[Riggs]: You've got something strapped to the front of you. You're just wearing children as jewelry nowadays.

"What do you mean you hate yourself for it?" Trish asks. "Martin, this is a good thing!"

"Yeah, well, not for Miranda."

RJ looks at his mother, who nods in return. He stands up and tugs on Riana's arm until she leaves with him. They scramble up the stairs together.

Roger fold his arms like a concerned parent. "Riggs, you haven't told me anything about this. Who is it?"

"It's- no one." He waves the question off. "Don't worry about it, Big Rog." He flashes white teeth at his unimpressed and slightly let-down partner.

"Alright," Murtaugh says quietly, leaning back in his seat.

Trisha picks at her food with a slender fork, clearly uncomfortable.

A voice calls out. "Hey Mart, who is it?"

Riana very audibly smacks her brother's arm as Roger eyes them angrily. The two fight the rest of the way up the stairs, loudly scrambling into a room.

Martin purses his lips. "Doesn't matter. Let's just talk about Shakespeare or somethin'." He points his finger at Trish. "You like Shakespeare?"

"Riggs, you obviously have a problem. And what are friends for if not to talk you through your problems?" Roger asks lightheartedly, trying to change the gloomy atmosphere.

"They're for invitin' you to dinner and shuttin' up about your love life."

Trish looks at her husband, upset. She understands that there is a larger underlying problem with Martin's love life. "Riggs, honey, why don't you stay here tonight? I'm kind of worried about you."

Riggs sends her a forced smile before taking a forkful of green beans. "No thank you, ma'am. Nope, gotta get back to my dog, feed 'im, love on 'im. Roger, you know he's still a little hurt about you calling him a mutt when you was over a couple weeks ago."

"Martin, would you please just talk to us? We're here to help." The mess sitting across from him ignores the sentiment. Trish waves at Roger, silently telling him to back off.

Martin looks more and more pissed-off. His voice rises. "Do you not understand what I Do Not Want To Talk About It means? Rog, let me tell you, it's not very hard to figure out."

"Well, if you want to be happy, then you have got to let her go!"

"I didn't come here for counseling!" Martin yells, banging his hands on the table. "I didn't! And it's goddamn Dahlia, if you really have to know. It's goddamn Dahlia Amerson, some girl I saved a month ago. She's a kid, not even out of college yet! It's like reverse Stockholm! I can't get her out of my head, I can't get you off my back, and I can't stop seeing Miranda everywhere I look! I see my son in RJ, for Christ's sake!"

He looks around at the quiet Trish and sheepish-looking Roger.

"I see my son in RJ," he mutters again, shaking his head. "I'm sorry; I should go. I didn't mean to spoil your evening."

He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair and quietly slips towards the doorway. Roger goes to say something to Riggs, but before he can get a word out, Trish grabs him, shaking her head gently.

Martin turns around once more before heading out the open door, giving the teenagers on the staircase a pitying look. "I'm sorry," is all he says, then he walks out into the dark night, his footsteps keeping him half conscious of the darkened life that surrounds him.