SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!

- THURSDAY – 6PM -

"So a station wagon that matches our perp's description was parked outside a porn shop every night an hour before close six to seven years ago. Not seen again until recently until a kid got out of one and ran away." Chris frowned. "How'd you know to ask about kids?"

Conseiko stared at him like the answer was obvious. "Because when you were a teenager and took a crappy old car for a joyride, where was the first place you'd hit?"

Chris had to suppress a smile. "I've never taken a car for a joyride, Jacob."

"Lame." Conseiko scoffed. "You go to a porn store and they let you in because you rolled up in a car and not on your bike. You look older. There weren't that many around when I was growing up, but there was one by the highway. You couldn't get there except for by car, so they figured if you're there you must be at least sixteen."

"Sounds like a solid childhood." Chris chuckled, not surprised in the least.

Conseiko shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I don't believe this car was our guy's."

"No? Think about what I just said. The car was there an hour before close. Every night. No exception. Why?"

His partner was on the ball. "He was an employee. Likely a managing position to be there that often. We need to see there employment records."

Chris nodded. "If we find who terminated their employment in '88 or '89 and check vehicles registered to the bastard, we might just have a working theory on who's got a brown-panelled station wagon stashed in their garage."

Conseiko got to his feet and swung his leather jacket over his shoulder. "Thatta boy, Rivera! I'm heading back to the shop now to butter up Tracy." He was referring to the employee that they questioned at the porn shop.

"Really?" Chris said, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch. "Did you have to phrase it like that?"

"Come on! I worked on that anecdote for the passed half hour!" Conseiko winked. "I'll radio you with what I find out."

When Conseiko returned with the porn shop's records of employment, Chris ran their names through the database and found that not one of them showed any proof of owning a brown-panelled station wagon. Ever. Not now, not in the 1980s when the sales clerk said she'd seen one all the time. Balls.

Chris was fuming. He did not want to live in a world where child abductors got away scot-free.

"Have we tried just searching the database for every car in Philadelphia that matches the description?" Conseiko asked, pulling off his tie.

Chris tried not to snap at his new partner. "This ain't my first rodeo. There are seven registered in the Philadelphia region. All of them checked out." Balls times two.

"Awesome. Looks like we'll be canvassing some more. Great, gotta call my girl and tell her to cancel our reservations. Again."

"Don't be so quick to blow off the poor unfortunate girl who's unlucky enough to be dating you. We've covered Philadelphia's porn scene and bars and clubs. We need to visit schools, playgrounds, talk to parents, childcare providers. All of that can only be done in the daytime."

Conseiko raised his eyebrows, appearing pleased with their predicament. "Alright, I'll see your ass bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow." He picked up his jacket off his desk and spun around. "You comin'?"

Chris nodded. "You go ahead. I'm not done with that kid taking off from the porn shop. Gonna take another look at the security footage."

"Suit yourself." Conseiko yelled from the elevator as the doors closed between them.

Chris stayed at the stationhouse up until the bartender at the Ace is High phoned him to pick up Nicky off his bathroom floor. After putting Nicky to bed, he thought about returning to his office.

It didn't feel good facing a brick wall in this investigation. Especially after Shawn's case went up in flames. Chris firmly believed that his case could not have gone worse. It began as a child abuse case against his father, then expanded to include his bloodless half-brother. Two arrests – his father and brother – and a suicide attempt later, and they could say goodbye to any sort of protocol that precedence might have set. A lot of terrible shit happened in the world, but Shawn's case was still unique and it had the detectives grasping at straws to keep Shawn afloat.

Chet's court date was looming and Chris' biggest fret was their decision to put Shawn on the stand. Not only was he going to stand in front of a judge and jury and condemn his father, but he was going to be subject to cross examination by the wicked witch of the west, herself, – Chet's defence attorney – Maureen Hill. After everything Shawn had been through with getting attacked by Eddie's friends and almost killing himself, Chris never would have thought that Shawn was ready to take the stand. But it wasn't just those horrible events. He was still tortured by it all. Whether the break in at Jonathan's was real or a figment of Shawn's imagination, the fact that it was another thing keeping the kid awake at night was another reason Shawn's own lawyer, Elizabeth Barclay, should reconsider her approach.

Chris knew that since Shawn recanted his grievance that got Chet arrested for child abuse in the first place, which came immediately before he tried to free fall off the hospital roof, the teenager would have to convince the jury that he wasn't crying wolf and that he isn't crazy. He would have to make the courtroom see what he saw, feel what he felt inside, and bring the jury to come as close to enduring without actually having to endure what Shawn did at the receiving end of violence, abuse, and raw terror during his pathetic existence as a human punching bag.

Shawn's case had only shifted slightly to the side to make room for Chris' new assignment with Conseiko. A boy had been abducted and there was so little to go on that Chris decided a night at the office instead of in bed next to his fiancé was pointless.

What Chris had on his plate involved the unravelling of a teenager's very unfortunate life, the unravelling of Nicky's very unfortunate past, and a tightly wound child abduction case that Chris was wary to unravel.

Ultimately, Chris opted to warm his side of the bed for the first time in a fortnight. He hoped to keep at least his personal life comfortably assembled.

– FRIDAY – 1PM –

Nicky had finally stopped puking just before noon. Every muscle in his body ached. Every joint felt broken. He was slumped on his living room couch with an ice cube on his pounding head when a knock on the door brought to mind that he would have to be vertical to answer it, which in turn triggered his gag reflexes.

He mentally sifted through a list of those who might've come to antagonize him. Though he had to admit, this list was better titled 'Those who might've come to check his vitals'. And that list of people wouldn't take his failure to answer the door as a sign to leave.

He was only trying for a half-assed signal for permission to enter, so when his "it's open" came out as a croak, he thought even that was too much on his part.

When the door didn't open right away, he regretted saying anything at all. If his visitor were calm enough to linger at the door for a proper greeting, then they were certainly not someone that he felt he could bother with at the moment. Or any moment.

Another knock at the door prompted the conjuring of how to get up from the sofa without vomiting. This knock was faint. A steady two beats and one half a second later than the others. It was a curious knock. A knock which beckoned Nicky's presence at the door not for any reasons of urgency, but because the knocker thought he had less business knocking on that door than Nicky thought he did.

It felt like flying as he made his way to the door. It wasn't even locked when he went to open it and he had to call out to Shawn who had already turned his back on Nicky and on his mission. But the harm was already done.

"Shawn!" Nicky staggered several paces out of his apartment and into the hallway.

If the kid hadn't frozen in his tracks, Nicky would have doubted that Shawn heard him. Keeping his back turned, Shawn spoke: "I shouldn't have come."

Considering the boy's behaviour, Nicky partly expected Shawn to be missing his face when he did turn around like in a scene right out of a horror movie.

"Well, I'm a little surprised you know where I live, but obviously you have a good reason for being here if you came," said Nicky, leaning on the wall in what he hoped was a casual stance.

"You gave me your personal number, remember? Those things are traceable." Shawn said, finally spinning around with his full face intact.

Nicky took a deep breath as he felt the room sway. "Uh, yeah…that explains it. Listen, pal, are you in some sort of trouble? I'm just not feeling so hot and…uh, Shawn?"

A deep frown had set on Shawn's face and, instead of leaving, he moved several paces closer to Nicky. "You're drunk." He said with absolute conviction.

Guilt suddenly overcame Nicky like a bucket of ice water to a near sobering degree. "You know, Shawn—"

"Don't even try to deny it. You don't think I know what drunk looks like?" Shawn's eyes gleamed, knowingly.

"Look, Shawn…Shit. Does Jon know you're here?" Nicky pushed himself off the wall, just praying for a dose of sobriety.

Shawn shrugged. "No. Shouldn't you be working?" He waited. He wanted Nicky to feed him some lame ass excuse. Shawn wanted to hear something that his old man might've told him. He wanted to catch Nicky breaking his promise. Nicky promised to help him. He never promised to behave like his drunken father.

An elderly woman rounded the corner and deterred Nicky from answering Shawn's question. "Alright, why don't you come in?" He asked him, picturing the state of his apartment just seconds before his eyes fell on the mess of beer cans and whiskey bottles littered over the furniture and wood floor.

Shawn allowed himself to be ushered into the apartment and Nicky shut the door behind them.

"Okay, Shawn. I know I owe you an explanation. First of all…" Nicky felt a wave of nausea that he let pass before he continued. "Have a seat." He gestured toward the couch, as he wiped his hand over his mouth, swallowed hard and took a seat himself.

The boy joined him, cocking his head to one side, as though expecting whatever Nicky had to say to be amusing.

"First of all, Shawn, this has nothing to do with you. I've been behaving like an immature jerk these past few weeks. When I told you about what happened to me when I was a kid, well I hadn't told anyone that before. I never faced what happened to me. I am now." Nicky saw a smirk fall over Shawn's face like the kid didn't believe him. "I'm not dealing the right way, though, I see that now pretty clearly." Nicky tried to assure him. It was a weak and awkward attempt.

Shawn finally dropped his gaze. "It's okay." He said after a few seconds. "I wish I could drink. It seems to solve everyone else's problems. At least for the time being."

Nicky wanted to puke again, though this time out of repulsion toward himself. "No. Don't ever let me hear you say anything like that again. Drinking does nothing but make everything worse. You know that. If your pop taught you anything, then that is it, kiddo."

Shawn leaned back on the couch and as his hair fell away from his temple, Nicky saw several scars on his face that didn't look like they'd be going away in this lifetime.

"So why are you drinking, then?" He wanted to know.

"Because I'm an idiot." Nicky affirmed, confidently. "But that's not why you came here now, is it? What's on your mind, bud?"

A frown returned to Shawn's face. "You would know already if you weren't here drowning your sorrows this whole time. Me and Jon came to see you last night. You didn't even answer your door!"

Nicky wished Shawn would just clock him already. "I wasn't here last night." He said, softly. "I swear if I had been here, I would have answered. Tell me what's going on."

Shawn's scabbed lips parted slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You really want to know or are you not a cop anymore? Because I kinda thought you're my friend. Since you haven't been around, I guess you're neither."

It only felt like Shawn had punched Nicky in the gut. The guilt Nicky felt made him wish he'd never answered his door. "I am your friend. Now, will you please just tell me what's going on. You've got me worried here. Are you in trouble?"

Shawn was on his feet in a flash, which is exactly what it looked like to Nicky in his inebriated state. "You don't care!" Shawn hissed in a dismissive tone as he made for the door.

Nicky sat forward with a hand on his hip. "Hey! You didn't come all this way because you think I don't care. I care! And believe me, I'm sorry I haven't been around."

Shawn tightened his jaw as he considered the detective's apology. "You mean it?"

With a bow of his head, Nicky regained the boy's trust. "Now get your butt over here and tell me what all this is about." He almost growled, as an ache in his temple forced his eyes closed. He reopened them in time to catch Shawn eyeing the bottles of booze on the coffee table.

"Did you really drink all of these?" Shawn's voice suggested that he was less than impressed.

Nicky managed a nod, his face burning red.

"My dad drank more but you're smaller than him."

"Yeah, he's a very big guy, isn't he?" Nicky said as the kid opted for a place on the floor facing Nicky on the other side of the coffee table.

He crossed his legs under him and leaned his elbows on the table. "What's it like?"

Nicky swallowed hard. "What's what like?" He asked, slowly.

Shawn wasn't through with discussing the woes of alcohol. "Being drunk. My dad usually got mad, but sometimes he'd get really stupid and it was funny. What's it feel like?"

It struck Nicky that whatever he told Shawn would stay with him for the rest of his life. This is what he'd remember when he went to his first parents-free party or his first college kegger. He'd think of this moment when Jon let him have his first beer. Or maybe he's already had beer. But if Shawn wants to know what it's like to get drunk, Nicky had to tell Shawn something that would affect the choices he made when he drank.

"It feels like a part of your brain is working in slow motion. Everything you try to do feels challenging, which is usually only amusing. If you're with good company and have good conversation, drinking might make you feel pretty happy. But never underestimate how low you can get when you're having a shit day. The biggest thing to remember about drinking is that your guard is down. So that means you have to try twice as hard to keep yourself in check. Alcoholism is hereditary, Shawn. My old man grew up with a drunk father and because of it he never had more than one drink. I'm telling you, Shawn, my pop would give me the belt if he could see me right now."

Shawn didn't so much as squirm at Nicky's mention of corporal punishment. If anything, Nicky thought he saw Shawn's shoulder's repose and his expression soften.

"Jon hardly ever drinks anymore. Do you think he thinks I'll steal from him and end up like this?" Shawn asked bluntly, nodding at litter on the table in front of him.

Nicky's eyes burned from emotion and he couldn't explain why. "No. Jon trusts you. I think that's a question meant for him, though." He sighed. "I can think of a question that's meant for you to answer."

Shawn cocked an eyebrow.

"What's happened since I checked into camp inebbreiation?"