Clean nails tap against the polished mahogany desk as the heavy doors across the room push open.

A man in his early thirties scurries in, dressed as if he works in a corporate headquarters.

"Status update?" The man at the desk asks, ostensibly bored, his accent not lost despite the almost five decades since he made his move.

"They have Vine in custody and have officially charged him with Hunt's murder. That, and attempted murder of a witness and witness intimidation." The shake in the young man's voice had disappeared ago as he had slowly climbed the ranks of his organization, but with today's news, it was like it was his first day all over again.

Don't shoot the messenger didn't really apply to his boss—a reason he had so quickly moved up the ranks over the years.

The man with black hair far too dark for his age purses his lips at the information.

"And I am to assume Vine will not be taking any plea bargains." The man phrases it as a question, though he already knows the answer.

"Yes, sir."

The man takes a deep breath as he leans back in his plush chair.

The heavy-set pit bull that lays in front of a steady-flamed fireplace looks up from its bed as his master's chair squeaks under his weight.

"And the witness?"

The young man takes quick steps and places a folder gently on the immense desk.

"Mitchell Grassi. Aged Twenty-five. We know he's under protective custody of the FBI, specifically with Special Agent Scott Hoying."

Brown eyes shoot up to his lackey.

"Of course Hoying is involved," he sighs, his hands coming to rest on his temple. "The boy has been a thorn in my side since the day we killed his mother." The man slowly opens the file and begins flipping through the information.

"Vine should have just killed him right then and there," he hisses to himself, stopping on a picture of Mitchell being loaded into a standard FBI SUV, the date stamp from earlier this afternoon.

"And why is he not dead?" He rubs his temple with a sigh.

The young man swallows hard and fidgets with no answer, his lips giving as his boss' eyes find his.

"Some boy," he spits, slapping the picture, his voice rising. "Is running around with the man whose sole purpose in life is to bring me down." He hollers as he stands up, his fingers resting on the desk.

"Can someone explain this to me?" His Southern voice roars. His pet's ears perk up as he watches his enraged master.

The young man remains frozen in his spot and his boss grunts at his lackey's cowardliness.

The man takes a deep breath, recomposing himself before kneeling down to his pup, giving its ears a shake.

"You know what they say love." The dog groans at her master. "If you want something done right, blah, blah, blah." The dog just stares up with no understanding, but with dedicated attention, aware of the power its master possessed.

"Looks like I'll be paying Mister Grassi a visit myself."

-/::\-

By the time we arrive back to the safe house, the sun has dipped behind the wall of trees and Alex's car is waiting in the driveway.

Jess and Jake don't bother getting out of the car since their shift was over and I thank them both before hopping out to meet Alex at the porch steps.

"I heard you fingered the guy." Alex greets me with a smile and I grimace at this choice of words.

Despite his matured handsomeness, Alex was quite the character. Though I appreciated his soft eyes and kind words, I was still trying to get use to his...unique...personality.

"Well at least that means I'm one step closer to waking up from this nightmare," I sigh as I walk up to the front door. Alex's face softens as he smiles at me and unlocks the front door.

Home sweet home.

I pause in the doorway as I look through the house as if I had expected something to change in the few hours I'd been gone. So much had changed so quickly, I half expected my bags packed and ready for me to go home.

I wander into the kitchen, figuring I might as well get a start on making dinner.

"How do you feel about tacos, Alex?" I yell over my shoulder as I pull open the fridge door and peer inside.

When I don't get a response, I walk away from the fridge, the door shutting on its own and peek down the hallway.

"Alex?" I try again when I find the living room empty.

The sound of creaking wood echoes above me and my gaze finds the ceiling.

I wander over to the staircase and lean on the banister, looking up.

"Alex?" I yell up the silent steps, a chill creeping up my spine.

A figure suddenly pops out of the room across from the stairs, a finger over his lips and a phone to his ear.

Sorry. Alex mouths down to me, pointing to his cell. I nod in understanding.

Tacos? I mouth back, my lips exaggerating over each syllable.

His face lights up and he gives me a thumbs up which I return before he disappears back to his bedroom and I make my way back into the kitchen and to start prepping our meals.

By the time Alex finds his way back into the kitchen, everything is essentially done and I'm almost ready to plate.

"How can I be of help?" He asks with outstretched arms and a goofy grin, causing me to chuckle.

"If you could set the table," I point with my spoon. There were bowls filled with store-bought salsa, cheese, sour cream and chopped up lettuce, but nothing for you to eat off of. "That would be great."

I turn back to the stove as I hear ceramic meet wood three times.

I glance over my shoulder, seeing three place settings.

It was starting to get late and the thought had flitted through my mind if Scott would be returning now that the weekend was over. I figured Scott would be back to his day-to-day at the bureau and I would be assigned a new handler or watchman—whatever I want to call them. But there was no point for him to be bothered with me, not when there were others to babysit for him.

"So who's the new guy?" I ask nonchalantly over my shoulder as Alex lays out the silverware.

"New guy?" Alex's face scrunches as he lays a knife over a folded napkin.

"Yeah," I turn back to the stove, seeming indifferent. "Who's replacing Scott now that he's back in the field?" I pick up your wooden spoon and give the meat another stir, keeping it from burning.

"Scott's staying on your protective detail." Alex's voice carries from behind me. I don't catch the spread of my smile until it's too late and I'm thankful Alex can't see my reaction.

A thought hits me and I turn the burner on low before fully spinning around and facing Alex who's seated in the same spot as last night.

"Wait, so is he not working the case then?" My hands reach out behind me and grip the oven's handle as I lean back.

"No, he's still working the case."

Now my eyebrows knit together until my face unfolds as realization hits me.

"Is he working round the clock?" I ask flabbergasted.

Alex nods, his lips setting in a hard line.

Though a small part of me is looking forward to seeing Scott again, it was crazy to think that he would drive over an hour out to the house and sleep for—what? Four hours maybe—before heading back the next morning for a full day of work at the bureau.

"Why would he do that?" There's a hinge in my voice as I think of what he's putting himself through.

Sure, this was a big case—huge by the sounds of it—but Scott was literally throwing his entire self into this case. That couldn't be healthy.

His business card had read Special Agent, Organized Crimes. As important as this was, surely this was just a normal case for him? Why kill yourself over it?

Alex takes a deep breath and looks out the window into the dusky darkness. His lips waver and I can see him debating himself.

If I knew him better, I would push him, pester him until he spilled whatever he was holding back, but I had only known him for not even a full day. As kind as he was, he wasn't my friend. He was my agent. So was Scott—a relationship that would not exist if the FBI didn't need me for the case.

"I'll just say," Alex breaks the silence with another deep breath. "This case is very personal to Scott." Alex purses his lips. "But it's not my place to tell his story."

So many questions float through my head.

Why was it personal?

Did Scott know Vine? Or Shelton?

Was that why it was just him and his brother growing up. Had Shelton's organization killed Scott's parents?

Was this the whole reason he was in the bureau?

"I guess that makes sense," I bite down on the inside of my lip, eyes downcast as I try to silence the thoughts exploding through my mind.

I do have one question; one I think I can get away with without crossing a line.

"Is that the reason Scott joined the FBI?" I straighten out my arms, stretching before leaning back again.

"Because, to be honest, he doesn't seem like your typical FBI agent." This causes the corner of Alex's mouth to twitch.

"No, I suppose he doesn't." A smile escapes with his reply. "And to answer your question: yes, it's why he joined the FBI," Alex pauses as his tongue darts over his lips. "Though I'm sure out fearless leader would have found his way into law enforcement, no matter what."

My face pulls together.

"What do you mean?" I glance back to the steaming pan, making sure the meat was okay. There's nothing worse than burning my food right as we get ready to eat.

When I turn back, Alex is leaning back in his chair, body relaxed with one leg over his knee and his hands folded in his lap. Even unperturbed, Alex was the image of propriety and I found myself, yet again, wondering what his deal was.

"Well, Scott's mother was a cop, and her father was a cop and his father...you get the picture," Alex waves off the rest of his statement.

"Either way, if I was a betting man," Alex shifts in his seat, switching legs. "Which I'm not." He holds up a hand as he clarifies as if I would have been offended by the idea. "Scott would have ended up with a badge in his pocket and a gun in his hand."

I take a deep breath and relax against the stove with a nod.

Scott Hoying was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma

Sure, he had the cool guy, I-don't-give-a-shit persona, but obviously he was much more than the rolled-at-the-sleeve plaid shirts and classic car.
And if the pit in my stomach was right–that not only did he have to go through the pain of losing two parents at a young age, but having them murdered, and the men responsible still running free and spreading their evil in the world, well, it made a hell of a lot more sense that he had tried so hard to convince me to be his witness.

I couldn't stop the thought that, if I had known about Scott's parents when he first knocked on my door, would that have changed my mind at all? Would some stranger's journey for justice have swayed me? Or would I still have been too much of a coward to step up and do what was right?

Probably the later, if I was being honest with myself.

I wasn't a hero. A good person? Sure. I volunteered sometimes and would give spare singles to the homeless man on the corner of my street when I had some. I didn't ruin people's live, and the worse crime I had committed was when I was ten years old and my cousin convinced me to shoplift a bag of M&M's from the grocery story. I wasn't Mother Theresa, but I was good enough at least.

Somehow, that didn't make me feel better.

I leave my thoughts behind as I glance at the simmering meat, then the door, wondering how much longer until the return of Special Agent Hoying.

"If the foods ready, we can start without him." Alex interrupts my thoughts, my wonder apparently evident on my face. "He's not picky."

Hard to believe for a man who cooks as good as he does.

I just nod and turn the burner off before bringing the filled pan over to the table and place it in the center of the toppings on an oven mitt to keep the wood from charring.

"Well then, dig in." I motion to all the mixings I had prepared as I take a seat across from him.

The two of us dig in, filling up our plates and taco shells.

"Mhmmm." Alex mumbles through a crunchy first bite. "These are great."
I smile with a full mouth, my cheeks bulging.

"Thanks," My words stumble over my food as I fight a giggle.

I felt like I was seven years old again, challenging my brother to see who could stuff the most food in their mouth and tell a story. My mother hated it—never understanding how she could raise children with zero manners. Despite the chastising, there was always a glint in her eyes that would encourage Mike and I to keep going. Despite being younger, and smaller, I would usually end up winning, causing Mike to pout and complain it was only because I had a big mouth. Even his snides could never stop my triumphant, albeit, full, grin.

The memories of my family send a shiver through my stomach and I'm suddenly not hungry.

"So was everything okay before?" I put my taco down and wipe at my hands, needing a distraction. "You were on the phone for a long time."

Hopefully figuring out plans for the trial.

Alex smiles as a calmness overtakes him.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about." Alex holds his half-eaten taco with one hands and waves me off with the other. "I was helping my daughter with her homework."

"Daughter?" I blanch unintentionally. Thankfully, Alex was too busy taking a bite to notice.

Alex nods as he chews, putting his taco down and wiping his hands on his napkin before he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out his wallet for a moment before his fingers find what they're looking for and he produces a picture. He reaches it across the table and hands it to me.

Staring up at me is a girl, maybe sixth or seventh grade with a bright smile and long blonde hair tied into a braid. Her eyes are as blue as the backdrop behind her, and there's a natural kindness in them that I immediately recognize from the man across from me.

"She's beautiful." My throat clenches. I wasn't the only one who had something to lose if this all went sideways; this happy little girl would lose a father. Scott's sister would lose the only family she had left. And who knew what Jess and Jake had riding on all of this to go right.

It was a stinging reminder that they weren't just agents; they were people with loved ones waiting for them to come home after every shift.

"Thank you," I hand him back the picture, my gratitude for much more than sharing a school picture.

Alex's eyes soften, knowing exactly what I mean.

"Something smells good." A voice echoes down the hallway before Scott suddenly appears in the archway, his eyes light and tie hanging loosely around his neck.

I gulp.

This was the first time I had seen him in a suit since the day he had come knocking at my door. That day, I was too shattered by the start of my nightmare to notice the way the black fabric stretched across his broad shoulders, or how the soft fabric ran fittingly down his strong legs. The simple suit, with tie as blue as his eyes, exudes power. If I passed him on the street, I'd think he was some big shot with the entire world on a string.

My mind wanders to what's under the suit; tight skin from years of being in his physical prime, hands that can kill, gentle with a firm authority. My eyes wander down, searching for any hint of an outline.

"Mitchell here was kind enough to make us tacos." Alex's voice startles me and I flinch in my seat.

Shit. How long had I been staring?

Scott looks down at me, his smile gone and features tight as his eyes meet mine.

I shoot him a hard smile and swallow, trying to cure my now parched throat.
"Are you going to join us or just stand there?" Alex twists slightly in his seat with another taco in his hands, wondering what's keeping his partner stuck in his spot.

Scott blinks hard as if he's just returned to himself.

"While I hope they're as good as they smell." Scott quickly recovers as his smile returns, but it doesn't seem natural.

He strides through the kitchen and takes a seat next to me, which somehow seems closer then it was last night.

Scott turns towards me and gives me a real, dimple-popping smile—silently thanking me for the meal before he digs in like a beast, eating like he's never seen food in his life, breaking the illusion as I frown at him.

I slump back into my seat and pick at my food as Scott and Alex talk about the game last night.

I want to ask Scott what happened after I left the bureau, if there was going to be a trial, or if Vine was going to take a plea deal, but both men were so relaxed, Scott laughing with a mouth full of food, and Alex being polite enough to at least keep his mouth closed. I didn't want to take this moment away from them.

There was going to be plenty of time to talk business later. Hell, all I had was time.

"Not hungry?" Scott leans towards me, his eyes glancing to my half eaten taco.

"Just tired," I shrug, a lie easily believable after the day I've had.

Scott just chews as his eyes wander my face and I shift in my seat, dropping his gaze so he hopefully won't see my lie.

I wonder if this is how his suspects feel; totally exposed, like his piercing green eyes can see every lie you've ever told.

And that was while he was munching away on a taco. I shudder to think what he's capable of at full capacity.

After dinner, Alex offers to clean so that I can relax and Scott can change.

I really don't feel like watching tv and making small talk tonight, not after everything's that happened and what I've learned, so rather than turn into the living room, I take the steps upstairs and into my room, quietly shutting the door behind me.

There was an uneasy guilt coursing through me since my talk with Alex. I couldn't shake the thought of Scott's parents, the trauma he and his sister must have experienced after their deaths, how driven he is to put away the men who ruined his life and how I was the final piece to the puzzle.

Without me, Scott couldn't get his revenge, or justice—not that there was much of a difference. Scott needed me. But once this case as over, I would cease to be useful, and he wouldn't need to bother with me anymore.

I curl around my pillow and squeeze my eyes shut, wanting this house to disappear, wanting to be transported to my childhood room with the bright blue paint and posters of Prince William and *NSYNC hanging on my walls, where more stuffed animals than pillows lived on your bed and the off-key voice of my mother singing drifted up the stairs while she would cook dinner.

A knock startles me out of my thoughts and I twist around my pillow to glance at the door.

There are only one of two people who could be knocking, and I really don't feel like talking to either of them.

"You alive in there?" Scott's muffled voice carries over. I just sigh and lay my head back down, hoping he'll get the picture.

Then I hear the door open.

Fuck.

He doesn't say anything and I listen to his steps until he finds the empty side of the bed and sits down.

"Everything okay?" His voice is sickeningly gentle, like a single word may break me, and in that moment, I hate him.

"Is any of this okay?" My voice doesn't break beyond a whisper.

Scott takes a deep breath, his tongue darting across his lips as his eyes stare at the wall across from him.

"I'm not gonna sit here and tell you it is. Or tell you that once this is all over–if it's ever over–that you'll be back to a normal life. Normal has officially left the station and it ain't coming back." His hands sweep by each other.

"Does that mean there's going to be a trial?" If there was a chance this may never end, that means there was no plea deal, that Vine was going to fight this, keeping me in danger.

With a tight jaw, Scott nods.

"I can't promise you it's all going to be alright, but what I can tell you is that you'll be okay." His eyes wander over to me and I stare up at him.

"I saw you in there today. You were fearless. Not even a flinch." His lips scowl a bit as he shakes his head, though there is a light in his eyes.

"And the way you stood up to that asshole, Bart," Scott's lips break into a huge grin as he looks down and my chest swells in anticipation.

"A lot of people wouldn't have been able to do that." He says after a beat, like those words weren't his first choice.

"I had the tissues ready in case you started bawling."

"Gee, thanks." There's a bite to my tone, but a smile on my face.

Scott smiles back, his eyes crinkling slightly at the corners.

"I know this whole thing sucks, but you're going to come out of this on top. I don't doubt that."

A heavy silence falls between the two of us. Scott is turned towards me, but his eyes are far-off now.

I bite down on my lip; the charged air is bubbling an unruly confidence within us and I'm very close to crossing a line with a question I have no right asking.

Scott suddenly sucks in a breath, coming back to himself as he looks at me.

"Try and get some sleep. Alex and I will be downstairs if you need us."

I let out the breath I'm still holding and nod, watching the moment pass as Scott walks out the door.

Once the door shuts with a soft click, I hug my pillow tighter and close my eyes.