So I got the idea for using music from mabelreid. Being a music lover myself, I thought I'd give this a try. Hope you enjoy!

Usual disclaimers, plus any and all songs mentioned are property of their respective artists.

"Depeche Mode?"

Oliver looked up from his desk, a little startled. "How'd you know? I thought you were into mostly jazz classics."

"Electronica has a lot of similarities. What, you thought I only listen to old jazz?"

"Man, I caught a look at your iPod once. Billie Holiday, Louis Armstrong, Ray Charles, Bo Diddley, Erykah Badu…I was waiting to see something from The Blues Brothers Band in there."

Oliver's guest smiled and took a seat in the chair across from his desk. "Actually, that's not a bad movie. Garcia gave it to me on my last birthday, and it was pretty funny."

"Pretty funny? Reid, that's a classic. Especially when they tear up that mall!"

A small smile crossed the agent's lips. "Yeah, it is. That and the address being Wrigley Field."

Oliver shook his head. "Remind me to show you the sequel. Plot's a little thin, but the music's great."

"Still, Depeche Mode?"

"Oh." Oliver flicked a switch on his stereo, which was lined against the wall behind him. The strains of "Policy of Truth" died away with the motion. "It's been slow lately."

"I'm surprised you could hear the elevator, let alone a phone go off…"

Oliver smiled. "Light activated. One of the perks of working with a hearing-impaired man."

"Aha."

"Before that, I was listening to Bob Seger."

"Night Moves?"

"Ugh. No. Overplayed, that." Oliver's hand poked a stray pen that was lying on his desk blotter. "Nah, I had "Mainstreet" and "Turn the Page" going for a while. But now that you mention it, "Shakedown" is pretty good…"

Reid smiled and leaned back in the chair. To anyone else, it would seem strange that the young agent seemed at home in a private detective's office, but Reid had spent so much time there that it felt like a second or third home. "Man, there's perks to being private."

"Yeah, but we don't get the cool 'all-access' passes you got."

"Those have limits too, you know."

"Whereas we've got a excellent forger and a lot of good contacts." The grin on Oliver's face could have lit Times Square on New Year's.

"Where is everyone?"

"Chase's off in Miami doing a favor for an old friend of hers, some ex-spy or something, and Kyle's bringing the food. I expect a better showing from you this time, you know…"

"I still don't see why we can't play dice at the Stackhouse," Reid wondered for what seemed like the eighteenth time.

"Because there's some county ordinance that prohibits it," Oliver explained. "Cam and Joe can hide the cards, mainly because everyone but the sheriff himself goes there to play, but dice is another story."

"And…"

"And that idiot sheriff just looking for a reason to shut both us and the Stackhouses down," Oliver finished. "I swear, you'd think it was the Hatfields and McCoys around here."

"Is it?"

"Nah. From what I hear, the guy got snubbed over at the school some years ago, and it was Cam and Joe who led the charge. Chase being Chase, she made sure the snub stuck, and apparently he's had it in for them ever since."

Reid shook his head, then said, "Well, as long as we're waiting…how about some more music?"

"Any requests?"

The agent tilted his head back and closed his eyes, looking to be deep in thought. "Got any Fleetwood Mac?"

"Old or new?"

"You know me…"

"Old it is," Oliver said, and soon the room was filled with the sounds of "Little Lies."

"It's amazing how much the music can say about a person," Reid said suddenly, his head moving in time with the strains of the tune.

"I know. You should see me when I'm playing "Mad World."

"Which version?"

"The real soft one."

"Hmm. I guess I never picked you for soft music."

Oliver chuckled. "Truth be told, you should see Chase when she's alone with this thing. Once I caught her dancing to "Everybody Wants to Rule the World."

Both men tried hard to hold in their laughter as the sight of their friend dancing took over their imaginations.

"I never would have…"

"I know. You'd think something like classical or heavy metal, but no. She's a huge fan of the eighties, really."

"She and Garcia might want to swap playlists," Reid said, laughing. "There's been times I've tried calling her and gotten the song with the crazy gopher…"

"Crazy gopher…?"

"You know, the one in the movie about golf? Apparently it's quite amusing."

Oliver swung his feet up onto his desk, his fingers running under his chin. "Oh!" he said finally. "I know the one. Fits her, it does."

"I know. She told me I was more of an "It's a Wonderful World" kind of guy, but with what's happened to me recently, I dunno…"

Oliver fell silent a moment, and then replied, "Nah. I'd say "Enjoy the Silence" is more your speed."

"That's what I said."

"And?"

Reid exhaled sharply, swiveling back and forth a little in the chair. "She stuck her tongue out at me."

"Nice."

Soon the haunting rhythm of "Come Undone" filled the room, and both men sat in silence as the music washed over them like a wave of emotion rolling through the warm wooden walls.

"God, every time I hear this I feel like I'm the only person on earth," Oliver said as the song ended. "It just grabs hold and doesn't let go, does it?"

"Nope. Same thing with "Ordinary World." It just takes the phrase and turns it on its ear—literally."

"Oooh, good choice." Oliver calmly scrolled through the playlist and hit on a song he hadn't played since his sister had died.

"Who's this?" Reid asked, sitting up in his chair.

"Shh." The strains of "Don't You Know What the Night Can Do?" reverberated off the walls and through the double-paned glass of the second-floor office.

"But…"

"Shut up." Oliver's head kept time to the music, his eyes closed. As the song began to fade, he opened them. "That was Sarah's song. Her favorite."

"Sarah, huh?" a voice said. It startled Reid, making him jump about a foot in the air, and Oliver's calm demeanor was now piqued with curiosity.

"Who are…?" The question died as four more bodies filed into the oversized loft, forming a half-circle around Oliver's desk.

"Oh, I'm hurt now, Oliver," the tall man said, staring the investigator straight in the eyes. Oliver guessed he couldn't be more than a couple of years older than himself. "After all that time your boss spent trying to put me out of business…"

"Look, I don't know who you are," Oliver began, "but now I'm through being polite. Get the hell out of my office."

"Or…what, exactly?" the man said, calmly taking the empty seat next to Reid. The young agent, for his part, stayed perfectly silent. "I mean, would you really…"

Oliver answered the unfinished question with a hand slowly reaching for his top desk drawer.

"All right, now I'm through being polite," the man said, snapping his fingers. Four pistols revealed themselves in seconds, each one trained on either Oliver or Reid. "Now, put your hands where I can see them."

Reid looked into his friend's eyes. He saw Oliver's mind calculating the time it would take to reach the Glock he kept on hand and fire it, and Reid knew without a doubt that Oliver would not be fast enough. He slowly shook his head, hoping it was imperceptible to the men now surrounding them.

Oliver took a deep breath. "What do you want?" he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and level. "If you're looking for Chase, she's not here…"

"I know. Such a shame. Ah well. I'm sure she'd have tried to stop this."

"What makes you think we won't?" Oliver's eyes flared like bright raindrops hitting tarred concrete.

The man easily picked himself out of his chair and walked behind Reid's, pulling out his own weapon—a three-inch knife. He placed it against the agent's throat, and Oliver noticed there was something about the man that seemed to enjoy the feeling of Reid squirming slightly under the blade's pressure.

"Here's how this'll work," the man said, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes. "You try anything, and your friend here suffers for it." Looking down at Reid, he said, "You try something brave, and Oliver here will be the worse for it. You understand?"

Reid only nodded, mindful of the knife still pressed against him.

"Good." At that, the dark-haired man motioned to his colleagues, who had taken hold of both Oliver and Reid. "We're leaving."