Mark Hoffman

It was his turn. He was ramped up; ready for a fight. Watching the soap opera unfold had been a form of torture he wouldn't inflict on his worst enemy. He was relieved that they were finally getting onto the more interesting suspect. Because he recognized him.

Hoffman and Will were in observations, looking out at the one-way mirror where Clyde Jefferson, father to Kayla and husband to Anna sat. He was still handcuffed, an intentional accident on the investigators' part, to instil that feeling of helplessness they wanted the perp to experience. Hoffman was sure he'd seen the guy at one of the gambling dens over in Chinatown, where the upstate horse races were live on dusty screens and tons of greasy goons desperately believed they'd make enough placing their paychecks to be worth something.

What Hoffman wasn't sure of was how close the guy was to Rosello. If this got a little too intimate, he may be in trouble. Will being there complicated things. Especially if the details they uncovered needed to get misplaced. She'd notice, no doubt about it. He couldn't come up with a decent lie she'd be satisfied with. He'd cross that bridge if he got to it.

He chose to just focus on the problem at hand.

"Take my lead," Hoffman commanded, studying Clyde's face. He didn't try to look calm or innocent. The man looked miffed, as though this was just an annoyance that he would quickly have over with. "This time, you're the bad cop. He'll hate that. Nothing pisses off domestics like a strong woman that bosses them around. Don't be shy about exaggerating. Have fun with it."

Clyde Jefferson's face was starting to twist, as though he had an itchy nose. At that moment, Hoffman thought the fucker looked like Frank Griffin and he felt his entire body burn up. Maybe she shouldn't go in there.

"Oh boy," she had one arm over her stomach and the other holding her shoulder, holding herself together. He forced his face away from the glass, observing every detail. She had let her hair down, rusty curls on her small shoulders like cotton clouds. He inhaled slowly, letting her freckled cheeks distract him from his scattered concerns. Her face was firmly uncertain. "I've never liked bad cop."

This made him want to laugh. He smirked. "Because you're shit at it."

Her gaze sparkled with ire. "I think I can be pretty nasty when I need to. Asshole." He liked the way her full mouth curled, cupid's bow ready to shoot, as if she was any real threat. Cute, like one of those toy poodles. He felt his gut stir. His heart beat faster. She was his little firecracker.

"Yeah, like that. Just be yourself, that'll piss him off."

"Do you want a punch in the face?"

He finally let himself laugh, the feeling both straining his ribs but feeling surprisingly good. "Will, I'd like to see you try."

The way she smoldered at him kept adding to his chuckles. "I swear, if we weren't on the clock right now…"

"Raincheck that. Until then," Hoffman returned to Clyde Jefferson, "get him to throw the first punch. If we can get him to try to attack you, we'll be able to have some real fun. A couple of hits with a phone book will have him singing." His lips curled wider, the plan getting his blood going.

"What?! No!" She gripped his arm suddenly, making him start. His humor was sunk. He wasn't used to her getting directly physical and her sudden scolding confused him. "We're not roughing up suspects in custody, Hoffman. You know better."

He stared at her, realizing he was forgetting himself. She wasn't Eric Matthews or most of MPD. And she probably didn't see the resemblance this piece of shit had with the man she was married to. "Sorry. Just excited."

"Yeah, I see that. What's gotten into you?" She looked him up and down, soft brown eyes worried. "You've been - extra - on edge since we've started questioning the parents."

He didn't know how to respond. He thought it was pretty fucking obvious why he was feeling particularly emotional about this. "You know why."

She blinked. "What, because of Frank? This case?"

"Get off it, Maddox, I know this is hitting you hard too." He pulled the arm she was still gripping, nodding to it. "You can let go." When she didn't, he swiftly took his hand and wrapped it around her wrist. He squeezed it firmly. "We've worked together long enough now to not bullshit each other." He pulled her close to him, close enough that he could smell her sweet hair. She smelled so girly, like sweet things and flowers. He almost forgot those scents existed. He wanted to lean in closer to her and take it all in. But he restrained himself. "You don't have to pretend that this is just another case. It's a little too close to home for you not to think about it. Like comforting the suspect," he shook his head, disgust twisting his face. "She gave her kid up like a lamb to the slaughter. And you fucking started empathizing."

"It got her to talk." She was biting her lower lip, not pulling away but not looking particularly happy. They were so close that her chest was brushing against his upper stomach. Her lashes fluttered and her gaze flashed from his eyes to his mouth, lingering. He faltered, loosening his grip on her arm. "Mark. This isn't the same thing."

He had always doubted she saw him like that. She was always so fucking professional. He thought it was just all in his head. That he was just a man forced to be around an attractive woman he couldn't touch, no matter how much he wanted to.

He thought it was just primal instinct, some no longer necessary facet of evolution that he was cursed to endure. So he kept things professional. And she, the married workaholic, just didn't seem interested in that sort of thing. He was starting to believe she was a lesbian with how little she had expressed interest to the copious men she was surrounded with. A glimmer of hope rolled in his chest and quickly behind, a cold fear he didn't like. This is new.

She cleared her throat and turned. "We've got work to do." He felt his stomach sink but he knew this had been pushing it. Maybe he'd gone too far. He lost control. For a split second, he reacted and made her look at him. Notice him.

Remembering himself, he let her wrist go, looking at the wall with a cool stare. "Then let's get this over with." He brushed by her, his arm grazing her shoulder, a little rougher than he intended, and she bristled at this. Good.

They walked in and Maddox was the first to speak. She tossed the files on the table; roughly dragged the chair up and personal to the piece of shit. "All right, Mr. Jefferson, you've been informed of your rights," she sat and leaned forward, looking back, "and we've already gotten all the details we need to convict you of assault and battery. Kidnapping, attempted murder, and endangering a minor. Now, you can make it all go away if you just fess up, or you can sit there and sulk like the coward you are. Your choice."

Hoffman's previous anger dampened as he tried not to express anything. But it took all he could not to smirk. Damn, laying it on thick, Maddox.

The man had his arms crossed, his knee shaking with wild energy. He let out a mean toothy smile and jerked forward fast, spittle dripping in her face. "Fuck you, cunt!"

Hoffman started forward but Will grabbed him by the neck and pushed him back firmly. She was faster. And pissed. "...and assault of an officer," she wiped her chin and lip, "will be added to your file. Please, keep going. Unlike my partner, I love paperwork." Her voice had gone chilly and sultry, like a siren. He couldn't help but look at "Bad Cop Wilhelmina" and he liked what he was seeing. He didn't know he had it in her. If only she stood up for herself like this around that fuckbag she married.

She cleared her throat. "You know, I'm parched. I'm going to get some air. Want some water, Hoffman?" She used his name through gritted teeth, smiling harshly at him with frustration. He realized he hadn't gone to make any move to steer the interrogation, too busy enjoying the spectacle to begin connecting with the guy like he was supposed to.

"Coffee," he smiled back, not particularly wanting her to stop the charade, if it even was that anymore. He'd seen her irritable. Hell, he made a point to annoy her on an hourly basis. But this was hateful. Petty. He liked her this angry, it was a sexy side of her he'd never known. He needed to have her take the role more often.

"Sure thing. I'll be right back. Don't get cozy," she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed it tightly to the point it hurt a little, before storming out. She wanted him to get going already, his shoulder smarting from her grip. Their previous conversation must have bothered her.

The fluorescent bulb above them was going out. The white light in the room flickered, strobing into darkness briefly. It was giving him a headache, the sound of the hiss and click of the poor electrical connection. He awkwardly repositioned himself in his chair. His mind whirled for anything to say, to break the silence. Something guys like this would say. "Women," he shrugged.

"Tell me about it," the man was touching his throat gingerly. "Even if I complained about this, it's not like they'd do anything about it. Double fucking standards," the guy was putting on a good show of playing the poor victim, his little neck mangled by the big scary lady.

The man didn't have a scratch or blemish on his pale throat. Hoffman resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The lights flickered again and he suddenly imagined the state of Will's throat just weeks ago. There was rarely a day where it wouldn't have some new cluster of purple splotches or stray scratches across her ivory skin. And this guy was whining about a five foot nothing pushing him back in his chair.

He clenched his jaw and snapped back into focus. "It's two of us and only one of her. Just saying." He had to play things like a good old boy, turning his head to carefully observe his opponent's facial responses. It did little to keep his cool. Every time the lights came in and out, the man looked like a different person. Clyde Jefferson. Frank Griffin. Then back to Clyde. "I'm just doing my job and that's to find out what happened to your kid. I'm not looking to give you trouble. I know the way things go."

"Yeah?" The man kept rubbing his throat and looking up at the ceiling, at the shitty lamp and at the camera that was monitoring the whole thing.

"Yeah. You do your work and get home, expecting things in order. Some fucking appreciation. And what do you get?"

"Shit."

"Exactly. I know the feeling," he lied. He'd be happy if he had a wife and kid waiting for him back at home. Hell, he never expected Angie to make him food when he stopped by. She just did that sort of thing. Because she loved him. Because people tended to be more willing to appreciate people who fucking deserve being loved.

"At least I don't work with a bitch like that," the guy smiled in sympathy. "Tight piece of ass, though."

He felt his cheek spasm at this. Don't lose it. He pulled his teeth out and let out a small laugh. He was the good cop. This guy's best friend. He needed the guy to spill the beans on whether this missing kid was being groomed to turn up tricks for one of Rosello's brothels or if she was currently swimming with the fishes. He needed this guy to like him.

He could do this. He sure as hell didn't want to drop the ball on this one. Will always came up with a way for the perp to talk when he fucked up. But this time, he didn't want her to go through that. Not because of him. "Well, you know I can't say that shit. At least not with the recording equipment on."

"You and her?" The man made a lewd gesture with his hands, cuffs jingling as he let out a raspy cackle.

"No." Hoffman crossed his arms and tried to give a smarmy grin. "Against the rules."

"You kidding, right?" The man leaned forward with a lecherous sneer. "If I saw that bitch all day, every day and had to listen to her nag, I'd be just dying to show her who's in charge, if you know what I mean." The smile kept growing. "I can tell, she wants it. I bet she's a filthy freak in the sack."

Keep it together. The muscles in his jaw were starting to strain. Finally, the lights stayed steady. "I wouldn't know."

"Shame." The man shook his head. "Gimme a night. I'd set her attitude straight."

"Well," Hoffman scratched the back of his neck, trying desperately to crawl through mental thorns to connect with the guy. But he really didn't want to. "Now that she's gone, maybe we can get you out of here before the night's out. You can go to bed in just a few hours. We just need you to answer some questions."

"Yeah, well, sorry. Can't tell you what happened to Kayla. You see, she just ran away."

"A nine year old just left? And hasn't been seen by anyone in months? Come on, Clyde," holding his hands out he shook his head. "You can do better than that. What about the wife? She know anything?"

"She barely knows where her head is long enough to put dinner on the table. You think she'd know where the kid is?"

"Yeah, probably not. But she mentioned you took the kid out and came back without her. Care to explain why she said that?"

"She's lying," the man muttered angrily.

The door opened. Will came in with a steaming cup and a bottle of water. She handed the drink to Hoffman. "Now, where were we?"

"I ain't talking to you, bitch." The man went defensive, crossing his arms and staring at her.

"You better talk," she snapped, slamming her fist on the table. Hoffman's cheeks relaxed. "You're a soulless monster, you know that? I don't see any remorse. Any regret. This is your daughter, Clyde. Your own flesh and blood. And you don't want us to help find her?" She was tapping Hoffman's foot like a piano pedal.

"Fuck you. Maybe I want a lawyer."

She jumped to her feet, theatrical as the chair flew back. She had kicked Hoffman's heel firmly, the message loud and clear as his leg throbbed from her assault.

"Okay," Hoffman sighed and finally complied. The suspect wasn't responding well with her, so she was removing herself from the room. Fine. Good. But he wasn't sure he was going to do so well with her just watching behind the glass. Her being in the room would help him from going a little too far. He went to his feet and took Will firmly by each arm. "Detective Maddox, you need to leave. We were having a decent conversation until you came back."

"Yeah," Jefferson growled. "Bye bye, bitch."

Maddox put on a show, trying to pull out of Hoffman's grasp but he kept it firm. He wasn't completely sure of her reasons, but he suspected she wanted him to assert dominance for the interrogation. Get him on the fucker's good side.

When Hoffman shoved her out and closed the door he turned back and gave another half-hearted shrug. "Sorry about that. Probably that time of the month."

The man let out a laugh. The way he tossed his head back brought him flashes of Griffin, chugging a bottle of Heineken. He blinked, not liking where his imagination was thrusting him. "Yeah."

He went back and leaned back, let out a sigh and looked bored. He could hear his heart pounding in his skull. "So the kid runs off. Why'd your wife blame you?"

"She wants me locked up. Wants my money."

"Yeah? You rolling?"

The man smirked, proud and full of himself. "Made it big last week on the tracks. I'm cozy."

"But your kid went missing months ago. How were you then?"

The man's smile faltered. "Maybe not so hot."

"Yeah, that's what she said," Hoffman extrapolated, a theory growing in his mind. He already knew what had happened. "Said you owed some dough to some mean motherfuckers."

"What else she say?" The man was licking his lips, concerned.

"You tell me." Hoffman leaned forward. He was tired and wanted to get far from the shithead before his fists started moving by themselves. "But let me tell you, if it's who I think it is, maybe we can work something out."

"Yeah?"

"Maybe. You know how it is here."

"I heard about you." The guy crossed his arms and squirmed. "You know some people."

"We all know some people. Maybe I know the right people. Maybe I don't. You tell me a name. Who last had your kid. I may know the right guy to make this all go away. We just want the kid back. Too many people asking questions. I'm sure she's not hard to find. A lot of girls go missing and end up close by. And I'm not implying you did anything or know anything. But we just want the kid back. Again, I don't really give a shit like my partner does," The guy was on the hook. He just needed to not play too thirsty to nail him. "But my boss says find this girl. And you know I can't disappoint my boss."

"Your boss?" The man's voice had gone up an octave. Scared like a canary.

"Yeah. And you don't want to disappoint my boss either, do you Jefferson?"

The man looked up at the camera. "You guys are pretty shameless. This is being recorded."

"Yeah, well, you know how shit goes down in this city." Hoffman leaned in close and whispered, "Records get lost all the time. You know how it is."

"I do. Fine. Look. I made a bad call. I got a run of the mill of bad luck. You know I owed a fuckton of money to your boss. Ask him, he knows, I'm sure. It was so much that I was a dead man if I didn't pay up. Not just myself but the wife and kid as well. But I was offered a way to pay it off and save all our skins in the process. It just made sense. So I paid."

The lights began to flicker again. God damn it.

Hoffman kept thinking on his breath and making sure he asked the right questions. The distant sound of the clock's ticking kept him focused as he pushed the tide of his emotions back for as long as he could.

"So the kid was payment?"

"Yeah."

"Which of his brothels is she at?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask. I just gave her over to one of his guys."

"The name?"

"Look, I don't fucking know," Clyde shrugged and just shook his head. "Like you said, who fucking cares. Just put her down in the books as dead and close this shit." Everything went dark.

Hoffman had enough. He grabbed the man by the collar and breathed in his face. "The fucking name." The lights returned but he knew he had already gone too far.

"L-Lorenzo!" The man was taken aback, the sudden outburst making him gasp. "Fuck! Help!"

The door opened and he smelled her before seeing her. Her footsteps approached him. "Hoffman," she put her hand on his arm. "That's enough."

"Fuck, man, chill. We work for the same guy!" The guy's handcuffed wrists were trying to pull him off his shirt.

Hoffman threw him back into his chair, hissing, "No, I don't work for that piece of shit." He got to his feet and stormed off, feeling Will at his heel.

As soon as they were back in the observation room, Will rounded on him. "I don't understand why you wanted to be Good Cop so bad."

"The fucker wouldn't respond well with you." He wanted to punch the wall but kept his fists at his side. He wanted to grab her and tell her everything he said in there wasn't true, but he kept his arms still.

"You don't know that. I could have handled it. I don't understand what happened. You were doing fine," she added haughtily, "Jesus, Mark, you were on fire, playing him like a fiddle. You even got him to spill on Rosello. I didn't know you could lie like that. But then you just snap and grab him, unprovoked. It's on camera. They can suspend you for that."

No one's going to give a fuck what's on those tapes. "I know you could have handled it. But you didn't need to. You shouldn't have to. I got it." He didn't look at her, instead glaring at the perp who was currently getting taken to his cell by the guard. He fucking hated what he needed to do.

"Mark." Her hands were on her hips, looking up at him with confused uncertainty. "You trying to protect me or something? Hey. You're pushing yourself too hard. Look at me."

He didn't answer. He turned away. "It's just been a long day. It's late. Go meet with Kerry. I'll take care of the paperwork and wrap things up from here. I'll see you tomorrow." He went to leave.

"Mark," he heard her call out to him but kept walking as though he hadn't heard her. "Mark!"

"No, Maddox. Just go." He wouldn't face her. "I need to be alone."

She didn't chase after him after that. He should have been thankful. So why wasn't he?

Victor Knox

Victor Knox was always in pain. This was not new.

The firm pounding at his front door at eight in the evening on a Tuesday certainly was. It was the familiar cop-like beating that made him expect it to be an old colleague and not the grim reaper finally coming to collect.

He had fallen asleep on his recliner. As he leaned forward, a coughing fit hit. He desperately needed a cigarette. As he choked on his lungs he pressed the remote control to engage the motor of his seat. The mechanical whir rumbled and raised him up so his ass would be parallel to the wheelchair that waited patiently at his right. Above him were some makeshift metal beams with pulleys to help hoist his old rump up off the cushions and into his chair.

Once he was secure, he grabbed his shotgun that was leaning against the armrest and balanced it over his lap as he steered himself to the front door. "Who is it?" He stopped a foot back and to the side, ready to cock the weapon in case it was his final day on this godforsaken planet.

"I hope you got an extra slug in there," the deep and familiar boom of Mark Hoffman made him smile and lower his gun. He wheeled forward and unlocked the deadbolt before backing up. Hoffman was familiar with the routine whenever he made his visits.

"Mark, about time you showed up." Victor looked up at the boy - no, man - always surprised to see more lines and shadows on the once fresh faced young man he first met, years ago. He noted the carton of cigarettes and the big brown paper bag held in the man's arms. "Wow, honey, you shouldn't have."

"Shut up," Mark closed the door and flipped the switch, letting yellow light rain down on them. "It's been a while."

"Yeah, almost a year. You've been busy, I hear."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, Dave just called me last week."

The boy didn't respond. Knox hadn't expected a positive reception. He still resented David Tapp, the blame misplaced, in his opinion. But the kid would learn. Or not. Who knew?

"Well, I'd offer you something to drink, but judging from the size of the bag, looks like you're paying tonight. I think I'll just offer my ears." Knox was wheeling towards the kitchen table, where stacks of old newspapers kept piling up. He rarely left the building anymore, the elevator constantly breaking and his pension barely paid for his little pot of piss.

"Jesus, Knox, you need all this shit?" Hoffman was looking at the various garbage bags and paper stacks, nose crinkled in disgust.

"Well, if you're offering to take it on the way out, you're welcome to. Elevator's been acting up again." He went to open a window, grunting at the sticking pane.

"Here, let me get that."

"Back off, boy," he snapped, anger quick and hot. "I better be able to open a window in my own damn place," he was grumbling like a sad old man, he knew this. But fuck it. His back was killing him and he had to wait four more hours before he could take another Vicodin. The window gave way and in came the familiar orchestra of sirens, gunshots, and traffic.

He heard the boy move some things around and the clink of glass made him calm down. He knew he had to be patient. He just forgot sometimes. Forgot what it was like to be around people not glowing on his tube.

Knox turned and waited, Hoffman going into the freezer and pausing to punch some thawed-then-subsequently-refrozen ice into jagged chunks for the tall bottle of scotch. The kid's back was square and his movement was full of pent up rage. Knox whistled low. "That bad?"

He didn't respond, instead pouring the rich, golden brown nectar out into each glass. Hoffman took a seat and they faced the small window to overlook the nightscape. They silently struck glasses together and took slow tastes of their evening delight.

With Hoffman, he needed to be especially slow. The kid was troubled and struggled to express himself. Not necessarily the worst flaw. In fact, in their line of work, it was easier to just push shit down and carry on. But if you didn't let the pressure out, shit starts breaking. And the boy sure liked testing his limits.

Victor Knox was just thankful that Hoffman still remembered to visit him, even if it was just to act as his closet therapist. Maybe it was misplaced guilt. Maybe the kid still needed the father figure that was robbed of him when he first started out. Whatever it was, Knox was glad Hoffman turned to him.

"I lost it."

"How bad was it?"

"Not bad."

"You still got your badge and gun?"

Hoffman took a healthier swig at that. "Oh yeah. Not even suspended."

"Good. Break any bones?"

"No. Barely ripped the guy's shirt."

Knox turned slightly at that, raising an eyebrow. "Did you hit the guy?"

"No."

"I'm not following then. Sounds like you kept your shit together, son."

"Not that kind of control." He paused. "It's complicated." He was staring out the window, as though seeing stars for the first time.

Knox continued to nurse the scotch, smiling into his glass. The kid was growing up.

"I got a new partner."

"Oh?" Knox was surprised at this. "You're back in the field?"

"Been that way. For almost a year now."

"So we're celebrating," the man let out a low laugh and went to refresh his glass. "It's good to hear that. I knew Grissom and Tapp would give you another go."

"Grissom, yeah. Tapp was against it."

"Ah, well, Tapp's an old dog like me, set in our ways. Can't teach us new tricks, ya know."

Hoffman snorted and held his glass out for Knox to top off. "You seemed to handle that pull up trick pretty well."

"You know - damnest thing, son. I know I was against it at first, but you're right. Those pulleys make it so damn easy to go take a shit in the morning."

"That's gross."

Knox let out an old salty laugh. "Seriously, where'd you learn that mechanical shit?"

"My dad."

"Ah, well, he did a fine job. It's good for a man to know his way around tools. Lots of you young'uns these days don't know a power drill from a drill press."

"Says the guy who needed this young one to assemble you a pulley system."

"Yeah, well, I didn't do so good in math class."

"It's simple addition, Knox."

"I work well with people, not numbers."

"Yeah. I know." Hoffman turned to him with pity in his eye. "Sorry I don't visit more often."

"Don't give me that look," Knox hated pity. It was one of the reasons he rarely left the house. Everyone acted like it was their first time seeing a man in a wheelchair. "No wonder you haven't visited, you're back doing real work. Good work. Cleaning up the city. That's more important than lingering in the past. Besides, I've been getting into the game shows and crosswords. I keep busy."

"Yeah."

"So your partner? What's he like?" Knox went to reach for a carton of cigarettes, having waited long enough. Hoffman took the nearest ash tray that wasn't overflowing and put it close to Knox.

"It's a she."

Knox chose to delay his response, wanting to roll it around in his brain before making a decision on how to react. He lackadaisically lit his cigarette, took slow puffs, and inhaled deeply. The warm and tasty smoke was like fresh mountain air. He slowly exhaled, sighing at the habit. "Damn, thanks for the refill." He took another long drag, knowing Hoffman was watching him intently for his reaction. "She good at her job?"

"Yeah. Damn good."

"Excellent." Knox knew the times were changing. But he didn't envy the kid's position. "How long have you two worked together?"

"Ten months now."

Interesting. "That long? You trust her?"

"Yeah. She's an idealist." Hoffman let out a low laugh. "Keeps me on the straight and narrow."

"Sounds like you respect her. That's important to have in a partner."

"I know."

"So why, after all these months of not needing to, you decide to come to this old dog when you've got a perfectly good partner you trust and respect to cry to?" He watched the boy in the corner of his eye, wanting to be brutally honest but not scare him away. "I ain't your partner anymore, kid. I can't cover you like she should." When Hoffman still stayed silent, Knox asked, "Is she giving you problems?"

"Not exactly."

"You two sleep together?"

"No." There was no hesitation. In fact, there was an almost urgency in his conviction, as though he needed more than anything to insist on this.

"But you want to?"

"That's-," The flustered curl of his lip and the pink in his face gave it all away.

"Ah, there you go. That's expected. Normal, even. I knew two detectives - both men - who had a secret affair that took place their entire careers. I only knew about it 'cause we were assigned to the same hotel room and I walked in on them one night at a Police Conference. I ate some bad shrimp and wanted to turn in early. They were so fucking scared," he let out a low laugh, "and begged me not to report them. I had to practically make a blood oath to keep my mouth shut. You see, back then, they would have not just lost their jobs but probably worse. Most guys still don't take kindly to that sort of thing. I never said shit. Not my business. And I wouldn't have anyways. It don't matter who or what they like to fuck - so long as it's not kids - you don't betray your fellow cop. Right, boy?"

"Yeah. Right." It was Hoffman's turn to sound impatient, probably tired of hearing him rambling like he tended to do.

"But anyways, so you're getting feelings. Feelings you probably don't feel often and wouldn't expect with your partner. That's normal. So what's the problem? You tell her and she turns your hairy ass down?"

Hoffman let out a harsh laugh. "No. And I think she's interested. She's going through a divorce."

"Oh, geeze," he rolled his eyes and continued puffing at his cigarette. "When did I become Oprah fucking Winfrey?"

Hoffman was starting to snicker, his shoulders relaxing. The scotch was hitting. It took to near the end of the bottle now. Knox remembered once when the kid would be puking his brains over half a handle. Looking to top the kid another one, he noticed another two bottle tops poking from the brown paper just out of reach. He went to reach for it but let out a grunt at just barely grazing the brown paper. Hoffman turned to reach and pull out a fresh scotch, taking the liberty to play bartender for both.

"Well, she a looker?" He half-hated his curiosity, but now that the boy was starting to take a load off, this was when he could start getting the more interesting facts out there. Since when did he become such a gossip? "You wouldn't happen to have a picture of her in your wallet?"

Hoffman's smile was almost kind. "She's pretty. Redhead. Freckles. Kind of tiny. And no, don't have a pic."

Knox whistled low. "She got a temper?"

Hoffman chuckled. "Not really. But when she does get pissed, it's fun to watch."

"Oh no," Knox shook his head. "You know, if you'd just take my advice and ask out that one gal back in '92, maybe you'd have grown out of schoolyard tricks by now."

He shot a dirty stare back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I mean - do what kids your age are supposed to do. Flowers. Dinner. That sort of thing. Or is that old fashioned?"

"We're partners. We can't date."

Knox let out a mean laugh. "Mark, you and I both know that you're shit with following the rules."

"Yeah. But she's not. She's so by the book it fucking hurts," he pressed his fingertips into his eyelids, letting out a low groan of frustration.

"Ah." Knox bowed his head. "That will do it." He felt his face go red and his head spun a little. The booze was kicking in nicely. It almost helped with the pain. "How long has she been in? Is she fresh from the Academy?"

"She was in some suburb near San Diego for a while before coming here."

"You know, I recall a young kid thinking life was so simple for a couple of years. And then he finally accepted that reality ain't like a fairytale." He swirled the melting ice in his glass, recalling that very same young boy who was not the weary man. Time brings down the mighty. "Maybe she'll change her tune one day. But then again, I never got women. They're so set in their ways. Stubborn. So fucking stubborn." He downed the glass and let out a low gasp. "My advice? Ask for reassignment if it starts getting to the point you can't do your job. Unless you care more about her than your career. All I'm saying."

"I thought you'd have something more than that," Hoffman mumbled.

"What, you think I have all the answers with my stellar career and perfect family life? You thought I'd give some helpful advice?" Knox let out a bitter smirk. "Sorry, son, but I'm probably the last person to ask about either."

"Knox. I'm sorry." Hoffman turned suddenly, eyes dark blue with intensity and regret.

"Mark," Knox put his hand on the kid's shoulder, surprised with how large he had gotten. A boy in a man's body. "This was not your fault. You hear me? I pulled the gun on Rosello that night."

"To save - me," Hoffman hissed, pounding his chest so loud it echoed. "Because I couldn't keep control."

Knox shook his head, grabbed the kid's head and pressed his forehead against his. They were both getting a bit drunk. Emotional. "Yes. Because you were my partner. And that's what partners do. We'll do anything to keep each other safe. No hesitation. Just as you for me." He didn't look up, not wanting to be seen crying. "And I don't regret it. Never once. I'd do it again. Right now, if need be."

"Knox." Hoffman's voice had gotten lower in a deep croak. "I'm -,"

"No. Don't say it. Don't ever fucking apologize. Never. Not to me." Knox squeezed the back of his neck. "You do what you got to do. Keep yours safe. You doing that?"

He felt Hoffman nod and sniffle. "I still do his bitch work. I fucking hate it, Knox. I'm so fucking helpless. I just took Will's recent case and shredded it. I had to call it in to his people. And he gave the order. So I did it."

Knox was breathing hard. His eyes burned and his chest felt so heavy. "I know. I wish I could get you out of this. I really do. But you gotta do what you gotta do. For your family." Directionless fury coursed up his neck. He knew the feeling of having no power all too well. The only place for the hate to flow was inward.

"And Will - she keeps trying to take him on. Trying to bring him down. He's going to kill her, Knox. Or have me do it. Or worse. If she doesn't let up, Rosello may come for Ange. And I don't know what to do to stop it."

Neither did he. Knox was at a loss. He felt his heart sink. Complicated, in -fucking - deed.

Allison Kerry

Allison Kerry tried to help Maddox as she frantically dug through piles of paper. She gently lifted some pages of a document that was unrelated to the Jefferson case. She already had a sinking suspicion on what happened but kept her mouth shut as Will went back to the same drawer the third time, searching for a case file that was likely not there.

"I can't find the file," Will turned, bewildered. "It was just here. I literally had it just here. Just ten minutes ago."

Kerry put a hand on her hip, inching forward with the urge to tell her it was likely gone forever. She kept herself in check. The poor girl already had enough on her plate with her divorce. She didn't need to know that her partner was a scheming piece of shit that was likely fucking her sideways to Sunday and burning all her hardwork. At least not yet. "Hey. It's getting late. Even if I had the missing child case, Rosello won't get taken down any faster. Let's get out of here." She put her hand on Will's back. "Hey, Will?"

"I -," Will stood up straight. "I just don't understand."

"I'm sure it'll turn up," Kerry lied, "Come on, Will, I'm thirsty. It's been a long day. For both of us, I hear. Besides, the boys are waiting for us."

Will was quiet but complied. Kerry tossed a mean glare over at Hoffman's desk, wanting to pour some cold coffee over his space and throw his organized papers all over the floor. She chose to keep her pettiness locked down and led her new roommate to the car. "Have you ever been to the Green Lion Grill?"

"No," Will was buckling up and recovering nicely. "Is it good?"

"Yep. Sing raves about it all the time. Hope you don't mind, I figured it'd be good for you to meet everyone in a casual setting. Just get some exposure on the best of Homicide. You know, in case you're looking for other career opportunities. Grissom is assembling a task force and wants us to get to know each other a little better, since we'll be working more on taking down Rosello these next couple of months." She got the car started and in gear, taking Will through the scenic route towards the Grill.

"Who else will be there?"

"Tapp. Sing. Matthews. Fisk. Oh, and a new guy we think will be good for us, Gibson. And two FBI agents I'm liasoning for. I'm hoping they'll be able to help us out with taking down Rosello. You'll like them." Kerry couldn't help but smile, thinking about her old college roommate, Lindsey Perez. "This is a good group of people. I really think together, we can take down that sonofabitch."

"I look forward to meeting them." Will straightened up. "How come Hoffman's not invited?"

Kerry let out a sigh. "Look, Will, I didn't want to be the one to break this to you, but Mark Hoffman isn't exactly someone I would trust." She gave the girl a sad look. "I know you two are partners. I respect that. But if you want to work with us, and you truly want Rosello out of the picture, you'd do best to keep everything we do out of Hoffman's eye and reach."

Will was quiet at first, then, "Be honest. You think Hoffman did something with that file?"

"Honey, I think it's long shredded, burned, and the ashes scattered in the river by now."

"What the fuck," she whispered. Her fingertips flew up to her forehead. "I don't understand." Will was massaging her temples, sighing. "What the fuck. I knew he was acting strange today."

"Hey. Will." She didn't need the woman to have an existential crisis on her. "I'm not saying the man's scum of the earth. Hoffman ain't evil. He's just in a really shitty situation."

"How?"

"Well, for starters, he has family." Allison swallowed at this, the lump in her throat suddenly a thick pill that wouldn't go down. "Family he cares about. Yeah, I'm talking about his sister. That makes him vulnerable. Second, he got himself in this situation way back, making things personal with Rosello. You know what happened with his last partner?"

"No, I don't. He won't talk about it." Will turned to her. "You know what happened?"

Allison cleared her throat. "Well, he should tell you himself. But let's just say that he's not sucking Rosello's dick just because he likes the taste, you feel me? And third? He's lost hope. He's lost hope for a while now. He has no fucks left to give, except to keep Angie safe from the guy. He doesn't think Rosello can be taken down. He's more of a victim in this situation than the villain. And I get that. Maybe Tapp doesn't. Maybe Sing doesn't. But I understand. I'd probably do exactly the same shit if I was in his situation. I'm not going to judge. But because of this, I can't trust him. And you shouldn't either, if you're going to work with us. If it's Rosello related, Hoffman is not on our side. At least, not completely. You cool with that?" Kerry wanted to place her bet on Wilhemina Maddox. Maybe it was some deep rooted need for more badass women to prove that they could do this shit. Maybe she just had this gut feeling that Will was good company. Maybe she was just desperate.

"Okay. I'm in. If taking down Rosello gets Mark out of this - whatever this is - I'll do anything. He's my partner," she turned to her. "And I don't want him to deal with that shitstain anymore."

Allison Kerry couldn't help but smile at that. "Good." Her heart fluttered at Will's passion, reminding her of the good old days when she was first assigned to Eric Matthews. "So you and Hoffman. Things getting pretty close, huh?"

Will blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Kerry was getting close to the Grill. "Long hours at work, seeing the same guy all day and every day, I know what that's like. It's hard not to catch some feelings. And Mark Hoffman is one fine piece of man. I'd probably jump his bones if I had been assigned to be his partner. I certainly wouldn't last ten months." She parked and turned off the engine.

Will blinked, cheeks reddening. "We're just partners."

Allison's smile grew. She didn't want to scare the one local lady friend she had away. "Hey, no need to be shy. Just so you know, if you have any questions about things that the guys just won't get, I'm all ears. It's just nice to have someone at the station that is easier to talk about this sort of thing than the jocks we work with. Now, let's get some grub. I skipped lunch and am literally starving to death."

Will's cell phone rang. Will checked the caller ID and flipped the phone closed, jaw clenched and looking off in the distance with a lost expression.

"Hoffman?"

"No. Frank." Will shook her head. The phone rang again immediately and she looked down again, pressing it silent and powering down the device.

Allison eyed Will's face and her hands. "Frank your husband?"

"Yeah." Will brushed stray red curls from her face, shrugging and forcing a smile. "I'm fine. Really."

"Okay, honey. If you'd rather just go home, say the word."

"No. I want to meet everyone." Will's eyes sparkled with intent. "We've got work to do."

"'Kay." Leading the way, they entered the dimly lit pub, walking past the hostess to the only large table that could comfortably seat eight people.

"Ally," Matthews called out, waving at the approaching pair. Waving back, Allison's eyes fell onto the familiar big dark eyes and crinkled brown curls of her old friend, Lindsey Perez, and her colleague, Peter Strahm.

"Thanks for waiting," Allison Kerry paused. "You all know Will Maddox, except the Feds, of course." Perez and Strahm both laughed at this. "Well, Will, this is Special Agent Lindsey Perez, we met in college. She handles human trafficking cases. And Special Agent Peter Strahm, one of Behavior Sciences' profilers."

Will shook hands with both, stopping to stare up at Strahm like she was in awe. Allison picked up on this quickly, whispering in Will's ear, "And he's single." Will shot her an embarrassed glower before turning to Strahm with freshly blushed cheeks. The agent hadn't heard her over the sound of nearby conversation. He smiled down at her with long lashes framing eyes holding an intense energy that Allison thought seemed extra spicy at Will's direction.

"Hi, nice to meet you two," she seemed to quickly grab the seat farthest from Peter Strahm as fast as she could flee. So she keeps her distance to men she's attracted to, Allison couldn't help but smile sadly at this. It was probably a safe practice. One that kept the personal life drama to a minimum, that's for sure. Maybe ten months and not jumping her partner's bones was the norm for Will Maddox. Honestly, Allison Kerry wouldn't know what was considered normal anymore.

Allison sat next to her secret lover and partner, Eric Matthews, who shamelessly put his arm around her chair with the casualness amongst colleagues you wouldn't expect from a married man with a son that was only five months old. Maybe Allison was just a slut that couldn't tell prudence from pragmatism anymore. Again, she wasn't one to judge. She knew she was just the Whore of Babylon to the nameless drones back at the station, according to the whispers she'd pick up on when she walked by, but she always assumed her work would speak louder than who she chose to fuck in her private bed.

But she knew that was just wishful thinking. Despite getting the brunt of the gossip, she always loved how the station hailed Matthews as a hero and a pussy slayer that could do no wrong - when he was the one with the family he took for granted. She was just lonely. She had no one but him.

And he had everything. He smiled widely, loud and jaunting, captivating the group with his moving hand and story. Cigarette in hand, he waved it around as he relayed tales of his rookie years.

"So there I was. Dead end, only got one bullet to my name. This fucker's got me pinned against the wall with a fresh mag. He's just playing with me at this point. Waving his pistol while his boys laugh. Firing pot shots at my toes. I think, 'I'm so hosed. It's over.' And you wouldn't, believe, my luck."

Everyone was leaning forward, listening intensely.

"A black fucking cat just flies out from the dumpster and starts clawing the motherfucker on his head. The creep just freaks, drops the gun, and it gives me time to charge and shoot one of the cocksuckers. They all just spread apart. Disorganized. I had nothing to lose, you get me? I figured, I might as well take as many of those fucks as I can since it's my last night on earth. And the fucker with the cat on his head had dropped his revolver and the others were too busy ogling at the spectacle to notice me running up and pulling the gun on them. I take 'em all out. Like fish in a barrel." Matthews pauses to take a drag of his cigarette. "And I walk out of there, and the rest? History."

Tapp is chuckling. "That didn't happen."

Matthews smirked, slanted eyes upturned with amusement. "Well, maybe it wasn't a black cat. Maybe it was dark brown. But I swear those fuckers are lucky to me since that day."

"Uh-huh." Tapp took a long drink from his pint, black eyes twinkling. "A'ight. I won't steal your thunder, Eric."

Matthews smiled widely and turned to Allison, giving her one of those smiles that just made her all fuzzy inside. Grinning back, she turned to the rest of the group. Sing was talking to Will, something about tennis. Strahm and Gibson were making small talk about how nice it is to wake up at five in the morning to go fishing. She rolled her eyes at this. And Lindsey, who sat across from her, was watching her with a scrutinizing frown, elbows resting on the table, full lips pressed tightly as her dark brown eyes flickered from Matthews' arm around her chair backrest to her face. Particularly on the wedding band on his finger. She knew that look and dreaded the lecture that was likely going to follow later.

"Lindsey, how was the flight up here?"

"A lot of turbulence. Almost lost my lunch." She let out a small laugh. "I've missed you. I don't think we've seen each other in person since graduation."

"Yeah," Allison felt a sadness weigh on her. "I've missed you too. Thanks for coming up."

"Yeah. We're happy to help. I heard it's been hard up here." This was a politician's response. A pragmatic, diplomatic response.

"It's been fucking hell, Lindsey, don't be shy to tell me. I know." Allison leaned closer to her friend with eyelids blinking with exhaustion. "This table has the only non-corrupt detectives we have in Homicide right now. It's David and Goliath up in this shithole of a city.

"Yeah. That's what I've heard." Lindsey's voice was soft, compassionate. She was biting her lip. "Well, you've got me and Strahm for the next few months. We'll help in any way we can. Our supervisor is glad for this chance to work with the department, especially if it means taking down one of the nation's worst crime bosses."

"Thank you." She felt relief come over her, a much needed reassurance she didn't realize she was so hungry for. She then nodded to Strahm. "He ain't bad to look at. You two…?"

"Ally," Lindsey scolded, "You know I don't like to mix work and personal life." This felt like a personal attack, but she let it slide. She knew she deserved it if it was. "Besides. He's not my type."

Allison hummed at this, taking a swig of beer as she contemplated the two FBI agents. It was clear Strahm seemed more invested with talking with Gibson and throwing glances at Will than looking at his partner's direction. This intrigued her, making the inside of her chest flutter with hopeful zest. "What is your type, Linds?"

Lindsey Perez gave her a knowing smile. "You don't remember, Ally? Didn't take you as forgetful." There was a heat in her voice and an electricity in her gaze that made Allison's lower stomach jolt and tense.

"Oh, I remember. I was just wondering if your tastes… changed since then."

"Not changed. Only matured," there was a teasing in her words, coaxing for her to dive further. Allison felt her cheeks go hot.

"So Perez," Eric broke into the conversation, "You and Ally go way back?"