Disclaimer:  NBC, MCA/Universal and Wolf Films owns them.
Rating:  NC-17
Summary:   Part 3. Jack makes a decision and Ed does, too. Meanwhile, a killer accumulates victims.
Copyright July 2002 Cassatt

Jack took a cup of coffee into the shower with him, an indulgence he allowed himself on weekends only. That it wasn't his shower only made the indulgence just a bit more spicy. After setting the cup carefully on the far end of the tub, he turned on the water, making it as hot as he could tolerate. He was aching in places that hadn't ached in quite a while. Far too long a while, but he wasn't going to dwell on that.

The hot water beat steadily down on him, and he relished each pulse. He let it work his lower back muscles, kneading them, soaking into them, washing the soreness away. He and Ed had shared some enthusiastic sex - knee buckling, mind blowing sex. Jack had no idea where his chemical reaction with Ed was coming from, but the reality of it was clear. He felt it in his blood just as clearly as in his back.

He washed himself - vigorously at first, then his hands slowed down. It could have been merely the solitude, or the mesmerizing heat, but the small voice in his head was suddenly loud. Questioning him. Demanding to know. Why. And what the hell was he going to do about it. He smiled to himself and rinsed. Took a sip of coffee. The why was the easy part. He had never, ever been kissed by a man the way Ed had kissed him in the kitchen. Never. It was, without a doubt, the most erotic, heady kiss he'd ever received. He had been lovingly seduced by someone stronger than himself. All that had been asked of him was acquiescence and participation. His heart skipped to remember it.

At times during the night, their kisses had gotten hard and demanding in the heat of the moment - but they'd always returned to the achingly intense, deep, sweet, merging of their mouths. Jack was rapidly becoming obsessed with Ed's lips and he wasn't at all sure that was a good thing. He pictured himself sitting in his office, reviewing some upcoming testimony with Ed, and only being able to concentrate on those soft, soft lips that gave him such pleasure. He sighed.

What the hell was he going to do about it? He had no idea.

Ed and Lennie squatted next to the victim one last time. It was a woman, fully clothed, no identification whatsoever. Like the first victim, a man who had been discovered Thursday morning, two days earlier, this one bore the mark of the killer. For her, two slashes down her forehead. For the man, just one.

They rolled her gently on her side to look beneath, but found nothing that appeared overtly helpful. Though she had likely died of an apparent gun shot wound, Lennie ordered the ME to bag her hands, just in case she'd had any combat with the murderer prior to her death. Then the woman was taken away.

The Crime Scene Unit worked further on the site. Also like the first victim, it was a highly visible alley entrance, with an abundance of refuse, abandoned pallets, and some garbage cans. A forensic investigator's nightmare.

Lennie sent the uniforms to canvass the neighborhood. Ed's instincts were that his coworkers would get nothing, and one look into Lennie's eyes told him the older man agreed. They could only hope that the woman's clothing would give them a clue to her identity, or maybe, just maybe, she'd had her fingerprints taken for some reason.

They'd been unsuccessful in identifying the man found Thursday morning. So far, no missing persons reports had been taken that matched his description. His clothes were off the Gap rack, and there were hundreds of Gap stores in the NY metropolitan area. If he'd even bought them nearby. He could be from South Carolina for all they knew. No jewelry, no tattoos, no unusual shoes, and no fingerprints on file.

The only things the two victims had in common, aside from their method of dying and place of discovery, was that they were Caucasian and approximately the same age. Ed and Lennie would wait for the ME's report, but they agreed between themselves that both people looked to be about thirty-five or forty years old. Were they married? Did they even know each other? Were the killings random?

Neither detective was looking forward to telling Van Buren they were empty handed again. That they'd be waiting for reports and hoping for some clue to this victim's identity, too. Crossing their fingers, basically. Searching through missing persons' files again, in case she'd been held somewhere before getting murdered.

They got back into the car. Ed glanced at his partner. Lennie was squinting out the windshield, though the sun had barely risen, and Manhattan was still murky.

"You ever worked a serial, Lennie?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah. Not something I want to become an expert at - and believe me, I'm not one." The man lifted his paper coffee cup and took a swig, grimacing. "Cold," he muttered.

Ed offered some from his mug, which was still hot. Lennie accepted, and smiled this time when he drank.

"When I was on the gang squad," Ed said, "and dreamt of being in homicide, I thought that a serial was probably the most fascinating kind of murder to investigate. This is my first, and I have the sneaking suspicion that it's not going to be fascinating at all." Taking back the coffee, he sipped it, too.

"No - not fascinating - frustrating." Lennie started the car. "Let's get back and give Lieu the bad news. We'll flip to see who's gonna type the report."

Ed smiled to himself. Lennie always did the typing.

Jack had decided he needed to get out of the city for a few hours. To think a little. To relax a little more. To let the last two nights sift through his mind. After stopping at home to change clothes, do dishes from the morning before, put a load of laundry in, and grab some work he needed to read - he picked up some deli for lunch, packed his bike and headed north.

It was a one of those beautiful, crisp October days that bring people outside. Jack wanted some peace and quiet, so he drove to a place which usually wasn't very crowded, even on a Saturday. As he entered Tryon Park, he slowed down, and made his way to a particular bench that he knew. That overlooked the Hudson River, and the George Washington bridge, and the New Jersey Palisades across the water.

True to form, it was quiet. Most everyone coming to Tryon came to see the art in the Cloisters museum. To Jack, the medieval building reminded him too much of a church, and though he could appreciate the beauty of its architecture, he tended to steer clear. To stay outside.

He settled, and pulled out the work that Serena had done on the Perry appeal. Her arguments seemed sound; the supporting case laws were, on the whole, good choices. He made a few notes where he thought there were better ones, then made some further notes to himself. The work didn't take him long enough, and was finished within forty-five minutes. Perhaps it was simply that he wasn't concentrating fully on the task. He made another note to reread everything Monday morning, then put it all out of sight. Work, usually his savior when life got too sticky, wasn't going to rescue him this time. Even if he had driven out here to think about Ed, now that it was time, he wanted distraction.

Well, he thought, wanting and needing distraction was exactly what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. And, Jack, he continued, what was the situation? He closed his eyes to the incredible view, folded his arms, and crossed his ankles as he stretched out. Not being a person who enjoyed extensive self-analysis, he simplified it. He had a male lover, or at least someone who could easily become his lover. With all that entailed. He tried simplifying it a step further. Taking away gender, what did he have? He had found someone who was intelligent, funny, sexy, comfortable to be around, with the sexual chemistry of a roaring inferno combined with the most exquisite tenderness. Someone he genuinely liked very much; someone he could easily fall in love with.

So keeping the gender issues firmly on the side, he asked himself - did he want to be in love? Did he want a lover in his life? He opened his eyes and blinked momentarily as they readjusted to the light. The leaves around him changed gradually from gray to orange and gold and green. His heart skipped a few beats as he let the answer come to the forefront of his mind. Yes, he did. He'd missed it. He was tired of being mostly alone.

Ed stood in front of him and Jack studied the vision. Could he handle this man in that role? His stomach jumped. Blood gathered in his groin. His heart swelled. Yes. At the very least, he wanted to try.

"I don't know, Lennie," Ed said as they walked back into the squad room, "could this get any worse?"

Lennie snorted in shared disgust. They'd just seen the ME. Cause of death, gun shot wound to the heart, with post-mortem mutilation of the forehead. .32 caliber bullet, normal, smooth edged knife. Kitchen, Swiss Army, or anything. Body transported to the alley. The woman had never born children, had had her appendix removed and one broken leg, likely as a young adult. Approximate age, thirty-five to forty. Clothing bought off the rack, jeans from The Gap, shirt and sweater from Lands' End, underwear from anywhere. Hanes. Shoes were a slim lead at best but a phone call to the manufacturer would be necessary. If they could reach someone on a Saturday. No jewelry, no tattoos.

Ed's cell phone rang and butterflies hit his stomach. "Green," he answered, sitting at his desk.

"Hi, Ed," said Jack, "how did it go?"

The butterflies started to dance. "Not so good." Lennie sat down across from him, and Ed censored any further explanation. "What have you been up to?" It was the first thing that came to him, and he could have cut out his tongue - you don't ask something like that after one date, or two.

"Actually, I'm calling you from Tryon Park. I went for a ride. Wanted some fresh air. So I take it Lennie is there and you can't give me details on the victim?"

"That's right. Hey - it's a great day to be in Tryon. I'm jealous," he said, picking up his pen and doodling.

Jack chuckled, and Ed started to grin. "Well, maybe I can remedy that tomorrow." Ed's heart skipped. "But first things first. Do you have plans for tonight?"

"No, I don't. Do you?"

"I hope I do now. Would you like to have dinner, or go to a movie, or something?"

He smiled broadly. "Yes. Any one of those. Or all."

"How about we meet at my place this time?"

As he put the finishing touches to a tree in his notebook, he readily agreed. Meeting at an apartment signified the desire for privacy. Going out after the greeting signified that he was not about to get the 'it's been nice, but' speech. Jack gave him the address and they set a time, and he ended the call unwillingly, not really wanting to cut off the connection. He stared at the tree, with the address beneath it, and considered his own reaction. The feelings that he'd never really successfully buried were apparent again. He was starting to count on spending time with the man. Hoping to, and wishing it might happen were once again morphing into pure want. He wanted to spend the night wrapped up in him, even if all they did was sleep. And that was the scary part.

Lennie coughed and Ed looked up. When he met the other man's eyes, Jack's voice popped into his head. Maybe I can remedy that tomorrow. He blinked. Jack wanted Sunday with him, too. A smile broke out across his face that he couldn't have stopped if he'd wanted to. He didn't even mind Lennie's ribbing. At the very least, he'd be with Jack that night, and the next day, and if God was willing, all the hours in between as well.

Jack tossed his lunch garbage into the can and looked out across the Hudson. He took a deep breath. He had things to buy and chores to do, and walking to his bike he started a mental list. Condoms, as his were too old to trust, lubricant, and a toothbrush to buy on the way home. Straightening his apartment and changing the sheets and towels once he got there. Then tomorrow, before they went anywhere, Ed needed a helmet. He'd buy the man a good quality helmet. After putting on his own, he took one more look at the scenery, then started the engine and meandered out of the park.

It was the toothbrush that did him in, Jack thought to himself. The damned toothbrush. He'd originally left it in the bathroom, still in its package, thinking that was nice and casual. Then he'd put it on the bedside table. For some reason, that's when it had hit him. He was about to declare his serious intentions to a man, not a woman. Not a woman, with whom the roles, though complicated and sometimes very messy, were at least familiar. Even the messiness was familiar.

What was the mess in a gay relationship? Would this be a gay relationship? His mind had started down unfamiliar roads, which left him exceedingly uncomfortable. To top it off, his thoughts had ended with the realization that perhaps Ed wouldn't be interested. Perhaps he'd been misreading things these past two nights. Why would someone like Ed want to be with someone as old as he was? Rather than screaming in his apartment, which was unacceptable behavior, he took a walk around the block.

When he returned, he picked up the toothbrush and set it on the coffee table. He'd never been one to shy away from confrontation, especially in personal matters. He'd talk to Ed and see what happened. So what that his thinking tended to get a bit muddled when the young man was near. If he could plea bargain with rapists and murderers, he could talk to Ed Green.

The doorbell buzzed. He slapped his hands on his thighs, left the couch, and answered it. Ed's staticky voice made his stomach flutter. He let him in, and took a deep breath.

Then he answered his door, and the man in question entered, and Jack's heart started to pound. His hands tingled. Ed looked so good that he was speechless. For a split second he wondered if it was due to his own newly admitted desire for something more, or if he'd always thought about Ed like that. Either way, the black leather jacket, the blue oxford shirt, the jeans, his skin, his smile, all combined to throw Jack completely off stride.

Then they were saying hello, and then they were hugging hello, and then he kissed Ed, because it seemed like the natural thing to do, and the heat flared instantaneously. The kiss deepened by mutual need, and they pulled tightly together, and Jack's mind got even fuzzier. He stopped kissing, and tried to catch his breath.

"I'd like to talk for a few minutes," he said, panting slightly, "before we make plans for the evening."

"Okay," Ed responded, but Jack could feel the man's wariness hit him in the gut.

He moved back and took Ed's hand. "Come and sit." He led them to the couch. Ed took off his jacket and sat, but didn't relax.

Jack decided to do the same, telling himself it was only to make the other man more comfortable. "One of the reasons I went to the park today was to think." He smiled. "About the past couple of days, about what's happening between the two of us. And to me." Anxiety hit his stomach with such a vengeance that he nearly choked. He cleared his throat instead. Ed's eyes were getting warier, and Jack tried to take courage from that. If Ed was nervous, that meant he cared. Basic rule of negotiating.

"Did it help?"

"It did, very much." He took Ed's hand again and laced their fingers together. Getting courage now from the warmth of their palms touching. "Ed, I'd like to pursue this relationship with you, to take it seriously. If you're interested." He breathed.

Ed's eyes widened. "You want this to be more than casual dating?"

His heart sank, but he forced himself to admit it. "Yes, I do. If you don't, we can work something out, don't worry, and it won't affect our working relationship..."

He was interrupted by a gentle finger on his lips. Ed shook his head. "I never said that, Jack. I'm just sort of astonished, that's all. This is unexpected. A good unexpected. I'd like the same thing - if you're really sure. This could get very complicated."

Relief mixed with utter happiness almost made him lightheaded. "Am I sure? I think so, I know I really don't have a clue how to have a relationship with a man, or a full understanding of the complications, but I'm willing to learn. I know that I want to be with you, that's what I know. It's been a long time ... since I've felt this alive." He shrugged.

"I know what you mean."

"But - I do have one stipulation. Exclusivity. I don't do non-monogamy, and I'm not going to make the assumption that you don't do it either." Jack waited. This was something he and Ed had never talked about. He had no idea how the man lived his life.

A smile blossomed on Ed's face. "I see no problem with that stipulation, counselor. I'm monogamous myself. I have no intention of sharing you with anyone."

That sent a thrill down his spine. "Okay, then," he said softly.

Ed turned on the couch, the smile gone now. Their eyes locked intensely, and for a suspended moment Jack's world tilted. Then Ed moved, and he moved, their mouths met, their lips parted and their tongues sought out the newly familiar. Somehow they got arms around each other and slid down until Jack landed, pinned, pressed into the cushions. Their kisses were devouring, and they were beginning to thrust against each other. Jack was ready to be taken, his mind and heart and body all focused on this man. Had been focused on him for almost the entire day, and now he was in Jack's arms, and he'd agreed to be in his life, and Jack wanted him badly. No matter what the price, and what the mess.

Ed pulled back slowly. "We need food."

He tried to concentrate. "Okay. We can go out. But only if you agree to come back here and stay the night. Which reminds me." He groped around the coffee table and found the toothbrush. He showed it to Ed. "Here - I bought you something."

Ed laughed and kissed him again. "Thank you, I'm honored." He stared down into him, and said quietly, "I would love to stay the night."

Jack felt that one hit right in his groin. "Good," he managed to say. "Which reminds me of something else. Tomorrow - I'd like to go for a day trip somewhere - if you want, and don't have to work. But before we do that, you need a helmet. I'm going to buy you one. A good one."

Ed dipped his head and kissed him, but this time it was one of the slow, sensuous, achingly tender ones. Jack returned it in kind, running his hands down the man's body, contemplating sending them under Ed's waistband when the kisses ended. Again, their eyes locked.

Cupping his face, Ed said, "You, John James McCoy, are going to be well worth all of the complications."

His heart just simply stopped. Nobody had ever said that to him, in quite that way. And he understood enough of the complications inherent in their situation to be overwhelmed by Ed's faith in the two of them together. For a brief moment, he wondered how he'd come to be on this couch, with this man, at this point in his life.

"Thank you, Ed," he responded sincerely. "I feel the same way about you." And he did. "So let's get up and go eat. You can tell me what happened today. What else you'd like to do this evening."

Ed made a face and pushed himself off, straightening his shirt as he stood. "How about we talk shop over dinner."

Jack got up and adjusted his clothing, too. "That bad?"

"Worse."

For the first time that day, Jack felt a cold spot in his stomach. His own, personal, bad sign. He sighed to himself.

Sitting on the back of Jack's bike, Ed had to fight to control his urges. To just wrap his arms around the man, to kiss the back of his shoulder, to hug his hips. He also had to fight the urge to continuously pinch himself. He figured he must have fallen asleep at his desk that afternoon, and soon he would wake up, and go to Jack's apartment and they'd go out to dinner. Maybe later, they'd take in a movie, then maybe return to fall into bed and wrinkle the sheets, fucking their night away. If he was lucky. He couldn't possibly be already awake. Jack couldn't have really said he wanted something serious, that he wanted Ed. He'd bought him a toothbrush. Ed grinned in the wind. He wanted to buy him a helmet. A good one. He barely succeeded in fighting one of those urges again. Catching a ride with a friend on the back of his bike was one thing. Showing the world they were more than friends, parked near the restaurant, was another. Ed made a decision as Jack turned off the motor and dismounted. They'd forego the movie, instead go to the club. Where they could be with each other however they wanted. No one there would care if they touched, or held, or kissed. It was their safe haven.

The waitress left with their dinner orders. "So," Ed continued, "we thought that her shoes might give us something. Lennie tried to find the manufacturer, but they're no longer in business. He found a couple of shoe stores that used to carry this particular shoe, but used to like ten years ago. We went and saw the clerks anyway, none of them recognized her. And of course, no one keeps records that long, so it's another dead end."

"But odd that the victim would be wearing shoes that old - that don't look old. So she's been keeping them in her closet for ten years or more? That doesn't make sense."

Ed nodded. "Exactly. So we have a victim with no fashion sense along with no name. I spent my afternoon going through cold case files, looking for a similar m.o., but didn't find anything. The lieutenant tracked down Skoda, finally..."

They were interrupted by the busboy filling their water glasses and setting down a basket of bread. Ed grabbed a piece and tore it roughly.

"What did Emil say," asked Jack, also taking some bread.

Ed popped a chunk of bread in his mouth, taking a few seconds to breathe. As much as he loved his job, the way it hung on to him during his off hours wasn't something he was particularly fond of. He knew Jack was just as focused about work, too. He pointed at him with the rest of his bread. "You know, are we going to have a problem having fun?"

Jack's eyebrows shot up, then he started to laugh. "What's scary here, Ed, is that I'm following you. No, I don't think we're going to have a problem. We'll talk about work, because we have it in common, and we'll bounce things off each other, and we'll get it out. Then, hopefully, we'll be able to let it go. If that's what we want."

"You've been here before, but never with a cop," Ed stated. "Do you think it'll be any different?"

Jack leaned forward. "The only difference, aside from the most obvious one of your gender, is that I'll be worrying about your safety. ADAs rarely get shot at."

His breath caught in his throat. He'd been down this road with past lovers, each of whom had been unable to handle the stress. But now he was in Homicide, and not on the streets, and he'd assumed Jack was familiar enough with the reality of his life that it wouldn't be an issue. "Jack -- I'm not usually in extremely dangerous situations..."

Jack held up his hand. "I know, but that doesn't stop a person from worrying. You'll just have to accept the fact that I care about you and I don't want you to get hurt. I'm not going to be expecting you to change jobs."

He wanted to lean over and kiss him. He settled for a quick touch to his hand. "I can live with that."

"Good."

The waitress brought their salads.

"So," Jack said, "what did Emil have to say - what's the profile?"

"Well, the killer is probably a Caucasian male, educated, obsessive-compulsive, white collar professional, of approximately the same age range as the vics, and, obviously, he knew them. Why else remove all identification." He ate some salad.

"He's like forty percent of the work force in Manhattan."

Ed smiled ruefully. "You got it."

"Damn," Jack muttered.

Ed's phone rang and his heart sank as he got it out of his jacket pocket. "Green," he answered. It was Lennie. Van Buren was ordering them to report to the precinct Sunday at two o'clock, to work up a list of Gap stores. He swore as he hung up, then told Jack.

"Well, then," the man said, "I guess we'll just have to get up early tomorrow. The cycle shop opens at nine." He smiled. "Don't worry - we'll still get out of town for a few hours."

Ed took a sip of water to cover his response. His throat was constricting, overcome by the pure gratitude he felt in his heart. How had he come to be here, on the cusp of something with the potential for being truly phenomenal? Did he really deserve it? Putting the glass down, he smiled, nodded, dug into his salad, and let go of work. It was time to have some fun.

Being a Saturday night, the club was crowded, but luckily not oppressively so. They looked around until Ed saw some of his friends at a table, so he steered them in that direction, his hand firmly between Jack's shoulder blades. While the introductions were being made, he remembered why he loved these people. They welcomed Jack, didn't press him for details about his life, and even though two of them knew just about everything Ed did, they didn't let on. He was simply Jack, Ed's new lover.

As Ed watched the man interact with his friends, he could feel himself falling - slowly, surely, without any further resistance. Jack was passionate, intelligent, and so sexy he made Ed's knees weak. A man who had as much intensity as he himself did. He was free-falling now. For him, it was an experience to relish.

He'd promised Jack a game of pool, so he left to put their name in for a table and get drinks. The game room was also busy, but the atmosphere was more relaxed. The driving beat of the music was, thankfully, not piped in. He and Jack were lucky, one table would be free shortly, so he signed the chalkboard for it. Then he went back, and squeezed his way through the small crowd around the bar to give his order to the bartender.

"One beer on tap, and one scotch, neat," he said loudly.

Crymson, also the owner of the club, nodded and smiled. He pulled the drinks, and served, beckoning Ed closer with a crooked finger. Ed leaned over the bar. "Ed, I'm remembering right - you're a cop, aren't you?" Crymson said directly into his ear.

"Yeah."

"If I had a question on criminal law, you know anyone I could ask about it?"

Ed moved to look the man in the eye. He didn't appear nervous at all, but Crymson was rarely rattled. "I'm afraid I don't know any defense attorneys well enough to refer you. But I know someone in the DA's office - let me ask him if he'd be willing..."

Crymson held up his hand. "Not necessary, man. It's not that important. Just a bet with a few friends."

Ed shrugged and got money out of his pocket. The other man stopped him from paying, said the drinks were on the house. Ed studied him again, but didn't see a reason to argue the gift. This was Crymson: generous and big hearted, loyal to long term customers and to the community. He thanked him and made his way back to the table, to pick up Jack, again - but this time only for a game of pool.

Jack lined up his shot, blocking out the conversation around him. He thought he had a good chance of sinking the four so he took it. The ball just missed. Ed and his friends jeered good naturedly, and Jack laughed in response. He knew Ed was about to clean up the table, but he honestly didn't care. The man made his pulse race in ways he was just beginning to really understand and he only wanted to be in his company, and enjoy himself.

With pleasure, he watched Ed win the game. He moved gracefully around the table, and when he'd stretch out to take a shot, the pure beauty of his body made Jack's insides quiver. He indulged in a personal fantasy, imagining what Ed would look like playing pool without a shirt, how his muscles would ripple, how his jeans would ride those hips. Ed stood after sinking the eight ball and met his eyes across the felt. Jack's insides quivered again, feeling the heat of the gaze.

Ed came to him and swept him into an embrace, nuzzling his ear. "I'll collect my winnings later," he murmured.

"Then the game was worth losing," he teased, happy to feel the responding hum of Ed's chuckle against his neck.

Moving his head, Ed looked at him intently. Jack waited, deliberately, letting the anticipation send a little thrill along the surface of his skin. Ed moved again, and took his mouth, and the thrill hit the pit of his stomach as he returned the heated kiss. His fingers were itching to unbutton the blue oxford shirt, and stroke the chest he'd reveal. Just as quickly as it started, it ended, and with one last look deep into his eyes, Ed smiled softly and pulled back.

"Do you want another beer?" Jack asked. "I'll go."

"Yeah, I would, thanks. Bob's an easy win - this next game shouldn't take long."

"I don't mind if it does," he said sincerely.

He was a little surprised that the affection Ed lavished on him did not make him more uncomfortable. Demonstrating a physical interest in someone in this club was not foreign to Jack, not at all. He'd done his share of touching, of flirting, of hard kissing in the hallway, even occasional groping. But Ed's touches were caresses, his kisses soft and inviting, his hands possessive. Here, in this place, Jack reveled in the attention. It was unusual for him to be more the receiver than the giver, and he found he liked it. Being able to touch in return, as the impulse struck, was liberating as well.

The bar area had gotten busier, and it took a few minutes for him to slip through the people to place his order. Not wanting any more alcohol, he ordered a club soda for him along with the beer. Before taking his money, the bartender leaned close and asked him to pass a message along to Ed. Jack wasn't surprised that the man knew they were there together - he had a reputation for paying close attention to the people in his club, watching out for them. It was one of the reasons the place was so popular.

The bartender said he wanted to call Ed at work on Monday, and asked Jack which precinct to contact. Jack hesitated, taking a serious look at him. The man reassured him it was business, and Jack trusted his instincts enough to feel secure imparting some information. He told him the two-seven, but didn't elaborate further.

Returning to the pool table, he saw something that did make him uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. Ed and Peter had their heads together, then Peter cupped Ed's face and kissed him lovingly on the lips. Both men were smiling. Jack's stomach turned over and turned icy, his heart stuttered, but he continued to approach. Telling himself that Ed was affectionate, and that Peter was his oldest friend, wasn't really helping. Neither man was aware of him, and he almost hoped it would stay that way - for they were talking again, and Jack really wanted to know what they were saying.

"...that obvious, Petie?" Ed said, still smiling broadly.

"Nah, I couldn't tell that you're totally over the top about him," Peter said, shaking his head. "You'll have to do better," he teased.

"So you like him?"

Peter pinched Ed's cheeks on either side of his goatee. "Eddie - he's great. Relax!" He let go.

Jack's stomach turned over again, but this time the reaction was aimed at himself. He coughed, just as Ed slapped his friend on the ass, laughing. Turning, Ed's eyes lit up even further, making Jack feel even worse. He handed the man his beer, saying he was going to sit and watch. He needed a minute or two to calm himself down.

There was a long abandoned bar in the room that was used solely as a place to sit at and drape jackets on while games were played. Jack went to a stool near one end of their pool table and perched, sipping his water. Jealousy was an emotion that had gotten him into more trouble in the past than he ever cared to admit. Feeling it about a man threw him. Feeling it this soon threw him. They'd spent exactly two nights together, and yes, they'd come to an understanding that there'd be more, that they both wanted more, but still.

He watched Ed - so sure of himself, at ease with himself. Willing to tell his friend straight out that... Jack's mind froze. That he was "totally over the top" about -- him? While he was analyzing this new piece of information, Peter sat on the adjacent stool.

"Hey, Jack, how's it going? You look like you've been hit in the stomach." Peter smiled.

Thrown again, this time by the man's directness, he nevertheless found himself wanting to smile, too. He understood why these two high school buddies were still friends. Aside from Peter's more obvious gay mannerisms, they were very much alike. "I'm fine," he answered finally.

"Not sure I believe that. But you don't have to tell me. I know lawyers like to keep their cards close to the chest." He held up his hand. "And don't worry, I know who you are - but no one will ever hear it from me. Nothing goes past these walls. Too many people here are in the closet. Privacy is respected. I just wanted you to know, that's all."

Jack believed him. "Thank you. But really - I think I'm just ... a little overwhelmed." He surprised himself by answering honestly.

"Hey - I understand. Eddie's intense. He has a huge heart, and when he gives it, well, you almost have to hold on tight or be completely swept away."

Jack looked more closely at him. "You speak from experience."

Peter shook his head. "Not exactly. I love him, it's true. But I've seen him be disappointed more times than he's deserved. Not many people can handle the intensity." Now it was Peter studying him. "You, on the other hand - I think you can take it. With what you do for a living?"

Jack smiled. "Sitting across the table from a murderer isn't exactly the same as falling in love."

"So - you're falling in love? That's good to hear. But to your point, I disagree. Both things are scary as hell in my book. It's just that when you're at the table, you hold the power. Still, the murderer could lunge at you quicker than a guard could protect you. Falling in love? Fuck - there's no one to protect you then." Peter grinned.

Jack was about to argue the statement that he was falling in love, but couldn't. The words sounded false, even to his own ears. "You consider me a good match for Ed?" He suddenly wanted to hear it, to know if this young man did, or didn't. Honestly - straight out. "Do you think I can make him happy?"

"You know what, Jack? If you're the man he says you are, yes, I do. And I've never known Eddie to lie about these things. He can read people like, well, like a detective," he said with a chuckle.

"And he's a damned fine detective, too."

"And cute."

"Very cute," Jack agreed.

"Sexy."

"Too sexy by half." He grinned.

"You're one lucky man," the other man said, grinning back and patting him on the knee.

"I'd have to agree with you on that one, Peter. Though lucky doesn't begin to describe how I feel."

"No longer overwhelmed?"

"No," he answered with surprise. "More like ... amazed."

"And that, Jack McCoy, is exactly what I wanted to hear," Peter said seriously. "You take good care of him."

"I'll do my best." He meant every word.

Locking the door behind them, Jack took a deep breath. He turned. Ed was taking off his jacket, having dropped his bag on the floor of the entrance hall. Jack pointed to another door, removing his own jacket. He gave it to Ed when the man found an empty hanger inside the closet. His heart was fluttering. He just wanted to get his hands on him, tear off his clothing, toss him on the bed, then dive after him.

He was about to admit his desire when Ed closed the closet, whirled and grabbed him, pulling him tightly to his chest and hips. Jack moaned the split second before their mouths crushed together, opening widely to accommodate thrusting tongues. Then Ed sent a guttural noise down Jack's throat, and he came completely apart. He wrapped himself around that strong body, feeling his own hardness matched with equal girth as Ed's hips rocked into his.

Close to taking the man right there on the floor of the hall, Jack slowed them down enough to say the word "bed" in the breathing space between their mouths. Ed nodded, and began to steer them in the general direction of the bedroom, yanking at Jack's buttons until Jack moved away, taking care of the shirt himself. He tossed it near the bathroom door as soon as they entered. Ed did the same, and they stripped everything else off rapidly. Without another word, they fell on the bed, groaning together as they finally felt skin on skin, rolling back and forth, kissing deeply once more.

Jack had been running on almost pure lust for at least the past two hours and was getting too close, too quickly. He slowed them down again, wanting the night to last as long as humanly possible.

Ed ran his hands up Jack's back one more time, not ready to give the final push. Not quite yet. Holding himself up by one arm, he caressed Jack's soft graying hair, driving them both just a little further toward insanity as he kept their joining incomplete. If only he could tell this man how truly extraordinary he was. How beautiful he looked. Open for him, arms upstretched, muscles relaxed and willing. Ed could wait no longer. He dropped down and kissed the back of Jack's neck as he drove all of the way in, exhaling deeply into his hair, thrilled to hear the moan come out of his lover's throat. Almost losing it as the heat and tightness completely surrounded him. He stayed still, for another moment, waiting again.

Jack rocked his hips up, and that's when Ed began to thrust for him. Starting the rhythm slowly, keeping them on the verge of the ascent. Trailing hands up Jack's arms, he laced their fingers together, feeling the solid gold ring the man wore pressed into his palm. Reveling in the contrast of their skin tones. In the feel of their bodies aligned. Joined.

Gradually, he increased the rhythm of their thrusting. But he was approaching his peak too quickly, he wanted to pleasure Jack first, so he let his mind drift away from the bed. Imagined they were dancing together, swaying to music, holding each other tightly as they turned, and traveled around the floor. Jack's lithe body pressing close to his... The way they fit, and molded, so perfectly... It was absolutely heady... Then reality returned, and he was taking them to the edge... He could feel Jack's movements getting erratic, so he let go of his hand and snuck it under Jack's hips, grasping a slick erection.

They moved, thrusting themselves up and up, over and over. He tried to hold off but he was so close that control was gradually slipping away from him. Then the shaft in his hand swelled and Jack stopped moving for just a moment, a brief, everlasting moment, then he came, thrusting hard through Ed's fingers, shuddering in his climax, contracting around Ed. Somehow Ed pulled back one last time, then plunged hard, his orgasm ripping right out of him, blackness encroaching his mind, waves of release mingling with Jack's as he collapsed onto his lover's sweat slicked back. The sounds they were making, words of adoration, blurred in his ears. He slipped both arms under Jack and gently rolled them to the side, holding the man closely, tears squeezing through his tightly shut eyelids.

How lucky he was, how blessed he felt.

Ed pulled out of a nearly asleep Jack, removed the condom and went into the bathroom. To clean himself, and to get towels. Returning to the bed, he tenderly wiped Jack down and removed as much of the sticky residue from the sheet as he could, then put a clean towel over the damp patch. He tossed the dirty linens in a bathroom hamper, turned off the lights, and crawled back into bed. Jack stirred and asked him where he'd gone to, but rather than answer Ed simply pulled him to his chest. Jack moved enough to fall on his mouth, kissing him deeply, then pressed his face to Ed's neck, wrapped himself around Ed's body, and sighed as Ed held him.

This was what he wanted most of all. What he'd been wanting in his life. That it was Jack McCoy in his arms still astonished him. But right then, floating between awake and asleep, Ed had no doubt that he had already succumbed. The process of falling was over. He was in love.

Though their Sunday morning hadn't passed in a leisurely fashion, eating a slow breakfast with a few cups of coffee, lounging around reading the paper - neither man really felt the urge to complain. Both had agreed that subsequent Sundays would be relaxed. Both had enjoyed even speaking of subsequent weekends. And they'd had fun.

In the motorcycle shop, Jack had naturally taken charge of the situation. There were high end helmets that gave the most protection, but Ed had felt they were too expensive. Jack had insisted money was not important. Ed had tried to argue, but soon saw that arguing with a prosecutor was a pointless endeavor. Particularly when he was probably right. To which Ed had finally admitted. He had also given up his attempts to help pay in the face of a handsomely frustrated man who had said he just wanted to buy his lover a gift. That had prompted a whispered conversation deep in the helmet aisle, about how much Ed loved to hear Jack use that word, and how good he was being in a store Jack frequented when all he wanted was to have Jack take him fast and hard in the bathroom. Ed had enjoyed himself thoroughly, he loved watching the man's face display his every emotion. And right then, Jack had shown such unabashed lust, it had made Ed's knees weak.

They'd finally picked out a helmet that Ed was happy with. Black, with a small flame design. High end. Full protection. And one side benefit to wearing it that Ed had discovered as they hit the road - nobody could recognize him. At least not readily. He had relaxed his arms around Jack's waist in utter happiness.

They were lounging now, but on a blanket, on soft grass, on a hilltop, in a park on Staten Island. It was another lovely day. The sun was almost at its peak, and as Ed watched the few clouds moving across the blue, he soaked up as much heat from it as he could. They'd just finished lunch. He was feeling quite sated. Jack was opening a book next to him. Ed's eyes closed, he reached out and placed a hand on Jack's hip, sighed in contentment, and drifted off.

Jack watched Ed fall asleep, smiling to himself. The man needed to sleep. He was grateful to Anita Van Buren for allowing Ed some time off, for he knew just how much pressure she was undoubtedly under. Serial killers played the game well. Drove the police and the justice system in general as crazy as possible. And whenever the police eventually got close to a suspect, his own life would become just as crazy. His bad feeling about this case hadn't gone away.

He rolled onto his side and read, staying close enough so Ed's hand would remain. It was deserted where they were, and he was tempted to move even closer and join Ed in a nap, resting on his chest. But prudence won out over need, and instead, he read.

Jack let Ed off two blocks from the precinct. After removing his helmet, he hung it on the back of the bike. He got his gun, badge, cell phone, and a borrowed tie from the saddle bag. Saying good-bye was a little awkward, only because it felt natural to want to kiss Jack, and completely unnatural at the same time, given where they were. He truly hated that.

As Ed walked, he put the tie on, ruminating on his life as it stood. Right then. He decided that it was, on the whole, pretty wonderful. But. Since he'd woken up from his nap, an old, familiar, painful tape was beginning to play in his head. This wasn't going to last. It couldn't possibly. Being in love was a dangerous condition. He did his best to ignore it.

He entered the precinct and stalked up the stairs, greeting people when he arrived at Homicide. Lennie was already at his desk, phone book open, paper in the typewriter.

"Hey, Eddie, how are 'ya?"

"Okay, how 'bout you?" Ed took off his leather jacket and slung it on the back of his chair.

"Rather be sitting at home watching the game, but other than that..." Lennie shrugged and grinned.

"I know what you mean," he muttered. "I'm going to get some coffee - you want a refill?"

Lennie handed him his mug. His eyes narrowed slightly. "Where did you get that tie? I don't think I've ever seen you wear something that conservative."

"What do you mean? It's just a navy blue tie. Goes along with my jeans," he said, smiling in what he hoped was a guileless way. At least he could wear jeans that day, being Sunday, he thought.

"Looks good. Better than your other ones," he teased.

It was an old discussion. Ed's ties were too flamboyant for Lennie's tastes. Each time, Ed wanted to tell him that he didn't know the meaning of the word. The man had never met Peter, for one thing. Now he pictured himself saying he'd had to get the tie from his lover's closet, since he'd forgotten to pack one after the club in the lust of the hour. That he hadn't wanted to take time that morning to find a fucking tie at his own apartment. That he'd just wanted to be with the man he loved. Instead he gave his partner a good natured glare and went to find some caffeine. It was going to be a long afternoon.

He'd been right. Hours later, after setting up the plan of attack for the people Van Buren had gathered, he and Lennie had managed to visit twenty Gap stores, showing the morgue photos of the victims, dealing with the repeated reaction of fascinated horror, trying to find someone who'd remembered either person. To top it off, he'd had to pretend to be flattered when young women flirted with him. He'd used the flirtation, trying to jog their memories but it was a tiring exercise. Normally, he really wouldn't care, he'd just play along. Today, he did care. He'd actually reached the point of ruing his decision to dress somewhat casually. He'd unwittingly fit the profile of hot, hip police detective. He really just wanted them to answer the questions and leave him alone.

He and Lennie were sitting in the unmarked car, drinking yet another cup of coffee. Closing time for The Gap had just passed. They had days ahead of them to look forward to - doing this very thing. Unless another victim was discovered.

"So have you got plans for dinner?" Lennie asked.

He did, but he also clearly heard what was behind Lennie's request. It had been a week at least since they'd had dinner together, aside from eating at their desks. "No, I don't, not tonight. Want to go grab something?"

"Sure. So have things cooled off with your new girlfriend already?" Lennie started the car.

He sighed and looked out the window. "No, actually, things are really good. You know, every few nights you need some time away from each other." He was surprised those words had come out of his mouth. Did he think that for real? "Where do you want to go?" He'd call Jack from the restaurant.

"Look where we are - we're eating Italian tonight, Eddie." Lennie grinned.

A laugh was forcing its way up from his gut, and he gave in to it. He adored his partner, and his partner adored pizza. Italian it would be.

He'd asked Lennie to drop him at his apartment. It was coming on again, and even though he was due at Jack's place, he needed the familiarity of his own space. If only for an hour or so. He dropped his jacket on the back of the couch. He tried to sit, but the walls were starting to close in on him. So he paced, and tried to keep breathing. His fingers were itching.

He could go to the ATM, then catch a cab... He shook his head and had an urge to scream.

He almost called Peter. He almost called Jack. He did try to call the one person who was supposed to help, but only got a machine.

He paced some more, but it didn't help. So he called Jack, and told him that he needed to do laundry and some other undisclosed chores before his work week started. That he'd call him in the morning. Jack pried for a few minutes, then let him go. Hanging up, he felt even more horrible. Guilt weighed in on top of everything else. His chest was too tight. The walls made another move.

He checked his watch, stood, grabbed his jacket and left.

Ed stepped off the elevator, with hands clenching inside his jacket pockets. A bead of sweat trickled down the skin of his back. His focus was directed solely on the door at the end of the hallway. Even ten minutes late, he wouldn't be turned away, and right at that very moment, with his hand on the doorknob, nothing meant as much. Being in Jack's arms was close, but almost paled in comparison. He opened the door and entered.

A woman was speaking, standing at the podium in front of the room. Twenty or so people sat in chairs facing her. Ed found a seat and waited for the woman to finish. When she did, he stood, driven by a pure, visceral need. Nobody else followed, so he walked to the front.

He faced the group. "My name is Ed. I'm a gambler."

"Hi, Ed," the people chorused in response.

He breathed.

When the meeting was over, he called Jack again, and asked if he could come over. The need he had now was to see him, as soon as possible. He crossed his fingers, hoping that he wouldn't be turned down. He wasn't, so he flagged a cab, splurging and not caring a whit. In the car, he tried to put his thoughts together in some sort of coherent order. He couldn't do it, and came to the conclusion he'd have to wing it, which only contributed to his sense of unease.

Standing in front of Jack's building, with his finger hovering over the button, he froze. He dropped his hand. Then raised it again.

"Jesus, Eddie," he muttered disgustedly. "A fucking cop and you're afraid?" He hit it, and hearing Jack's voice, his throat constricted. He responded, the front door buzzed, and he pushed it open quickly. He raced up the stairs, not wanting to wait for the elevator, knocked hard on Jack's door, and when it opened - he was unable to speak. His throat had closed completely at the sight of the man standing there, smiling at him. Jack's smile faded to a look of concern, and Ed finally moved. He hugged him, and when Jack's arms wrapped around his shoulders, Ed buried his face in Jack's neck, breathing, swallowing the lump down his throat.

"Ed, what's wrong," Jack murmured.

He still couldn't say anything, so Jack brought him into the living room, helping him get out of his coat, asking him if he wanted a drink. He only wanted water, and while the man was getting it he sat heavily on the couch, rubbing his face harshly. Hoping it might snap him out of it enough to talk. He needed to talk. To tell him everything.

When Jack handed him the glass, he drank half of it at once. It helped. He set it down on a coaster as Jack sat next to him.

"I, um, have to tell you some things," Ed said, "about me, some things I haven't told you yet." He paused, then decided he couldn't do anything but simply pour it out, and pray. "I sort of lost it this evening, for various reasons. I didn't have chores to do or laundry. Well, I do have laundry, but it's not going to get done, obviously." He shook his head to stop the rambling. He breathed deeply and studied his hands. "I have a gambling problem. The urge to do it came over me tonight, and I went to a meeting, so I wouldn't go to the casino. I'm in a twelve step program. I went to a meeting," he repeated. He risked a look at Jack, prepared to defend himself, for any number of transgressions.

Jack did not look angry, or judgmental, as Ed had expected. The man placed a hand over his. "How long have you been in the program?"

"About a year. Peter encouraged me to try it, by doing an intervention. I knew Lennie was in AA, and he swore by it. I didn't want to lose Peter, so I went." The words started to come more freely. "It's really helped. Also helped with some of the anger management issues you and I talked about. I'm so sorry I never told you, Jack -- that's one of the reasons I lost it tonight. I've never even told Lennie..."

"It's okay," Jack said quietly. "I understand. Honestly, I do. You know my family history - I understand addiction. And you're telling me now."

His throat closed again, and he shut his eyes tightly to keep his tears at bay. He couldn't believe how hard this was, and how much he wanted to tell Jack everything. "Thank you," he said finally.

Jack squeezed his hand. "So tell me - what happened tonight?"

"Oh, shit," he said, wiping a hand over his eyes, "everything caved in at once. I..." He cleared his throat. "One of the main reasons I gamble is that it gives me a sense of control. Sounds crazy, but it's the truth. I've read a fair amount about it by now. And today -- I just started to lose it -- I felt this overwhelming lack of control. I have my life pretty well organized, you know, and it all got muddled up today. Lennie asking me questions about my new girlfriend, me getting absolutely nowhere on this case, women flirting with me all afternoon - I just wanted to scream..." He petered out, afraid to tell this man the most important reason.

"Was there something else? Anything to do with you and me?"

Ed looked at him. He could see Jack waiting, but it was more than waiting for his answer. He was waiting for a blow to be struck. Ed's heart started to pound.

"Not in the way you think, Jack," he answered. "I, um ... oh, fuck," he muttered. "I'm sorry, I just can't believe how hard this is to say to you. Shit..."

"Just tell me. I'm a big boy, I can take it." Jack's voice was flat.

Ed felt the first inkling of panic. "No, you don't understand. Yes, it very definitely had something to do with you, with how I feel about you. My feeling of losing control around you, in this relationship - it's because I'm in love with you. I don't want to end this. I love you. And that scares the shit out of me."

Jack took back his hand, dropping his head, covering his face, exhaling loudly. "Damn," he muttered, "you scared me, too."

"I'm sorry."

The man raised his head quickly, looking deeply into his eyes. "No, don't apologize, Ed, please. There's nothing to be sorry for." He smiled fully for the first time. "Besides, I believe I just heard you say that you love me. Aside from the fear, that's a wonderful thing. Thank you."

He didn't know what to say. Panic disappeared, replaced by the certainty that he'd been completely wrong. He should never have told Jack he was in love with him. That had been a huge mistake. He stood quickly, deciding what to do, or trying to decide. The pizza that he'd eaten years ago sat in his stomach like lead, and he was suddenly exhausted.

"Ed," Jack said, a little sharply, "what are you doing?"

He looked down at him. "I have to go. I'll just get my bag..." He walked toward the bedroom, then remembered the tie, so he pulled on the knot as he went. His hands were shaking, and he couldn't undo it. He looked at his hands - they were visibly shaking. His chest was getting too tight again, and he stumbled to the bed, collapsing on the end of it. He held his head, elbows on his knees, and tried to breathe. Deep, slow breaths, he told himself. When his chest finally loosened, he had an overwhelming need to cry, the tears were welling, his throat was closing again so fast that it hurt. He couldn't control any of it. "Fuck," he muttered to himself. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, as if he could push the tears back in. "Fuck, fuck, fuck ..."

"Ed..." Jack sat down and put an arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry. That was an incredibly self-centered response to what you said..."

Half of him wanted to shake Jack off and scream at him to leave him alone. But the other half, a bigger and louder half, wanted to relax into him. Needed to accept what was being given. His tears were still falling, but he gradually leaned against Jack's chest. He breathed in the scent of the man, absorbed the heat from his body, felt the fingers rubbing the back of his neck. How could he ever take it back? How could he lie and tell him he never meant it? He loved him.

"Ed, please, will you look at me?"

He wiped his face and attempted a deep breath, then raised his head and met Jack's eyes.

"I told you that I had very little idea what a relationship with another man was like. I said I was willing to learn - well, I think I just screwed up. You said that you love me. I made an assumption that a man doesn't need to hear that. That you don't need to hear that because you're so sure of yourself. Sure of your sexuality. Comfortable with us. So I screwed up." He paused, and took a very deep breath. "I don't know if I am in love with you, but I'm certain that I'm falling in love with you. I just don't know what being in love with a man feels like - I keep expecting it to feel different somehow. So far, it doesn't. And that's a little confusing after only a few days. So - please - don't regret telling me. It means a lot." Jack caressed his face. "I'm sorry, Ed, I shouldn't have let you think that I don't feel anything in return. Nothing could be further from the truth."

It was beginning to sink in, through the exhaustion. He was beginning to believe it, but he didn't want to grasp at straws. He'd been there before. "I've never been in love with a woman, so I can't compare it."

Jack smiled. "Well - I can confess one thing. Maybe that'll help. I had my first stab of jealousy last night."

The heaviness in his heart lifted a bit. "Really? But when and of who? I wasn't with anyone but you all night."

"I know this is going to sound ridiculous, but of Peter. He kissed you. I wanted to yank you away from him. I can be very possessive when the mood strikes."

"Wow," he said. He, again, didn't know what to say. He knew he didn't have to explain his relationship with Peter. Jack - jealous? The heaviness lifted further. "That does help." He tried to smile.

"Good," Jack answered softly. "Now - you've had a difficult evening. I'd like to spend the night with you, if you want. I have another confession - I'm getting quite used it. So how about we go to your place? Then you can be at home."

Overwhelm was returning and he breathed through it. He couldn't think of anything he'd like more. He nodded. Jack smiled, kissed him tenderly, then gathered up some clothes of his own for Monday. Ed would be happy to sit on the back of the bike holding two bags, if it would put this man in his bed for the entire night. He loved him. He'd do anything for him.

After a hot, relaxing shower, they got into bed, with the vow of no love making, just closeness. Holding and being held. Giving and accepting comfort. Jack shifted Ed so that for once the younger man was the one being embraced on the chest of the older. He ran fingers down the soft skin of Ed's back, and felt his breathing slow down and deepen. He closed his eyes and thought about everything that had happened that night. About another small piece he knew of Edward Green. Maybe in the morning, he'd be able to tell him just how much it had meant to him. To learn about something that Ed was not proud of. He'd tell him how proud he was. How much he cared for him. How much he loved him.

Like a bad, albeit awake, dream, Ed got another phone call in the morning. They were both up, at least, eating breakfast. It was Lennie. Another one had been found. Ed told his partner he could be ready in ten minutes, but again he'd meet him downstairs. He got dressed quickly, taking one minute of the ten to kiss Jack in the bedroom, an intensely heated kiss that deepened quickly, making one minute not nearly long enough. He broke the contact out of sheer desperation - to not be disheveled, and aroused, sitting in a car on his way to a murder scene. He held Jack tightly, listened to the man saying all of the usual things. They'd talk later, they'd see each other that night. When he left his apartment, he felt like his usual self, with his life back in alignment. Walking down the stairs, he gave thanks. He knew, deep in his heart, that he was very, very lucky.

After Jack finished getting dressed, he took the time to clean up the breakfast dishes and make the bed. He hadn't had the opportunity to talk to Ed, as he'd planned on telling him how he felt over their second cup of coffee. He'd tell him that night. Without fail.

He pulled on his jacket, put his tie in the pocket, grabbed his briefcase and helmet and left. Walking down the stairs, he decided that if they were going to continue this relationship, they'd have to start talking keys. He didn't like leaving Ed's door half-locked. Secure building or not - Ed was a homicide detective, making enemies on a monthly basis.

Lennie pulled up to the crime scene, another alley entrance. With the activity of the police department filling the area with people, it was difficult to assess how much foot traffic was usual for this block. There was a corner market, and a late night video store, but other than those, only apartment buildings around.

"You know," Lennie said as he met Ed, coming around the car, "if this guy has balls enough to drop these vics in nearly full view, let's hope he's got ego enough to make a mistake soon."

They walked toward the body.

"Looks like he's pushing them closer and closer to the sidewalk," Ed said.

"What is it they say? Bad things come in threes?"

"Something like that."

Lennie sighed loudly. To Ed, from fifteen feet away, the victim looked to be male, and big. CSU techs moved aside as they came up to him. Ed looked down on the man, and his heart stopped dead in his chest, then began to pound, hard. Someone was telling Lennie something, but Ed understood none of it -- he was looking at the face of Crymson, owner and bartender of his own personal hangout. There were three slashes running down the man's forehead.

On to Part 4, "De Facto"

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