as scummy. A part of him whined, wanting to admire her shapely calves, but he held strong.

"All right, my turn." He got to his feet and went to his room, shutting the door and going to rinse off. He made it quick, soaping, scrubbing, and rinsing. He wanted to get back out there fast, not liking the idea of her alone by herself. He noticed there had been some pink water droplets on the white tiles of the far back of the shower. He looked closer, knowing where it must have come from, a tight fury pecking at his sternum. Her blood. He rubbed the spots off with his fingers, letting the water pressure clean his hands as the shade faded to clear. He'd make sure Frank was locked up for this. For everything.

He got out, dried himself, and went to pull on some sweats and a t-shirt, checking himself in the mirror real quick. He pulled his damp hair back, a wave of insecurity making him feel the need to groom himself. He felt out of sorts, unsure of where things would go or what it meant,now that her marriage was ending. He didn't linger on the thought too long, figuring she'd probably find someone new to spend her nights with, once she healed up and moved on. Plenty of boys in Homicide would come up with reasons to talk to her.

He dreaded how likely it was that those situations would increase in rate, once word got out that she finally left her husband.

He returned to the living room, noticing Will was on her bare knees, at eye level with the lower shelves of his movie collection. She turned to look up at him, not realizing he was taking in the curve of her lower backside. He quickly looked up to her face, hoping she hadn't noticed. The cotton shirt had been pulled taught by the heels of her feet, framing her feminine shape and he was too buzzed and tired to resist admiring it. "Okay… I'm torn between The Searchers and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon. What do you think?"

"-Whatever you want." He went to find something to do, to distance himself mentally from the seductive domesticity of his living room. He felt himself begin to sweat - he blamed the hot shower. He went to get ice, freshening up his drink. He'd just get blasted and pass out. That was a good plan. He'd be too drunk to move, let alone try to touch her. He hoped he'd fall asleep in his seat halfway through the flick.

She pushed into the VCR the tape and then commented, "Shoot. You don't rewind your tapes?" She stopped and pushed the rewind button, the tape reeling and winding as it revolved its spokes.

"I forget." He smirked as she shook her head in disappointment. "I've been meaning to get a DVD player."

"Wow. I always figured you were the OCD type, judging from how organized you are. You hate it when I leave post-it notes on your side of the desks."

"Because they're always telling me to do shit. It's annoying."

"They're just visual aids," she whined. "I'm just helping you remember where to be and what to do."

"You're not my mom."

"Well, I got sick and tired of coming up with excuses for Grissom as to why you didn't go to some meeting or turn in some case file; so, you can just deal with my post-its until you start showing up on time."

"That's fair." He watched her straighten her back and push play once the tape finished, getting up to her feet with a low groan. The large shirt shifted, raising above her knees. He couldn't enjoy the peep show, though. Her right arm had a big welt. The back of her thigh had a dark purple bruise that looked older than a day. It disturbed him that he recognized it was from a footprint stomping onto the flesh. He stepped on her, like she was dirt. The anger kept building, brick by brick, pushing down on his body as he seethed.

She got to her spot and stretched out, her legs draping off the armrest. She reached across the back and pulled off the throw that had been folded over it, unfolding the blanket and draping it over her legs. He smiled at her getting cozy, her head supported by the pillow against the side of the couch closest to his left hand.

He could have reached out and touched her still wet hair if he wanted to, his fingers stretching out just to gauge the distance. His fingertips hovered just above her head. Her mane was water falling off the armrest edge, her head turned to the rolling credits and old orchestral music played as The Searchers began.

They watched the movie but he quickly learned she was a movie talker. He didn't mind, having seen the particular film enough times that he could replay it with his eyes shut. She made the experience something new.

"Damn it, Lucy. Every time." She shivered when the girl on screen let out her blood-curdling scream, the realization of her fate bringing chills up his neck. "I'm so happy I wasn't alive back then."

He looked at her with a smirk. "Yeah. Probably would suck being you."

She giggled, rotating her head, and gave him a look. "You, on the other hand, would probably have had a blast. Riding horses under the stars. Saving damsels from invading tribes. I can see you being a Texas Ranger."

He let out a low laugh. She reached for her drink on the side table and took ice-clinking sips.

The next scene when she spoke was when John Wayne, as Ethan, shot the buried Native American's remains right in the eyes, to prevent him from moving on to the spirit world.

"Why don't you finish the job?" John Wayne pulled out his pistol, spinning it and firing two shots into the ground.

"What good did that do you?"

"What that Comanche believes is he's got no eyes then he can't enter the spirit land. Has to wander forever between the winds."

"You can really feel the hate there," she commented. "It's amazing how we've come a long way since then, but even during that time they still portray his journey as futile."

"Yeah, well, they killed his family. He wants them to hurt."

"I get that, but we both know how things turn out for Ethan in the end. I like the lesson in the final scene, it's perfectly ironic."

"What are you talking about?" He gave her a bewildered look. "It's a happy ending. He saves Debbie."

She looked at him. "But is it happy for Ethan?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, prepare to have your mind blown."

He was suddenly hyper-focused on the movie, eyes searching for every detail. He didn't want to miss anything. She's nuts, he fumed, she's probably making things up.

There were more scenes she loved to point out, making observations he never picked up on before.

She laughed when John Wayne pushed the older woman into the house, preventing her from egging on a brawl occurring, shaking her head at the spectacle. "He's such a buzzkill." She was one of those intellectual movie buffs, always with something smart to say over some scene as though it was some artistic masterpiece. He kept himself full of booze until he was too blitzed to really care or try to understand. In fact, he found himself enjoying her voice and her quips. It was different from just watching TV alone. The room felt less empty. She watched movies as though she was always finding ways to critique or absorb some underlying intention. He just thought they made those movies because it was cool to see Cowboys and Indians fight. But he figured the Wills of the world probably wanted to add their fancy underlying messages with the violence and action.

Once the movie reached its end, John Wayne put his hand on his arm, bowed his head and his eyes were shadowed from the viewer. He turned and walked through the dusty winds, alone. He thought he figured it out. "So he's wandering the winds?"

"Yep." She sat up and stretched. "Despite his saving Debbie, he did try to kill her at first. He'd rather she die than continue to live with the Comanches. They kind of gloss over that, but he was motivated primarily for revenge. Not to save Debbie, but to just hurt the natives."

He pondered this but his head was swimming and he felt exhausted. It was too late in the night to figure out any messages from some old movie.

He looked at Will, who was yawning with her eyes shut tight. "Thanks for staying up with me. I think I'll crash now."

"Good to hear." He smiled at his partner.

"By the way. Where's my gun?"

"On your nightstand. I took out the rounds. They're in the drawer."

"Thanks. I hope I won't need them tonight."

"You shouldn't. But I'll be right here. If he comes by, we'll be ready for him."

She nodded and reached over the armrest and took his hand. He looked down sluggishly, surprised but not able to jerk his hand away. "Thank you, Mark." She squeezed his hand before letting it go. "Good night."

"Good night." He got to his feet and went to pull out the couch's mattress. He checked the clock. 4 AM. Damn, they had been up late. He looked forward to passing out.

He heard the bedroom door gently click shut. He checked the front door to make sure all the locks were engaged. When he was satisfied, he got ready for bed.