NOW I MUST REALLY OFFER A SINCERE APOLOGY... IT IS STRANGE BUT MY ACCOUNT WAS DISABLED AND I AM UNABLE TO GO ON IT ANYMORE. SINCE I HAVE BEEN BUSY WITH SCHOOL I DIDN'T HAVE A LOT OF TIME TO LOOK INTO IT, BUT I'VE FINALLY FOUND SOME TIME. I'VE MADE A NEW ACCOUNT SIMILAR TO MY OLD ONE... I WAS MEG7100 NOW I'M MEG7200 (CREATIVE I KNOW) AND I WILL PICK UP MY STORY WHERE I LEFT OFF JUST AS THE THIRD EDITION TO WHAT HAS BECOME A TRILOGY. I HOPE NOBODY HAS ANY TROUBLE FINDING THE STORY AND YOU ALL FORGIVE ME! I REALLY DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED BUT IT WAS VERY FRUSTRATING. ANYWAYS HERE IS MY NEXT INSTALLMENT AND THERE IS MUCH MORE TO COME! I WILL NEVER LEAVE YOU HANGING.

BTW... I'm sorry I updated my rough copy just before this. I had some trouble uploading the version I first prepared and had to upload a whole new copy. I forgot that on this one I hadn't explained myself. I also included page breaks. Thanks for letting me know!

ENJOY!

Chris wiped his sleeve across his forehead, releasing a low groan. He had been folded uncomfortably in the passenger seat, quite literally baking in the police cruiser for almost two hours. He finally knew what it was like to be benched.

He made the call to act alone when a scared teenaged girl, who thought that her boyfriend was being abused, visited him. With several 9-1-1 calls from neighbours and injury reports on the minor, Chris assumed it'd be an easy arrest. The noise coming from the apartment was enough to make a complaint, but Chris knew the breaks of silence were the most lethal.

He kicked in the door, technically before he heard the scream, but justified nonetheless. For a brief second he was fazed by the feeling of déjà vu, expecting to be bursting into Nicky's apartment, despite the door not falling off its hinges. Still, Chris felt sandbagged into a state of familiarity. That is until he got to the other side of that door. Not only was no one being hurt, but Chris suddenly fell victim to what his eyes laid on.

There were two young men stark naked in front of him: one on top of the other in a position that was so unforgiving to Chris' bare eyes.

"The only crime being committed at apartment D37 is underage sex." Chris told his very furious captain over the phone. "No, I'm not insane! I heard screaming, the kid said her boyfriend was being abused: I had probable cause!"

Chris lowered the phone from his ear and even when he mimicked chucking the thing out of the stadium, he could still hear the Captain's rage-filled roaring. When Chris replaced the phone to his ear, he caught the last bit. "– the whole department look bad! You yelled they were disgusting!"

Chris gritted his teeth. "I didn't mean because they're gay! It just slipped out! I was caught off guard, Cap'n."

"You trying to cause a scandal? They're lodging a complaint. The parents are involved now and now I'm two detectives short because of incompetence!"

"EXCUSE ME?!" Unsure of whether he was more pissed off about being called incompetent himself or his emotionally disabled partner, Chris chose a standard boil-up to suffice. It made little difference.

Back at the station, Chris yelled with the Captain until he was hoarse. He could've quit, in fact he did at least twice. The Captain, unable to afford sending him home, put him with Conseiko – the most likely candidate to become next Captain, most likely because he was Captain's son-in-law.

This is why Chris found himself accordion style in the front seat of Conseiko's miniature Chevy Cavalier. Not like he'd ever wondered, but he finally understood how his Yorkie felt when he and Emily left him behind while they went shopping.

When Conseiko returned from canvassing a neighbourhood that wouldn't talk to police if they were paid, he revelled at the chance to blame Chris. "Y'know this would be a whole lot easier if you were helpin' me, Rivera."

"And why's that? Because it's a black neighbourhood and I'm …oh, black?" Chris mused.

The Latin-American detective grimaced. "You're playin' the race card? Really, man? You're the homophobe who got yourself into this mess. You can grab your own shovel and dig yourself out. Don't drag me down with you, man."

Chris rolled his eyes, cranking his window down, rigidly, in hopes of deterring any further conversation.

Conseiko didn't take the bait, merely changing the subject. "So, you're partner, man. That's some rough shit."

"Shut up, Jacob." Chris was seething.

"C'mon, I'm just being nice. I like Nicky. His old man showed me where to go for a good slice." He finally started the ignition and cut off traffic, reversing his parallel park. "So he had a meltdown, eh?"

Sure that his teeth would be grounded down to nothing by the end of the day, Chris growled, "Nick didn't have a meltdown, you spineless little fuck. He's having knee surgery from all the years of having the highest case closure rates in the department and cleaning up after you shit the bed! And if I find out you're spreading rumours about him, I'll rip you from your shitty little car by your scrawny little neck and beat your ass into next week!"

Conseiko was quiet for at least a minute. His burning face had reduced only slightly when he eventually retorted. "Maybe you're not a homophobe, Rivera."

Jonathon shut the door after a long lingering goodbye to Elizabeth. There were so many things wrong with the way he felt towards her that he could not even bear to think about or name those feelings. His responsibility to Shawn rendered him romantically incapacitated and even if they didn't, Jonathon would steer those desires away.

He picked up Shawn's sweatshirt off the floor by the chair he'd been sitting in and instead of tossing it onto the sofa, he found himself taking a page out of his mother's book, as he folded it neatly. He trudged across the carpet, resting in Shawn's doorway with a racing heart.

"Holy, Hunter! You scared me!" He clutched the sweatshirt to his chest, peering down at the teenager in front of him. "What are you doing out of bed? I thought you were out cold."

Shawn shrugged, almost absently. He was dressed in pyjamas and that was the only indicator that he'd obeyed Jonathon at all when he sent him to bed. His hair was – well, Jonathon wouldn't say neat – but certainly not at its usual state, being so prone to mimicking that of a bird's nest. No, Jonathon was justified in believing exactly what he feared.

"Were you eavesdropping on mine and Elizabeth's conversation?" Jonathon cocked an eyebrow, wishing his response to Shawn's misbehaviour could be as simple as a scolding.

Shawn hesitated, which was at least something. Jonathon never thought about how hard it would be to enforce authority on someone who only ever submitted by force. "I…uh, I heard what Miss. Barclay said, Jon."

"Shawn, I would've liked to tell you myself." Jonathon started, shocked when Shawn cut him off.

"I heard what you said, too."

Jonathon couldn't remember what that was. "What?"

"I'm sorry I've been a bad kid, Jon. I don't have anyone else, y'know. Mom and Dad were never nice to me like you are. I just wanna say thanks." Shawn spoke to his hole-y socks, but his message was loud and clear.

"Come here, kiddo." Jonathon wrapped the boy in his arms, feeling the weight melt off his shoulders. He felt the kid's skinny body fall into him and his hands clasp together, his arms around Jonathon's waist. "It's okay, buddy. Alright?" He carded his fingers through Shawn's hair. "I'm sorry I got tough with ya. We just gotta start listening to each other. Am I right?"

He felt Shawn nod against his chest and he pulled him back to make an impression. "And talking to each other, Shawn."

The teenager smirked. "You just wanna be right."

"I'm always right." Jonathon chuckled. "Alright, get to bed. It's way passed my bedtime."

"It sure is, old man."

Nicky stood in shock, drowning in the causatum of his father's outburst. He watched the man disappear into the den, which was when he felt Carlo's hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, Nick. That wasn't directed at you. Here, have a seat." Carlo assured him, steering his older brother into a chair.

Nicky showed his distaste for the action too late. "I'm fine, Carlo. I'm not a china doll."

Carlo spun around the chair adjacent to Nicky and straddled it. He mumbled something that sounded like, "Sure looks like it," but Nicky let it slide.

"I'm serious, Carlo. I'm not up for whatever you're about to say."

Carlo muttered something else unintelligible and then slapped the table with purpose. "I gotta go pick up Matty."

Nicky felt dread at even the idea of a full house in combination with his condition.

"Wanna come?"

Nicky wasn't expecting it. "When I crashed my Buick in '85, you promised me I'd never even sit in one of your cars. Your statement's held true so far, Carlo, don't tell me you're a liar."

"I only said that because you wouldn't let me drive yours!" Carlo grinned.

"You were fifteen! Pop would've killed me, you little shit."

Carlo stood and rubbed his oil slick hands on a tea towel. "Come on, mini road trip. The Adams brothers against the world. Just like old times! What do you say?"

"Old times? Who's childhood are you talkin' about?" Nicky couldn't resist a smirk.

"If you play your cards right, Nicky, I'll let you have dibs on beatin' up Matty all the way home."