Allison Kerry

She wanted blood.

She kept ramming her limbs into the punching bag with all her strength, hoping to get this rage out of her. It wouldn't go away.

She already felt the skin breaking on her knuckles, despite them being wrapped and gloved. It stung like a bitch. But she kept on punching.

"Got something on your mind?" Behind her, Lindsey Perez sounded amused.

Kerry spun around, gasping for air. "I thought you were still in D.C."

"Just closed the case this morning. Now, I'm all yours." She held her arms out to the sweating woman. Heart pounding and muscles twitching, Kerry allowed herself this moment of reprieve. She leaned into Lindsey, smelling her fruity cologne and feeling the coolness of her pantsuit against her damp skin. "It's surprisingly early for you to be hitting the bag."

"Had to take the day off." Kerry took her gloves off, dropping them to the ground. She went to the nearest wall to retrieve her water bottle, taking her time relaying the news. "...I'm off the Rosello case."

"No shit." Lindsey put a hand on her shoulder. "Why?"

"Fucking Eric. Told Tapp he wanted me safe. It's bullshit. Asshole. I heard it's something to do with Hoffman. Fucker." Her mind was like a turtle on its back. All she could conjure were words like fuck, asshole, fuck, and goddamn it. "Goddamn it!" She threw her water bottle down, trembling.

"Hey." Lindsey kept her hand on her, the contact electric and soothingly cool. "Let's get something to eat."

"Not hungry."

"Ally," Lindsey leaned close. "There's a silver lining here."

"Which is?" She looked up into Lindsey's pretty face.

A smile spread on those full lips. "It means we have no business keeping us professional."

She couldn't help but let out a low laugh. "Aren't you a bad girl."

"You know it. Come on, let's head to your place. You can tell me all the details on the way."

(Power of Will)

Allison had whined and griped while Lindsey maneuvered through afternoon traffic. One thing Lindsey Perez was good at was listening. She nodded, eyes trained on the road but her focus was with Allison. It made her feel like she was worth something. Once they reached her apartment, Allison stripped off and went into the shower.

While her eyes were shut and she was washing her hair, the sound of the curtain rings rushing and the sensation of soft lips on her shoulder made her tense muscles relax. "Linds," she softly murmured through the steam.

Small, skilled hands trailed up her arms, squeezing her shoulders. One hand made its way down to her breast, nails lightly dragging against the flesh. She felt goosebumps despite the scalding water.

Tossing her head back, Allison sighed as Lindsey continued exploring her skin. Her mind briefly flashed to Eric but was quickly brushed aside by the sudden thrill from Lindsey lowering her hands to her mound. She couldn't resist letting out a surprised cry when Lindsey ran her finger over her clit, massaging her neck with her mouth.

"Oh, fuck, Linds," she had her eyes shut tight while one hand was pressed against the tiling for support. She was about to fall over.

"Want to take this to the bedroom?" There was a smugness in her voice in between the sweet kisses and gentle nips of her teeth on her shoulder.

"Yes. Please." She felt like she was becoming jello.

They barely towelled off, an eager pair of slender limbs and dripping hair. Lindsey had steered Allison to the bed, pushing her onto her back before pushing her thighs upward. Looking down at the edge of the mattress, Lindsey had her cheek rub against her inner thigh while lowering her mouth to please her.

"Oh!" She felt her hot and wet tongue graze her in just the right place. She let out a deep breath as she felt herself being lapped and kneaded. Lindsey had pulled back on her clitoral hood, tracing around her most sensitive spot with a rhythm that made her want to grind into, while at the same time, flinch away from the feeling. "My God!"

Lindsey started pushing a finger inside of her, moving in and out while flicking her sweet spot. Her foot kept twitching with the rhythm, until the burning heat that grew inside her finally overflowed. She let out a final gasp as the orgasm rushed over her like high tide, relieving pressure in her joints and making her feel like she was floating and sinking at the same time.

Not wanting to leave Lindsey unsatisfied, she pushed through the haze of bliss, sitting up. "Hey. Come here and sit on my face."

Her laughter was like bells on Christmas.

Peter Strahm

He watched the Metropolitan Police Department's finest at work. He was only visiting, preferring the quiet and better equipped amenities of the Bureau's office than this dank and dilapidated conference room. And worse, the coffee was stale and burnt.

It was a small group that day. Apparently, Matthews and Kerry were both taken off the case, that bombshell barely acknowledged beyond Will's noticeable increased focus on reviewing her partner's case files.

He doubted they were going to need his skills much that day, having already provided detailed reports and predictions on Toni Rosello's behavior. Until something new came up, he had to kill his boredom by studying his colleagues.

Fisk was currently escorting Angelina Hoffman, out on patrol. Tapp and Sing were in the corner, Tapp chuckling at something Sing griped. When the door opened and Gibson came in, Strahm was thankful for the terse cloud over the kid's head. Finally, something interesting.

"I just filed a complaint with IA," Gibson announced, southern drawl thicker than usual. He must have been nervous, though he held himself well.

The already muffled room had gone still. "Care to share with the class, Gibby?" Tapp, the alpha leader of their clan, had his arms stretched out on available surfaces on either side of him, making him look larger.

Gibson was not well loved by this group. But Maddox had looked up from the desk to give him a sad smile.

"Hoffman shot that man in cold blood. Unlike everyone else in this department, I'm doing something about it."

Tapp let out a low chuckle. "All right, son, let's see how this goes. But let this old timer spin the story that IA is going to get from all this. A fellow cop had his gun taken from him by some junkie. And backup came and took that junkie out. No dead cops. Hoffman's a hero, in this case."

"He shot the junkie first. After he surrendered."

"They'll probably promote him before they fire him, Gibs," Sing, too, seemed kinder to the rookie. "Don't get blindsided if that happens."

Gibson was unhappy, looking for a face that would validate his conviction. He had decided their corner was the likely source of friendly conversation, and to Strahm's vexation, the kid made his way to sit with them.

"Maddox," Gibson leaned forward, "you were there. You can tell them."

She returned to signing, flipping pages, and checking off boxes. "I was on the scene but not a witness to the events."

The kid pushed and Strahm predicted this would be a popcorn worthy moment. "But you know Hoffman. Maybe you can testify-,"

"Testify against Hoffman?" Will's eyes had shot up and there was a warning snarl growing on her face. "He's my partner, Gibson. He's had my back and saved me from plenty to know that he did what he thought was right to keep you alive. Try to remember if it weren't for him, you'd likely have been killed. By your own gun. So unless you've got something important relating to classifying homicides paperwork or have something new on Rosello, please let me do the one job I'm allowed to do right now."

The room had gone icy. Peter tried not smiling but couldn't help letting a smirk grow as Gibson slunk away, looking like a petulant child that got sent to his room. "You'd be a scary mother," he murmured.

She scoffed. "Don't worry. Wasn't planning on having kids."

The room phone rang, Tapp, being closest to it, reached to answer. "Tapp." The man's at ease face was suddenly steeled, eyes glittering. "Where?" He was writing things down, snapping at Sing to read what he wrote.

Sing jumped to his feet. "Gibson, there's reports of shootings on 95th and State. Rosello's territory. Looks like his boys are fighting each other. This turf war sounds like it's about to be a civil war."

Will looked up, dazed. Tapp hung up the phone and pointed at her. "Sit tight, Maddox. We need someone to stand by. Strahm, you too." She looked like she had swallowed an egg, fury in her scowl. Everyone else had run out of the room, off to adventures and danger.

He decided the best course of action was to let her cool down for the next hour. In the meantime, he got up to stretch his legs, walked around the room and studied the various cork boards that had pictures of suspects and connections, bound with twine in a spider web of leads and theories. This latest installment would hopefully paint a clearer picture of any of Rosello's vulnerabilities. His most trusted allies were listed and Strahm studied them to search for the likely culprit who was currently making the power play. Hoffman's face was beside one mean looking ogre of a man named Olaf. Below, there was a pointed face man who had risen in ranks fast. Someone with no previous criminal history, which raised a flag.

"Maddox," Strahm tapped the picture, "Who's this guy?"

Will squinted up at the picture. "That's Mario Amoretti. Some distant cousin to Rosello. He's kept his nose clean, or more likely, covered any criminal activity he's been involved in. We don't have much for you to build a decent profile."

He nodded. "Shame we can't interview him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Too bad. You can read people well enough after just one meeting?"

"Usually." He folded his arms, looking down at her. There was skepticism and intrigue in the way she bit her lip as she looked him up and down.

"You know, I've been morbidly curious. What was your impression of me?"

He smiled. "Are you sure you want to know?"

"Psychoanalyze me, Special Agent." She cocked her chin up, a small smile on her pink lips.

"Fair warning," he took slow steps closer to her, taking in the array of freckles on her cheeks and the amber irises that glowed back. "No one's ever pleased with what I tell them."

"I can take it."

He sniffed, rubbing his nose. "You're a people pleaser with," he paused for the least offending words, "a strong conviction that you need to prove you're capable by maintaining independence. But deep down, you just want people to like you." He waited for her to react before he dared to continue.

She rested her elbow on the table, propping her chin up. "Go on."

He rounded the table, feeling it safe to get closer. "You have a tendency for irrational convictions and take things personally when decisions are made despite your convictions."

This got a reaction from her. "Like how?"

"Your faith in your corrupt partner, despite everyone telling you otherwise. Your need to do things yourself, even if the risk of your safety is astronomically greater than your colleagues. You want to be the hero."

"Don't we all? Part of the appeal." She began to lose interest, turning away. "My turn."

He took a seat next to her, now his curiosity peaked. "You think you can profile me?"

"Just flexing my talents." She turned sharply, her hand reaching out to take his hand. He felt his pulse quicken as he held his breath. She ran her fingers over his palms, an intimate contact that felt so gentle and soothing he almost forgot where he was. Her hands were soft. They locked eyes, her face lovely.

He swallowed as the air had become thick. She leaned forward and kissed the meat of his palm, a sweet and gentle smile shining back at him. "You're amazing, you know that?"

He could hear his heart in his ears and he struggled to get words to come out. "I've been told."

But then she dropped his hand, the smile becoming cruel. "I'm not the only one with a savior-complex, you know. Like you. When you look at me, I see there's pity… and something else." Her eyes went warm to icy. "You find me attractive. And think you can save me. Or have me. But your vague summary of my person could be applied to anyone, like a daily horoscope. But you haven't said anything that I'd find particularly insightful. You don't know how hard I had to work to get to where I am today or how hard it is to keep respect in a precinct that sees you as some helpless little girl that they want to fuck. Is that all I am, Strahm?"

"No," he felt she was misunderstanding. His cheeks flushed red and he wanted nothing more than to go back in time just five minutes ago, before he fell into this trap. This was embarrassing but his pride was struck and wanted retaliation. "I've only just begun."

"Rationally, a person who has just been in a dysfunctional and messed up relationship like mine would probably not be making the moves so soon."

"Grief drive people to perform impulsive decisions," he calmly said, refusing to back down, "such as this."

She blinked. "Grief implies he's dead."

"I am not saying Frank's dead. But you are experiencing a severe loss. Throwing yourself into environments of high stress is your knee jerk reaction, as evident by your fixation with returning to the field when your bones are broken. Get over it, Will." His palm, where the phantom sensation of her touch still remained, began to itch.

She huffed, glaring back. "Easy for you to say."

"Yeah - I get it, I'm not a woman who works in this crooked department, so it's easy for me to just go about life. But I'm not your enemy, Will. Far from it. I want to be your friend."

"Why?"

He was at a loss. "Because you're a good person."

"You don't know that." She shrunk back into her seat, looking away. Her hand haphazardly went to her wrist brace.

"Actually, I do. It's kind of my job." He pulled her hand, squeezing it. "I can tell you care about others. You're just going through a bad time but that does not dictate who you are. I respect and admire you. Your work ethic. Your stubbornness. Your need to lead. I want to experience your company more, though I admit, maybe my intentions aren't purely platonic," he cleared his throat, "but I never said I was perfect. I apologize. It was tactless, especially after all you're going through right now."

She shot him a forgiving grin. "Okay. I'm sorry too. I admit, you're pretty good at making me hate you less."

"I'm relieved." He released her hand, wanting to try to restore some boundaries they had just taken down. Looking around for something to change the subject, the clock saved him. "It's almost lunch time. How about I go on a food run? What are you hungry for?"

She blinked, checked the clock, then yawned. "Yeah. Let's actually get out of here. I need to stretch my legs. They'll page me if they need us, though I doubt they will. Oh, and can you give me a ride after work? Buddy?"

Her suddenly sunny disposition made him now nervous, wondering if this was another trap. "Sure."

Mark Hoffman

His pager had gone off at an inconvenient time. He and Matthews had just returned to the station to book Jonas Singer. While the man's fingerprints were being retaken, Hoffman excused himself to head to the nearest phone. As he rounded the corner, he recognized the familiar fluffy red curls walking beside a taller figure.

Will was being guided down the stairs, Peter Strahm holding her elbow as he aided her. He ground his teeth and ripped the phone off the receiver, punching in the number.

The man picked up promptly. "Get to my place now." The dial tone followed.

Not wanting to anger Rosello any more, he made his way straight to his estate.

Pulling up, it looked like a fucking family reunion was taking place. He parked his Crown Vic at the nearest space while suited men walked around with bandoliers and belts of armaments, jaws throbbing from chewing tobacco. They looked ready to bite heads off.

The front doors were wide open, mud being tracked all over the imported carpets and polished wooden floors.

"Markie-boy, get your ass in here," Rosello came in, draped in a giant teflon suit of armor, cigar hanging out the corner of his mouth. A tommy gun was snug in the man's off hand as he scratched the stubble on his double chin.

"Yes, sir?" It was always safe to be respectful. Especially when the man had a gun in his hand.

"A couple of your boys are getting in the way."

"Where? I can try to get them to stand down,"

"Don't bother, the guys they're currently after are chump change. Your boys can keep 'em for all I care. Though I want my no good piece of shit cousin's boys kept alive. For now. Give 'em a call." Rosello chin-jerked to the nearest phone.

Hoffman went to call it in. The operator, familiar with his calls, relayed in a bored tone, "The action's just about over, they managed to get a cease fire. I'll have a couple of uniforms guard the recently arrested."

"Good. Make sure there's eyes on 'em around the clock. Thanks, Rita." Hoffman hung up, observing as Rosello barked orders to his goons.

"What do you mean you lost him? Where could that piece of shit fucked off to?"

The phone rang and Hoffman answered it. "Yeah?"

"Tell Toni that I'll be at the farmhouse. Let's end this now." Whoever was on the line hung up.

"The farmhouse," Hoffman stated to the expecting faces, "They said they wanted to end things now and they'll be at the farm house."

"Oh, that's how he wants to play it? Now that I've wiped out all his pawns, he wants to make a last stand? Fine. You're coming, Markie-boy, time you've earned your keep." Rosello waved as he quickly walked through hallways full of his goons, men preparing for war. Hoffman kept his head level, not wanting to ponder if this was the end. But that damn thought wiggled through. He wondered if he was ever going to see Angelina again. If Will would know he died helping Toni Rosello.

"Catch, big man," Rosello tossed an AR-15 towards him. Hoffman caught it, warily checking the safety. "Help yourself to what's in here. We're leaving in five minutes. FIVE MINUTES YOU FUCKBOYS!" Rosello screamed at the top of his lungs as he lurched out of the room.

It was an armory.

Hoffman would have normally admired and drooled over the various weapons that even MPD didn't have in their SWAT locker. He recognized an RPG and his giddy, inner child wanted nothing more than to take it off the wall. But it wasn't too practical.

He put on a bullet proof vest, a fleeting wish for more time to make just one phone call gone as he ran out of time. He gathered ammunition. Practiced reloading the rifle, then made his way to war.

Rosello had him sit in the back of the limo with him and Olaf. Hoffman looked out the window, adrenaline racing through every pore of his body.

"It was my no good piece of shit cousin Mario. Been stealing from the family for years. When I confronted him, he tried to stage a coup. I swear, my Aunt tried to drown him in a well when he was born. That fucker's an idiot, but one tough sonofabitch. Wouldn't fucking die. Let's finish what zietta started. Mario thinks he can try to move in and take my territory? We need to send a message. To him and any other idiots who think they can fuck with me."

They drove far out of the city until frost covered fields that once held corn spread as far as the eye could see. A fog was moving in, which would complicate things.

The rumble of the tires on gravel made Hoffman brace himself. They were approaching a distant barn and silo, with a separate residence several hundred feet away. Once the vehicle stopped, Rosello flew out of his car, spraying bullets up in the sky.

"MARIO!" Rosello was spewing profanities in Italian, English, and just gurgled sounds that barely sounded like language and more the muscle-jerk rage noises of a feral animal.

Their entourage swarmed behind and Rosello had his army loyally behind him. Olaf and Hoffman followed suit, Hoffman scanning the area for any potential hostiles. The barn silo had no windows, though there were plenty in the other buildings. They were sitting ducks. Stupid, this is stupid.

Out of the barn walked a stocky man, shiny black hair slicked back and pocked skin from a long youth of acne. "What's up, Two-Ton?" He had a high pitched voice, equally as nasally as his cousin's.

"Don't Two-Ton me, you asshole," Rosello pointed his tommy gun at his cousin.

"Ah!" Mario held his hands up. "Wait! Before you shoot, I recommend looking behind me."

"I am, don't see shit in this fog."

"Oh." Mario turned around and let out a small laugh. "Damn, this was all a lot cooler in my head."

"Can I shoot him?" Hoffman asked, breaking protocol. He was tired of this conversation.

"Yeah, do it."

"I SAID WAIT!" Mario stomped his foot, a sneer on his mouth. "You never listen! There are snipers behind me! And they'll take you and all your men down. You can kill me, but not before dying yourselves!"

"Doubt snipers can see through this fog," Hoffman muttered, no longer feeling as afraid for his life as he thought.

Toni snickered. "Oh, cousin, you idiot." And then the first bullet was shot.

Hoffman wasn't sure who shot first but the first splatter of blood on his cheek made him go straight for Rosello, tackling him down to the ground. He just reacted.

As soon as he pulled the mob boss to the dirt, he realized he had made a terrible error.

He had just 'rescued' his slavemaster.

But now, his ears were ringing and the muffled pounding of rapid shots being fired made him crawl towards the nearest vehicle for cover. He wasn't going back for Rosello. He needed to just survive.

The white mist everywhere made things hard to pick out. But Hoffman was already on his feet, squatting and ready to shoot first and ask questions later.

He… may have been shooting at allies. He couldn't be too sure. It was either them or him. He chose them.

Anyone who came across his line of fire, he let them have a taste of lead. One after the other.
Blood sprayed whenever he made his mark. And he kept shooting until his gun was empty, which he then rapidly reloaded with another magazine until those, too, were out. He felt a sharp sting in his upper arm. One bullet got him right in the vest and punched through his sternum with enough force to knock the wind out of him. He had to lean against the cold steel of the car to remember to breathe.

Eventually, the gunfire had ceased.

There was little beyond a couple of death rattles, moans, and the faint high pitched ring in his ear when he finally felt brave enough to stand. The sun was setting and the darkness seeped in the air fast. But the fog had begun to clear, allowing the distant barn's lights to illuminate the carnage.

Bodies were strewn, each with their own personal halo of ink on the gravel.

Hoffman took careful steps forward, sweeping the area.

"Markie-boy," Rosello called behind him and he swung around with his rifle pointed. He was empty, though, having been out for a while. "Easy, boy," Rosello held a hand up but another hand held a pistol trained at him. "You did good. Take a breath."

Hoffman kept his weapon trained for a moment before lowering it.

"You surprised me today, Markie-boy," Rosello walked up with a pleased smile. "Consider your test of loyalty proven. Your baby sister? She's part of the family now. She's now under my protection."

Hoffman blinked, nodded. Inside, in the recesses of his skull, his brain screamed and howled until a dull migraine began to claw at his temples. He turned so Rosello wouldn't see his eyelid begin to twitch.

(Power of Will)

He stopped his car, a decent parking spot right outside his building. Things are looking up, he sarcastically thought. Getting out of the car, he noticed he was being watched. Across the street, he recognized Will and her new pal as they looked over. She waved with a lukewarm smile, getting out of the passenger side of the car. Strahm had reached out, his hand grabbing her arm to tell her something before she left.

He didn't need to see this shit right now. He turned to get out of the cold and into the lobby of his apartment building. He tried not to think about how chummy those two were getting. He just touches her like he knows her. Like there's something there. He was too tired and ready to just start punching walls.

He checked the mail, noting that Ange had sent him an early Christmas card. He smirked. Even though they saw each other regularly, she always went the extra step and sent him letters. It made getting all the junk mail bearable.

The door opened again, cool air wafting through. He kept his back to her, pretending the latest pamphlet on local produce was the most fascinating read of his day.

"Hey," she breathlessly greeted, the sensation of her closeness making it hard to not look at her.

"What do you need?" He gave her a side glance, frustrated he had forgotten how beaten up she looked. This made him soften to her. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just. I want to check in. See how you're doing."

That's rich. He would have been insulted if it had been any other day, her feeling compelled to check on his state as though he was some vulnerable pet. "As you can see, I'm fine."

She let out a small laugh. "Okay, okay, yeah." She leaned against the counter. "Well, maybe I just miss you. And I wanted to apologize this morning." She smiled, looking like an innocent angel. "And about the whole Frank thing." She was chewing her lip, clearly pained to continue, "I… think you're right." She winced up at him. "Maybe you could find him. But," she held a finger up, "No funny business. Promise me."

He blinked at her. "What?" He wasn't sure if he heard her right. His eardrums were still sensitive from all the gunfire. One of the fellow apartment residents walked by, raising an eyebrow at the two of them.

She blinked, now concerned at the public space. "Can we go up to your room? It's cold here. And I think I could really use a drink right now."

He knew she was stalling but he nodded, leading the way to the elevator. She was slow but he spent the extra seconds at her slower pace to get his story straight. His arm was bleeding and needed to be tended to. His chest was bruised to hell. And if he had heard right, he was now going to have to somehow conclude Frank Griffin's case. He was thrilled at her finally trusting him. But concerned at how he was going to fix the mess he had made.

Once in his apartment, he noticed Will was looking around as though it was her first time. "Nothing's changed," she murmured as she collapsed into her usual spot on his couch.

"Whiskey?" He was already taking one of the bottles off the top of the fridge and preparing their drinks.

"Yes," she sighed as she pulled the velcro off her walking boot. She propped her leg onto a pillow and leaned back, as though she owned the place.

He hesitated pouring into her glass. "Aren't you on some painkillers?"

"One drink won't kill me. And if I get groggy, I can just crash here. Unless you're planning on having company?" There was a mild challenge there and he smirked at how obvious she was.

"Just another date with a tall, busty blonde."

"Oh, then don't let me get in the way. Pretend I'm not here," she turned to face him, tying her hair up into a bun. "You haven't taken your jacket off yet."

He looked down at his black coat. "I'll get it off in a bit."

"You usually throw your coat off as soon as you're home." She raised an eyebrow.

"You're reading too much into this. You learn that trick from your new fed buddy?" He rounded to the couch with the drinks, not wanting to raise any alarms. His plan was to act natural and she'd be none the wiser. "Here. I'm going to take a shower." He handed her the drink and turned to leave.

Her hand shot out, cool on his warm wrist. She gripped and pulled gently. "You have dirt under your nails, like you were clawing the ground."

He pulled but she put her drink down and tugged at him to sit beside her. He could have resisted. He outweighed and out-powered her. But the concern in her face pulled at him, eyes making him feel hypnotized.

He was fucking exhausted. He sighed and sat down, ready for her freakout.

"You're bleeding!" She was already unzipping and opening up his jacket, noting the bullet proof vest. "I knew you looked huskier than usual." His raised eyebrow made her shrug. "Either you gained weight since this morning or you were suited up. What happened?" She went to put on her boot but he stopped her.

"Relax. It's fine. Just a nick. Nothing serious."

"Were you involved with that turf war?" She was immediately scared, pale and panicked, trying to put her walking boot back on. "Where's your first aid kit?"

"I'll tell you what happened, if you promise to not move. I'll get the first aid kid. Just. Stop freaking out like my mother." He got up and went to retrieve the kit, exasperated by her behavior but starting to just accept that this was the price of being partners with her. Returning, she sat upright, as though ready to leap up at him.

"Fuck. Relax." He tossed the kit onto the cushion and took his jacket off, slowly. His chest felt as though he had been horsekicked. He normally wore dark shirts to hide the blood, but this time, he had opted for a lighter blue. Now, it was ruined. He unbuttoned the shirt, wiping up dried blood flakes and clot that was still running down his arm.

"Yeah, relax, as you're actively bleeding on your carpet." She gestured for him to sit and he complied, half enjoying her crooning. He retrieved his drink and took a long sip, feeling the edge evaporate as her cool hands and a damp alcohol wipe brushed against his skin. The sting was obnoxious but he barely flinched.

"This is deep, Mark," she looked at him with concern. "I think you should get stitches."

"There's a needle and thread. Save me the trip."

She laughed. "Seriously?"

"If you want to know what happened," he knew urgent care meant the doctor would need to know what happened. Bullet grazes meant an official report. More paperwork to shred. If she wouldn't do it, he planned to as soon as she left.

"I do," she shook her head. "Fine." She dug through his kit, sanitizing her hands and needle. "I'll try to be gentle."

"You couldn't hurt me, Will, even if you tried," he smirked at her. Her face made him want to snicker, she looked confused.

"Any head injuries?"

"No. I'm just giving you a hard time." He hissed when he felt her use the needle on him. "Fine. You can hurt."

"Don't you forget it," she grumbled as she connected the first stitch of skin together. "So tell me. What happened?"

"Rosello's cousin. Tried to become the new kingpin. Then they decided to have a game of sudden death out in the farmlands. I had to come along." He paused when he realized she was crying. "Hey, it's fine."

"No. You could have died, Mark," she blinked and kept sewing, each new stitch a sharp jolt up his arm. "You should have told me."

"Didn't have a lot of time. Got the call and it was minutes after." She didn't respond, instead finishing up the stitch work and tying the knot. Once done, she went to put the supplies away and wiped her eyes. "Hey," he reached forward, "I'm here. Don't cry."

She punched him gently in the chest. "You asshole."

He let out a rattled gasp and clutched his chest. She flinched. "Oh my God!" She leveraged herself over him to see his chest. "I didn't know! I'm sorry!"

He clutched his eyes tight. "It's. Fine."

He heard her shuffle and limp towards the kitchen. After the sound of the freezer door opening and the rattle of ice, a numbing cold touched his chest and the pain was taken away by the distracting cold. She had put peas on his chest, wrapped in a towel.

She dug through her bag. "Hey. Take some of my pills. It'll help."

"Thanks, Mother Theresa," he smirked but took the painkillers happily with a whiskey chaser. He lazily rested his head into the backseat cushion, looking up at her. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Oh," she wrung her hand. "Just. Forget it. You've got a lot on your plate."

"No. Tell me." He took her hand and pulled her back to the couch. "You want me to find Frank?"

"So you did hear me," she sighed. "Yes. Just. Please be by the book on this one."

He studied her carefully, pressing the ice bag against his chest.. "What changed your mind?"

She avoided his gaze. "I want the divorce finalized. The sooner we find him, the sooner it can get done. Also, I realized I need to trust people more. Especially you. Because I know you're a good man who deserves a fair chance."

He studied her and wondered what she meant by that. Hell, saving Rosello sure didn't feel like something a good man would do. He rested his eyes, shutting them to let his mind wander.

After a few minutes, he opened them and turned to Will. She had her hand on her chin, leaned against the couch with her eyes wandering over him. Once they locked eye contact, she looked away, now blushing. He looked down, noting his chest was clothed with just a thin singlet. She was checking me out. A knowing smile just barely broke over his expression.

"Shut up," she hissed, crossing her arms.

"I didn't say anything," he sat up, taking in her defensive stance. "Pretty inappropriate, Maddox. What would Grissom say?"

"I said shut up," her cheeks were as red as her hair. It was cute. He let out a laugh and she shot him a dirty stare. Fuck it. I almost died today. He leaned over her, letting the ice pack fall to the floor.

"What - what are you doing?" She was stuttering, trapped behind the arm rest as she looked up at him. "You should take it easy, you're injured."

"So are you." His hand made its way to her cheek, pulling her face closer to his. The faded blemishes, he wanted to kiss better. He chose to start straight for the kill.

He pushed his mouth onto hers, half open and hungry, letting all of the painful wanting to simply have for just a moment. She inhaled sharply but didn't pull away. She leaned into him, rotated her head for a better angle and deepened the kiss. Her tongue was playful, exploring him with as much fervor as he. This was an interesting revelation, something he hadn't been sure was wishful thinking or if she, too, had been attracted to him.

Her fingertips dug into his shoulders and he pulled her spine into his to feel her breasts press against his chest. It half-hurt from the gunshot bruise but shot sporadic energy from his head down to his groin and he growled deeply at being reminded of all the places he had to see and never touch. She tasted of mint and cherry chapstick and as he continued feeling her lips against his, he let his hands wander down her back. He wanted to feel her bare skin but the damn shirt was in the way.

Once he found his way to her belt, he let his hands wander down to her buttocks but she flinched and pushed away. "Wait," she was breathless and flushed, pupils dilated. "This is too fast."

"We can go slow," he whispered, leaning in to kiss her neck, tasting the salt on her skin. She leaned into his mouth for a moment, moaning before shaking her head. "No, let's stop."

He complied, though begrudgingly. "Why?" After a painful silence, he pressed on. "Is it the fed?" As soon as the words came out, he realized he had royally fucked up.

"What is that supposed to mean?" She pushed, now on his chest and he hissed and backed away obediently. "Has it occurred to you that it's about Frank still being out there? And not some random FBI Agent I happen to work with?" She got to her feet, gathering her things.

Hoffman's head was spinning, the sensation of her lips no longer against his like a painful withdrawal. But a comforting thought helped make it more bearable. She wasn't interested in Strahm. That was something.

"Maybe," she continued with a shrill voice, "it's because you're still working for an unstable serial killer who has it in for me? And us - doing anything - will just make him come after you? Rosello's already putting you in situations that risk your life. And if he hurts you because of me," she choked and shook her head. "I won't let that happen. I refuse."

"Hey." He reached over and put his hands on her trembling shoulders. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about me." He tried to hug her but she pulled away.

"No, not until Rosello is out of the picture." She wiped more tears and left. "I'm sorry, Mark. I care about you. I really do."

And she left.

Hoffman stood there, watching the door for a few moments before taking his empty glass and returning to the kitchen. He poured himself another drink and stared sullenly at it. He took it like a shot, letting the heat warm through his chest.

And then he slammed the tumbler onto the ground with all his strength, shattering the glass.