"You're not in trouble are you?" he asks.

"No!" I object quickly. "The help I need is a favor."

"Um, okay, how can I help?" he offers. I smile, thankful for his help.

"I kind of need to see a case file," I mutter quickly. He goes silent, and I can hear him walking. When his footsteps stop, he starts to talk again, but quieter and frantic.

"Why the hell do you need a case file?"

"So, I can't have it?"

"That's not what I'm saying. The public are allowed to request files, under the Freedom of Information Act, which you can inspect or copy. I'm just wondering why you need it."

I bite my lip before I go into the explanation about how I'm trying to prove someone's innocence. He sighs.

"Alright, but I won't be able to send it to you. You'll have to come down." Whose case is it?"

"Nixon Hawk's. Have you heard of it?"

"Heard of it? It was huge! All the evidence was stacked up against him!" he states loudly. I press my lips together.

"I'm trying to prove it wasn't. He's never really admitted it," I point out.

Scott's response is broken up by a beep from the speaker in my phone letting me know that I am getting another incoming call. I bring the phone down from my ear and look at the display to see Piper calling me.

"Hey, Scott, I'll be down in the next couple of days so I'll speak to you then. I have another call," I say, telling myself that I will worry about telling Roman later. In return, he tells me where to find him, before he hangs up. I click answer on Piper's call, and return the phone to my ear. Before I can say 'hello' she stops me by apologizing.

"I'm sorry, I know I was meant to call you the day after we had drinks, but my boss has been on my ass since then. I've not had a free minute."

I chuckle. "Don't worry about it."

"So, how have you been? Did anything else happen with that man at the bar?" she inquires in a cheeky tone.

"Piper, you know I'm married. And no, he just offered to take me home, which he did. Nothing else happened. I haven't even talked to him since."

"That's a shame. He was hot."

I shake my head at her as I look at the photo on the desk of us all. We all look happy to be around each other, but both Piper and Roman have always been frosty to each other. I make a non-committal sound.

"So, what are you up to this week?" she asks.

"I'm going to go down to New York City soon for a day trip. It's work related," I quickly add at the end when I realize that Piper would want to come down with me.

That's if her boss would have let her have the days off. I love her, but I don't really want her to know what I'm doing for whom. She would get the wrong idea... Or would it be the right one?

"What has Roman got you doing down in New York?"

"Um... I'm going to pick something up."

"By yourself?"

"Yeah," I answer without thinking.

"Well, I'll come with you for the ride; we can go shopping once you've picked it up," She offers.

"I—Uh—Are you sure?" I ask.

"Oh, hang on, Mr. Wooden-stick-stuck-up-my-ass probably won't allow me to leave for the day. Sorry," she grumbles. I let out a sigh of relief, hoping she doesn't hear it.

"Oh, that's a shame. Maybe another time. Instead, why don't you come over for dinner on Friday?" I suggest.

"Okay, sure," she agrees. "I'll be there about seven."

"Great, see you then."

*^*^*^*

That night, tired from all the effort I expended earlier in cleaning the house, I flop down onto the couch as the door opens, revealing Roman. Part of me is shocked to see him, after not seeing him all day. He's acting as if nothing happened last night.

"What's for dinner?" he inquires, walking in and ignoring the now-clean surfaces.

"I thought we could get take out."

"Fine," he approves, as he walks past me and into his office.

I wait for him to say something about the now-tidy room, but all I hear is him fall down into his chair. I roll my eyes and walk into the kitchen, already knowing what Roman wants – he has the same thing every time. I pick up the phone, and I'm about to press the worn down numbers when I stop.

"Hey, Ro, I'm going to get it myself," I call over my shoulder.

I don't get a reply, so I assume that he heard me. I put the phone back and walk to the front door, grabbing my bag with my purse and phone on the way. I press the button on the key for my car, after I close the door behind me. I jog down the steps and to the driveway.

Pulling the door open, I slide down into the driving seat. I push the key into the slot, turning it. It splutters. I close my eyes, wiling it to start. I sigh, before turning it again. It splutters slightly before starting up. I smile, putting it into reverse, and pressing down on the accelerator.

After a fifteen minute drive, I search for a parking space. Once I find one, and pull into it, I push open the door and exit the car. I look around and see that lights are being turned on in the restaurants. A short, windy walk later, I get to my destination: Faneuil Hall, also known as Quincy Market.

I walk up the stairs, past the columns, and into the big, stone building. As soon as I push open the door, I am hit with the fresh aromas of food from the different stalls. I always love to come here, there are so many different options. However, we always go to the same one, an Indian place.

I walk past all the stalls, and through the people eagerly awaiting their food. I get to the center of the building where there is a circular dining area. I look up at the dome like ceiling and to where there are other seats. Making my way through, I stop at one of the stalls and stand behind the people already waiting to be served.

A ten minute wait later, I arrive at the counter.

"Hi, how can I help you?" the man behind the till asks.

"Can I have a Saag Paneer with rice, a Chicken Vindaloo with rice, and garlic naan bread?" I request with a smile. He taps the order into the till before looking back up at me.

"Anything else?" he asks.

"Um..." I start. I decide to get Roman something to help his mood, for when I talk to him about going to New York. "Yes, onion Bahjis. All for take out."

He taps the screen again before looking back up at me.

"That will be $20.52," He tells me. I pass over some cash, telling him to keep the change as a tip.

He smiles, and tells me it will be right with me. I text Roman saying I'll be about half an hour. I don't get a reply, as expected. As I wait for the food, I wonder where to go next after I've gotten a copy of the case file. Well, after I've read it anyways.

But after that, how do you go about solving a murder? Am I in other my head? Have I promised myself to do something that I can't? I don't have to do this; I haven't even told Nixon I'm doing it. Why am I even doing this? Couldn't I just pass it onto someone more qualified? But something is stopping me, and making me want to do it myself. It's probably because I have more control over what happens, and I know that things are being done.

"Miss! Your food is ready!" I hear someone call. I look up and around, before realizing that they're talking to me. I walk towards the counter, thanking them as I grab the bag of food, and exit the market.

I place the food on the passenger seat as I start the car and pull out of my parking space.

*^*^*

After another fifteen minute drive, both Roman and I are sitting at the kitchen table with our own meals – Roman with his chicken Vindaloo, and me with my cheesy, spinachy goodness. I tear off a bit my piece of Naan and poke it into my mouth, taking my time chewing as I build up the courage to tell Roman. I would go without him knowing, but he would wonder where I am, and I would only get into deeper trouble. I push the Bahjis towards him, offering him them.

"Ro, I need to go down to New York City, and I was wondering if I could have tomorrow off."

He stops eating and looks up. He takes a sip of his beer I got him, before replying.

"Why?"

I pause, not having thought of an excuse before I asked. I kick myself, because I should have.

"Um... I'm going with Piper, and she wants support at a job interview," I lie, feeling pleased with my excuse.

"Can't you tell her that you can't go?" he inquires. I press my lips together before defying him for the first time.

"No. I can't. I'm going to support a friend. I'll drive and be back by tomorrow night," I reassure him, so he doesn't worry about me spending money that doesn't need to be spent.

He takes another sip looking at me over the bottle. I don't say anything else, not wanting to make it worse. I act natural, taking another forkful of my rice.

"Fine, go, but if I call, you need to answer me," he orders.

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