Her worst enemy lived in her mind, and he wasted no time at all before assaulting her in her sleep.

Images of her mother flashed behind closed eyes; one after another, again and again giving her no reprieve from the torment. The alleyway, piles of trash, her mother's lifeless body; all images she had wished she could purge from her memory. Over the years, she had tried just about everything in hopes to do exactly that - alcohol, partying, boys - and when none of that worked, she pulled a complete one-eighty and studied every aspect of her mother's case until she knew every detail of it better than she knew anything else.

For so long - for too long - nothing else existed.

She had immersed herself in the world of case fileCF20958 so deeply and for so long that, at one point, she had been certain she would be lost in that dark and lonely world forever. In a world where she remembered her mother in death - her soulless eyes, paled skin and cyanosis-touched lips - clearer than she could recall the woman alive.

Some days the memories of her mother - the way her eyes shone so brightly as she told such animated stories or how the dimples that bracketed her mouth would deepen when she smiled - seemed like little more than a distant blur, and she would find herself going back through photo albums and old home movies just to remind herself of the light her mother once brought into the world.

She had hoped that, after years of distance from the case, images of her mother lying dead in that alley would begin to blur, too.

They never did.

A long and low rumble of thunder pulled her from her nightmare reel of memories. Her pillowcase felt wet - soaked with tears or sweat, she couldn't quite tell - and her sheets tangled around her legs; a tell-tale sign that the few hours of sleep she had managed were anything but restful. Despite the hot, humid summer's night air that flowed through the cracked-open window above her bed, a chill rolled down her spine and her body shuddered.

Rick's arm curled around her and pulled her body closer. The man was heaven sent, he had to be. Comforting her, even in his sleep. Kate smiled to herself as her eyes raked over his moonlit face; so peaceful and at ease, nothing at all like the scared, hurting man who stood before her just hours ago or the stoic man who had held her while she mourned the mother she had lost too long ago.

Of it's own accord, her hand ghosted up the side of his neck and rested against his cheek; fingertips reaching to swipe a lock of hair from his forehead and trace delicately along his defined features.

I love you, too.

Her movements stilled as the words - spoken so softly and in her own voice - echoed through her mind.

She had finally admitted it to herself - and to her father, in her own overly cautious way - and good God it felt good just to acknowledge those feelings. They still terrified her beyond reason and she couldn't help but think about how devastating it would be to allow herself to feel so much - and to feel it so deeply, at that - only to have it all taken away from her but she was so tired of letting fear win. She didn't want to be afraid to love him in the way he deserved.

Fearlessly.

In the silence of the night - when she felt so secure wrapped in his arms, inhaling the musky scent of his body wash - she even felt like maybe she was capable of doing just that: of letting go of her fears and loving him without restraint.

She couldn't pinpoint the exact moment he had broken through her defences and weaselled his way into her heart but she did know it was a lot earlier than she would probably ever be able to admit out loud. To herself, though? She could probably admit that he'd made a fairly notable crack in her armour on that very first night and, at some point in the months since, she had blinked and completely missed the part where he had become her best friend.

The first person she thought of in the morning and the last face to cross her mind before she drifted off to sleep.

The person she wanted by her side, all the damn time.

And, for some unknown reason, he seemed to want that same thing. He knew her better than she had allowed anyone else to know her in a very long time and, still, he wanted to be with her. He saw all of her flaws and thought that they made her all the more beautiful.

I love you, too.

She had been in the hazy limbo of not quite asleep but definitely not awake when she heard the voice that sounded so much like her own say those words. Rick - as if wanting to torment her - had barely reacted. The arm he had curled around her body tightened and held her closer but he didn't say anything, didn't do anything. To be honest, she was starting to question whether she had even said the words at all. Perhaps she had just asserted them so clearly in her mind, thought them with such truth and conviction that she had only dreamt they had spilled from her lips.

Usually, the did I or didn't I? would have sent her into a spiral of anxious thoughts, keeping her awake as she replayed the moment over and over again in her mind, trying to solve the puzzle. Not this time.

A flash of lightning illuminated every corner of the room and another low rumble of thunder rolled over the city, threatening to pull Rick out of his sweet slumber. The storm was coming in quick. When the rumble ended in a fiercely loud crack, Kate tensed and sucked in a sharp breath.

"Got you," Rick mumbled sleepily against the top of her head after he pulled her against his chest in a crushing, comforting hug.

If it were anyone else she would be pulling herself free, insisting she was fine and scoffing at the idea that a thunderstorm had actually scared her rather than simply catching her off guard. With Rick, though, she simply snuggled in closer, pressed her ear to his chest and allowed the sounds of his beating heart soothe her back to sleep.

She dreamed of him.

Some unknown assailant; a masked figure with a knife, stalking her mother into a dark alley. For so long she had convinced herself that her mother was just a target of opportunity. The knowledge that he had followed her (or possibly even lured her) into that alley felt like an anchor wrapped around her waist.

And she was standing on the edge of the pier.

"Just don't jump," she whispered to herself as she looked down at the chain that dug into her hips. The ocean breeze whipped her hair in every direction and salted mist hit her face. Just don't jump.

But then he appeared again: the masked figure. Just a shadowy outline she couldn't quite recognise. He stepped up to her side, looked out over the horizon as if taking in the view. Then, without a single word, he picked up the anchor and tossed it over the edge of the pier.

"No!" she screamed, reaching out to stop him.

But it was too late.

The chain scraped against the wooden pier as the anchor sank deeper and deeper. And then, the heavy metal tugged around her waist and pulled her under.

Kate greedily sucked in a breath, almost certain she'd be met by the burn of saltwater filling her lungs instead of the air she so desperately needed. But when her eyes shot open she was lying in her bed, not sinking deeper and deeper into her watery grave.

Relief overwhelmed her. So much so, she had to press her hand to her mouth in order to keep her relief from bursting out of her in the form of jagged breaths and shaky cries.

She slipped out from under her sheets and tiptoed downstairs, so she wouldn't wake Rick. He had already been disturbed too many times tonight. That and she didn't want him to know just how truly fragile her psyche was. He had torn himself up over whether or not he should tell her about the letter, the last thing she wanted was for him to feel that maybe he had made the wrong decision.

As she tiptoed through the darkness of her apartment, the envelope she knew was still on her coffee table stood out like a beacon of light. Moonlight reflected off the white paper, making it impossible to ignore. She turned her back to it, made her way to the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water. One hand curled around the edge of the counter top of the other shakily brought the glass to her lips.

Fresh water - cold and refreshing - coated her tongue and washed away that heavy ocean water taste that logic alone couldn't rid her of.

Kate placed the empty glass in the sink - she'd deal with it in the morning - and then slowly drifted toward the windows that overlooked the river. It was so still at night: no boats; no rowers; nothing to disturb the surface, not even a gentle breeze. From where she stood, the perfect, unrippled reflections of the city lights made the water look more like glass.

A vision formed in the very back of her mind: breaking free of that anchor chained to her waist and struggling to the surface only to find it was solid, she couldn't break through.

Stuck. Drowning. With no one around to help.

Her hand gently curled around her throat and she inhaled one slow, shaky breath, reminding herself that she was okay, but as she continued to stare at the eerily calm river, the heavy anxiety in her gut only intensified. She turned away from the window and focused her attention on that glowing white envelope instead.

She wasn't sure how long she had stared at it. It had felt like an eternity had passed as she stood still, glaring at an inanimate object as if it were to blame for all the world's problems. In reality, it had probably only been a few seconds before she was caving under the weight of her curiosity. She snatched the envelope off the coffee table and flopped down onto the couch, flicking the lamp on in the process.

Her eyes scanned the page, devouring Pulgatti's words. The way this man - a hardened criminal with the blood of dozens upon dozens of victims on his hands - talked about her mother was... soft. It was clear that he had a lot of respect for Johanna, the one person who seemed to be willing to give him a chance. There was also an undertone of regret in the way he wrote about her death.

... because of me... an innocent victim... a family torn apart...

Her eyes blurred as she read Pulgatti's warning to Rick.

Leave it alone before you end up just like her.

She blinked to clear her vision, wiped at the tears that streaked her cheek.

When Rick had told her about the possible connection between Pulgatti's case and her mother's murder, she hadn't even considered the fact that this knowledge might have put a target on his back. That thought cracked open her chest in the most painful way; hurt cloaked her, it's weight forcing her to shrink down into the couch cushions. She hated this, hated every part of it. She hated that the future she could have had was stolen from her that day, hated that nothing from these past twelve years had ever come close to filling the void left in her life. She hated that the moment something did start to fill that void, it had been threatened, too.

She hung her head back against the couch and sunk even deeper into the cushions, closing her eyes.

In the darkness and the quiet, she replayed her most beloved memories of her mother in her mind.

"Kate?"

Rick's voice startled her awake. She jumped, sucked in a sharp breath as her eyes darted around the room.

The sun was out now; golden rays streamed through her windows, warming her apartment.

She felt the couch dip beside her and a hand on her thigh brought her attention to the man beside her.

"You okay?"

Rick was watching her with studying eyes, searching every part of her face for some sign that she wasn't okay.

She smiled and placed her hand over his. "I'm okay," she assured him.

His eyes dropped to the letter on the floor by her feet - she must have drifted off at some point and dropped it - and then he looked back at her. She could see the questions in his eyes, the curiosity that nagged him, begged him to pry.

"Woke up lonely," he said with a soft smile. He tucked her hair behind her ear, let his thumb ghost along her cheekbone. "Were you out here long?"

Kate shook her head. "Don't think so," she said softly. She lifted her arms over her head and stretched out her back with a long groan. Okay, maybe she had been curled up on the couch a little longer than she should have been. "Couple hours maybe."

Rick grabbed her by the waist and pulled her into his lap. As he wrapped his arms around her body, she curled up against his chest. She closed her eyes and inhaled, breathing in his scent.

"Did it help at all?" he asked in a soft, cautious tone; a near-whisper.

The warmth of his breath skirted along the exposed skin of her neck and into her hair.

He didn't need to clarify for her what he meant. The letter.

"It wasn't as horrible as I had imagined," she told him truthfully. "Satisfied my curiosity, I guess, but I wouldn't really say it helped."

"You could have woken me up," he told her. "You didn't have to do this alone."

"I know." She pulled back just far enough to look up into his eyes and offering him a small, reassuring smile. "It's just- you look so darn cute when you're asleep. I couldn't bring myself to wake you up."

Rick huffed out a soft laugh.

"The snoring and the drooling," she continued. "It really is a sight to see."

"Oh, ha ha," he said dryly. "I don't snore."

"Not denying the drool, I see."

Rick wrapped his hand around the back of Kate's neck and pulled her closer, pressing his forehead to hers.

"You," he practically growled. "Are lucky you're, like, super hot."

Kate laughed. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"

"It makes up for the fact that you're frustrating as hell."

She laughed again; heartily. Not at all offended by his words.

It was almost as if she took pride in driving him mad.

His hand smoothed down her spine, gripped at her hip and pulled her closer. She shifted, straddled him and combed her fingers through his hair, bringing his face closer until her lips brushed against his.

Oh, she could drive him mad in more ways than one.

The delicate touch of her lips was just enough to spark a fuse within him. He held her close and kissed her with the hunger of a man starved; each of her satisfied moans a decadent treat. He wanted nothing more than to give into the desire that coursed through his veins - all day, every day - but he couldn't.

The memories of last night wouldn't allow him to.

He had known it would be bad. From the very little information she had willingly given him over the past few months, he hadn't expected her to be anything less than devastated by the possibility that her mother may have been killed as part of a cover up. Still, nothing could have prepared him for her reaction.

Her anger had been expected. Welcomed, in fact. He saw it burn, wild and dangerous, in her eyes - an inferno - and he braced himself for the fight. But in the blink of an eye, the inferno was gone. Doused by her need to protect herself, to remain in the little bubble of reality that she had accepted a long time ago: that her mother's death was the result of bad luck. There was no rhyme or reason. It just was.

He had never seen anyone shut down quite as quickly as she had after that. He hated how long it took for him to notice, hated how much time he had wasted pacing back and forth in her living room while she was breaking down in her shower. He had assumed that she was in there quietly seething, maybe even plotting out his demise. When he had finally worked up the gall to check in with her, he was heartbroken by what he found instead.

An exhausted shell of the woman he loved.

Now, she was making it clear - from jokes of drool and snoring, to the persistent stroke of her tongue and grind of her hips - that she was ready to move on. She was done talking, done crying.

But he wasn't. He couldn't, in good faith, pretend that none of this had ever happened. He needed reassurance.

Rick eased the urgency of their kiss, pressed his forehead to hers and broke the seal of his lips on hers.

A little flustered and breathless, he whispered to her.

"I know I have no right-" He cupped her face and smoothed his thumb across her cheek. "No right at all to ask you not to investigate this but-"

"I'm not going to look into it," she interrupted, shaking her head vehemently.

Rick frowned, confusion flooding his mind. He had thought, for sure, that wouldn't be able to walk away from a new lead in her mother's case. His conversation with Lanie had only bolstered that idea more and this morning, finding she had snuck down to read the letter in the middle of the night, he had never been more sure that he had come to the right conclusion. Yet, here she was, making promises he didn't think she could keep even if she wanted to.

"I know this is difficult," he said, hoping she can hear in his voice that he wasn't judging her need for justice. He understood, he really did. "But this is probably just a dead end, right? I'm sure you get them in every case; leads that don't actually lead anywhere."

Kate nodded. "We do. More dead-ends than genuine leads," she confirmed. "But, I mean, a good cop follows all avenues. You don't know its a dead-end if you don't follow it all the way."

Rick's whole body tensed as his mind scrambled to a solid reason as to why a good cop wouldn't waste any time on Pulgatti's theory. He couldn't think of a single one.

"Okay," he relented. Loathly. "Maybe one day, when you're ready, you could give the letter to someone else to follow up on?" he suggested, trying to find some middle ground.

But Kate coughed out a sound that was something between a scoff and an unamused laugh. "Give the only evidence I have in a case involving dirty cops to another cop?" She looked at him as if she was waiting for him to get the joke. He didn't. She shook her head. "I don't think so."

Shit.

"I thought you didn't believe Pulgatti's dirty cop theory?" He said. "I thought it was a story for - and I quote - any sucker willing to listen."

Kate smiled and Rick bit his tongue.

Shit.

It sounded like he was challenging her.

He wasn't. Of course he wasn't. He was trying to steer her away from temptation, not push her head first toward it.

"I don't believe it," she said with confidence. "Which would make it all the more satisfying to prove him wrong."

Shitshitshitshitshit.

"Kate-"

She grabbed his face, framed it with both hands and looked deep into his eyes.

"But I'm not going to. I told you, Rick," she said softly and slowly, making sure he heard every word. "I'm not doing this. I-" The soft smile that had graced her lips began to fade and heavy emotion flickered in the green of her eyes. "I don't think I can. Not right now, maybe not ever."

The anxious beating of his heart began to slow.

"But... if Pulgatti is right," she continued. "He seems to think that you could be next."

Rick shook his head. "I'm not in danger, Kate. I don't know anything."

"It's not a risk I'm willing to take," she said firmly, in a way that told Rick there was no room for negotiation.

She was walking away and, if he was smart, he would too.

Rick nodded. It was an easy term to agree to. If she could walk away from the possibility of finding her mother's killer for him then he could walk away from a story for her.

"Just promise me one thing?" he asked in an almost-whisper.

"Anything."

"If you do decide to-"

"I won't," she asserted.

"But, if you do, just promise me that you won't do it alone." He wrapped his arms around her waist, held her tight. "Promise me you'll come to me first. Before you do anything."

He wouldn't try to stop her, he just wanted to be there for her: the emotional support she didn't have last time. With a little luck, he could keep her from drowning in this.

"Promise me."

"I promise."