Nicky watched Shawn disappear down the block, feeling guilty that he couldn't drive the kid home. He didn't have to explain. The kid knew from the get-go that his detective friend was the same level of inebriated as Shawn's father had been all his childhood. Nicky surely wasn't going to be Shawn's mentor in this life.

When Nicky made his way back to his apartment, he found his door wide open. Despite being unfit to drive, he felt that he'd at least shifted into the morning after hangover by that point. He was sure he shut his door behind him. Or maybe he didn't. Maybe he didn't shut it tight enough and the air pressure forced it open. His front door wasn't quite the same since Chris kicked it down the week before out of concern for him.

He was stalled in front of it, contemplating his next move, when he felt a brisk wind behind him. Suddenly a stiff forearm pressed against his throat and he felt a solid body press against his back.

"You're a shit detective." A deep and raspy voice croaked into his ear.

Goosebumps rose sharply on the back of Nicky's neck and all the way down his spine. He felt his heart pounding in his ears and just when he felt the window of opportunity to manoeuvre his way out of the chokehold his assailant had him in, he felt a hard object against his back and heard the click of the safety catch being taken off a pistol.

Nicky tried to speak, but the pressure on his throat prohibited even breathing. He took to gagging, prompting the man gripping him to chuckle three low, staccato notes. "Idiot." He pressed the gun harder into Nicky's back and forced him further into his apartment. "How about we get you inside, Idiot?"

Nicky clutched the man's forearm, desperately trying to pry open his airways if only just slightly. His attempts were futile. Slowly and without a stroke of luck that one of his neighbours would spot the man taking Nicky hostage in his own apartment, Nicky was edged closer and closer toward his door. He grasped both ends of the doorframe with his fingers almost vibrating with fear.

"Don't even think about it, Nicky-boy," came that damned raspy voice.

Nicky's eyes fell on the security camera at the end of the hall, but before a fragment of hope could register within him, the bastard added: "Disabled."

Suddenly everything went black. Nicky's knees buckled with one forceful blow and Nicky was shoved sharply into this apartment.

Jonathon's heart was pounding at a mile a minute. No matter how tired he was, he couldn't escape the guilt he felt for letting his guard down. He must only have been asleep for a few hours, but it was long enough to flip his world upside down one more exhausting time. "Shawn?" He called out frantically as he poured into each and every room of his apartment. There was no Shawn to be found. "Goddammit!"

Jonathon pulled on a pair of jeans from off the floor, taking his wallet and his keys, but leaving his shirt behind. He called for Shawn as he barrelled down the stairway and out into the street. "Shawn!"

There wasn't even any sign of the patrol car that the department was supposed to be sending. Jonathan thought angrily that he should've demanded that a unit follow them home. He knew that idiot detective wasn't buying Shawn's story. And now he's gone! We just got home from reporting the break in and now Shawn's been taken!

"Shawn!" Jonathon hollered, about to decide on whether to take his bike out to look for the boy.

However, before he could literally set his wheels in motion, a boy of Shawn's stature and wearing a similar denim jacket to one of Shawn's was approaching him from across the street. He jaywalked, pausing in the turning lane before completely crossing the road.

"Shawn!" Jonathon barked and watched the boy jolt alert from several feet away.

"Jon?" Shawn looked guilty as he weaved his way around pedestrians to confront his guardian. "What are you doing out here?"

"What am I doing out here?!" Jonathon couldn't control his volume. He was gathering attention from passers-by but he was far too enraged to care. "I've been losing my mind looking for you, Shawn! Where on earth have you been?! You know not to just walk out on me! You tell me where you're going first, Shawn! That's the rule!"

Shawn's face flushed. "Okay, okay. Take it easy. You're embarrassing me." He muttered sheepishly, as he cast looks at strangers watching them.

"Embarrassing you? Hunter, embarrassment is the least of your worries. Believe me. Get moving." Jonathon growled, as he took hold of Shawn's shoulder. "Now, Shawn!" He added, feeling Shawn begin to resist.

Jonathon marched the boy up to the apartment building, feeling a cool breeze raise goose bumps over his bare chest. He was trembling, but Jonathon had only just noticed that he was cold.

When they got to the front steps, Shawn began manoeuvring his shoulder away from Jonathon. There was a middle-aged couple emerging from the door of whom's attention Shawn was about to attract.

"Enough struggling. We're going inside to talk about this." Jonathon said loud enough for only Shawn to hear, as he put a hand on Shawn's hip – inches away from where Jonathon knew there was a half-healed cut – and prompted him up a step.

"You're hurting me." Shawn said, though still only for Jonathon's ears.

Jonathon's voice was like ice when he fired back: "Don't you dare pull that with me again, Hunter. I am not hurting you. Now get your butt upstairs." Jonathon released Shawn who took off up to the entrance, caught the door before it closed behind the couple, and slid through it before it slammed shut and locked.

Jonathon ran a hand over his face before pulling his keys out of his pocket and smiling politely at the couple as they looked him over.

"We pray for your son, you know." The woman said, abruptly.

Jonathon wasn't sure that she was talking to him until he made contact with her pity-filled eyes. Of course the neighbours would know what was going on with the frequent police visits and news coverage dragging Shawn through the mud. Even though they protected his identity, it wasn't hard to piece together.

Jonathon nodded. "Thank you. Excuse me." He said and raced in after Shawn.

The kid, having already let himself into the apartment, was tearing off his jacket when Jonathon walked through the door. He twined it around his hand and then sent it flying to the wall, knocking the phone out of it's cradle, which fell with his jacket in a heap on the floor.

"Hey!" Shawn's behaviour only worried Jonathon more. "Cool it, Hunter."

Shawn pushed his hair behind his ear with a scoff. "Why don't you 'cool it'? You're the one putting your hands on me. What are you gonna do now? Teach me a lesson?"

Jonathon's jaw all but dropped. Even while taking into account recent events and that the teenager was deprived of sleep for two days and counting, he was still out of line. By now Jonathon expected that the boy trusted Jonathon and knew he would never cause him harm. The comment was a low blow.

"Excuse me?" Jonathon composed himself. "Sit down. Now."

Shawn rolled his eyes, pivoted and leapt over the back of the couch. He landed on his knees on the sofa, pulled his legs out from underneath him, and slowly lowered them to the floor with a pained expression on his face.

"Preferably like a man and not an animal." Jonathon said more to himself and out of annoyance than to serve any productive end. He refrained from joining Shawn on the couch.

"Tell me where you were, Hunter."

"I'm sorry, okay?" Shawn offered with a shrug.

"Noted, but that's not what I asked you, Shawn. Where were you?"

Shawn shrugged again.

"That's not an answer, Shawn!" Jonathon's patience was history.

Shawn looked at him defiantly. Sure, it wasn't hard for Jonathon to imagine Shawn's frustration. Shawn was fifteen years old. He wanted to go out on his own. He didn't want a babysitter. He wasn't used to anyone caring about where he went or with whom. He didn't know what protection even meant. But as far as Jonathon was concerned, Shawn better learn fast if not just for the sake of Jonathon's nerve.

"I went to see Nicky, okay?" Shawn sighed, finally crying uncle. He cocked his head to the side in response to Jonathon's reaction. "Oh don't look at me like that. Nicky already chewed me out for it."

The lights were so dim when Nicky opened his eyes that he could have believed it was night. However, he knew it wasn't. It was early. 7 a.m. practice had just ended and the clouds outside were heavy with snow.

Nicky's eyes were puffy from crying and he was only just left alone in the empty locker room. It wasn't the coach who was last to leave. It was that older kid that Coach Carter sometimes brought with him. Nicky knew the kid was on the high school team. Probably a junior, maybe even a senior. But something was different about the kid's presence compared to the other times.

His name was Joey. He wasn't very tall—maybe only five and a half feet—and he was small in stature. Sometimes the coach had to do his best persuading to get Joey into the locker room. One time he cuffed Joey across the ear when he protested for Carter to stop what he was doing to Nicky. But usually the kid remained silent, hidden in the darkest corner of the room, and forgotten by Nicky in his state of urgency. Joey always left quickly as soon as the deed was done, his face tearstained and his body limp from submission as if he were the one who was raped. Nicky never considered how true, how poetic until he was working for Special Victims himself. Everyone in that room had been raped by Carter's affliction.

Nicky could still feel and smell the coach on him when he walked home. No shower could cleanse him from the filth that consumed his body. He was disgusting. He hated his flesh – the same flesh that Carter couldn't get enough of. As far as Nicky was concerned, he could have it all. It was useless to him. It was tainted. Even at thirteen he knew that. From his skin to his bones to his soul. He was tainted.

"GOOOOOD MOORNIIING VIETNAAM!"

Nicky startled awake with his heart in his throat. He realized that his hands were tied tightly behind his back and a second later, it became clear that they were tied to the bindings around his ankles.

A man in a ski mask stood inches from his face. He smelt of sex…filth…Carter. He had both of his hands on Nicky. Both hands feeling him tremble beneath his touch.

"It's amazing that you still get scared, Detective." Mr. Touchy-Feely marvelled with his gravelly voice.

Nicky's head hurt. He needed the personal address of 'detective' to remind him that he wasn't thirteen. "Who are you? How do you know me?"

He jerked almost reflexively merely at Nicky's words. "I'm hurt that you don't think about me as much as I've thought about you." He slid his hands down Nicky's chest. "But I'm glad you do. Nobody gets scared quite like you."