The Jigsaw

Well, I guess Muse was very generous for me :) This chapter was really quick! I hope you find it as a nice surprise ;)

cobraqueen - oh, yes. I love mind games :D And I love making things complicated. I hope I won't go overboard...

Lusia - well, I still can't decide on the ending :] I have a couple ideas, though... So far, things are going in quite a nice direction ;)

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Thaw

Casey pushed the glass door and hesitantly stepped out of the training center. It was raining heavily and, on top of that, the wild, gusty wind was whipping water in every possible direction. Well, the poor must pay for all, he thought bitterly, and moved into the storm.

It was approaching midnight. Guards at the gate had taken shelter in the warm watchtower. Casey placed his card in front of the reader and walked through the wicket, turning up the collar of his jacket. It didn't help. Water trickled down his neck and lashed his face. He instinctively lowered his head and hunched his shoulders as he made an effort to force his way through the wall of rain.

After four long, wet minutes that felt like an eternity, a bus stopped beside him with a loud skidding sound. The door opened with a quiet hiss and Casey was swallowed up by the warmth of its interior.

There were three people inside. Tired, indifferent eyes looked swiftly over him, then focused once more on the darkness outside the window. Casey sat down with a sigh. Love uplifts, they say...fucking poets! he thought with contempt, and closed his eyes.

He woke up after seven hours, when the driver announced Green Rock. He must have been very tired to have fallen asleep on the bus; he usually couldn't sleep in vehicles, even at night. With an unintentional sigh he stood up heavily, stretching his numb limbs and yawning widely, and got off. Hills were behind him and a narrow bridge led to the town center. At the familiar sight of a neat, small pink shop on the opposite side of the road, his heart bled. He sighed again, as if it was the only way he knew to let the air out, and directed his steps to the bridge and beyond, until he reached Marine Street. Simple houses, slowly waking up and blinking with lights in square windows, formed an uneven lane.

The house belonging to Casey's parents was separated from the street by a spruce grove, the apple of his mother's eye. The path leading to the door cut through the grove. Casey raised his hand to ring the bell, then hesitated and let it drop. He turned back slowly and sat down on the top step. He hunched up to retain his body's warmth and stared at the clouds of his own breath floating in the cold, humid air.

Thin shreds of mist trailed over the autumn garden, dispersing in the gray light of the morning. The rosebushes had been already wrapped by his mother; she always did it in November. Casey thought it was a sad picture. Sad, but somehow appealing. It wouldn't be so bad to be wrapped for winter like that and go to sleep for a couple of months. A melancholy smile crawled onto his lips as he sighed and shook his head. He had never thought he'd feel jealous of plants.

Suddenly the door behind him creaked, rousing him. He stood up and turned to face his mother, trying immediately to put on a cheerful expression.

"Cas?" Lise’s face brightened in a wide smile.

"Hi, Mom." Casey smiled back, hugging her tightly.

"What are you doing here? Come inside, it's freaking cold!" She withdrew inside to make way for him to enter.

"Yeah." He nodded and followed her. "I was just looking at the garden."

"Well, not much to do there any more. The winter is coming. My back and my hands deserve a break!" She laughed happily.

"Sure they do. You were going somewhere?" He changed the subject.

"To the bakery, of course." She showed Casey a shopping bag.

"Oh. We can go together," he offered, reaching for the bag, but Lise hid it behind her back, saying, "No way, Cas. I can see those bags under your eyes. March to bed! Right now!" She winked at him, giving him a mock-warning face.

"I didn't come here to sleep, you know." Casey said uncertainly.

"I'd rather not have you falling asleep during conversation. So please, take two or three hours to get looking more alive, okay?" Lise patted her son's shoulder and left him standing in the hall.

Five hours later—Casey didn’t wake up as soon as he’d intended to because his home gave him a rare feeling of safety and relaxation—he finally opened his eyes, his eyelids feeling enormously heavy, and forced himself to get up. If he could, he'd sleep for eternity. But it made no sense. He'd only lose this precious short time at home. He couldn't enjoy it to the fullest anyway, counting hours as he was untiiil Sunday evening should come, and trying to push away the moment when he had to go back there.

"Hello, everyone!" he shouted, going downstairs and tossing his hair back; he didn't have the heart to comb it properly.

"Hello there." He heard a woman's voice and saw Monroe grinning at him from across the table.

"Hi!" He reached for her with both hands and she threw herself into his embrace, hugging him tightly and rocking back and forth. "I met your mom at the bakery; she told me you’d come." She smiled, arching back but still keeping her arms around Casey’s neck.

"Yeah, in the morning. Nice to see you." He winked at her, touching her forehead with his. Suddenly he became strangely aware of her closeness and tensed. But Monroe didn't notice, happy as a lark, eying him appraisingly with no shame.

"Look at you," she said, amused. "A strapping lad you are!" She laughed, touching his biceps, chest, and belly. "You work out hard, it looks likke."

"Oh, yes, I do."

"It’s good you don't slack off. I was afraid that working there you wouldn’t have any time to train."

"Hard to believe, but they torment me with the most sophisticated training you can imagine," he sighed, smiling and gently trying to put her away from him.

"Well, I guess others must be in much worse condition then," she concluded, raising her brows and finally letting go of him.

"Uhm...not really. They're good." Casey winced strangely, his expression a mix of concern and pain.

"Are they that good? I mean, you're the best, right?" She winked at him and nudged him in the ribs.

"Yeah, they're fucking good, Monroe." His voice grew serious as he remembered Sam beating the shit out of him for a long time before he’d learned how to handle the man.

Monroe wrinkled her nose at the curse and stared at Casey thoughtfully, with disapproval. "You surely learned a lot from them," she said, referring to his language.

"What the—" He looked at her in amazement and then he gave a short, mocking snort of laughter. "What are you, my mother? Never heard of fucking?" he blurted out, suddenly annoyed. Oh, yeah. The last few months had brought him close to the end of his rope, his boiling point really low.

Monroe didn't answer, just knitted her brows, startled and confused. She bit her lower lip and took a step back to lean against the table. What had just happened didn't really need any comment, they both understood that. Thus, she waited for him to say he was sorry. But the silence lengthened, and Casey's determined face didn't exactly look like a harbinger of reconciliation.

"Oh, you're up." Lise smiled widely at her son as she entered the kitchen. "We met up with Monroe at the bakery...." She broke off, feeling the tension between them. Casey had already managed to put on a polite, indifferent face, but Monroe was honest and easy to read, as usual, and Lise caught her hurt look. "I see I've interrupted something," she said slowly, clearly enunciating every word. Her eyes slid over the two young people as she tried to guess the reason for the tension and determine the potential guilty party. "Behave like adults, please," she sighed at last. "You come here rarely enough, Casey, to let a visit end up like this."

Casey nodded his head and said casually, "Sorry. It was a little misunderstanding." Then he smiled at his mother and at Monroe; there was no real apology in his eyes, though. He hadn't realized it, but his heart had got much, much harder since he’d left Green Rock.

Monroe’s lips twisted in a sad smile and she nodded, pretending she accepted his half-hearted apology. She was still piqued and surprised by Casey's behavior. She hadn't seen that side of him before.

"Okay, I'll make some tea, then. Cas, here’s your breakfast." Lise gestured towards the neat package on the table and went to put the kettle on.

"Thanks, Ma." Casey smiled sincerely, this smile convincing and heart-warming. He unfolded the wrapping from around his meal and sat astride a chair. "Where is everybody? Dad, Kate?"

"Kate's sleeping. I haven’t woken her up yet."

"Yet? God, it's ten!"

"Uh-huh, go get her if you want."

"Sure." Casey stood up. "And Dad?"

"He's in Phoenix. Business, as usual," Lise sighed. Ever since Harry had started his money-making engine, he’d been like a guest in his own house.

"Again? Geez, I haven't seen him in four months." Casey shook his head, resigned yet in a cowardly way relieved that the moment of confrontation could be postponed again.

"I know, honey. I'm sorry. I'm sure he regrets it as much as you do. Maybe if you could give us notice earlier?"

"I'll try, Mom, but usually I only get a free weekend at the last minute. It's such a pain in the ass." Casey sighed and started toward the stairs.

"Casey." Lise stopped him short, her voice firm and serious. "I don't know if you're aware of this, but your language is getting more and more crude. I won't have anybody using street talk in this house. Is that clear?"

He looked at her with a blank expression, his jaws clenching involuntarily. As if her reproach wasn't irritating enough, he caught Monroe's expression that clearly said "I told you so!” He managed to swallow the biting words that were on the tip of his tongue and forced himself to say, "Clear." Then he turned back and ran upstairs to wake his sister.

"Ah, I don't know what’s gotten into him. Every time he comes I have the impression he's getting more and more nervous. What do you think?" Lise sighed, directing her question to Monroe.

"Uh-huh, something's wrong with him. It looks like frustration—bad company? I don't know. Maybe stress? He works a lot and has a very demanding job."

"Yeah, that's probably it. But as long as this is my house, I won't tolerate his boorishness." Lise shrugged and poured tea into big stoneware cups.

Casey stopped at the first floor and before he knocked on Kate's door, he leaned his back against the wall of the corridor. Oh, they were so fucking irritating! He bit his lip and squeezed his eyes closed, knocking his head lightly against the wall a couple of times. After a few seconds he reflected. Since when couldn't he keep himself in check? Shit! The present situation required him to say, "I'm sorry, I got carried away," of course. Lately, though, he’d found it strangely difficult for his pride to accept having to apologize.

Easy, man, easy, he thought, and made an effort to acknowledge that the women were right. Yes, they were right, Monroe and his mother. He’d become a rude, impatient, frustrated prick and they had every right to call him that and demand higher standards. Now the only thing left to do was admit it and express his sincere remorse. He could do that, right? Oh, shit. He shook his head, unglued his back from the wall, and knocked on the door of Kate's bedroom. He heard a sleepy "Yeah, come in," and turned the doorknob.

"Hey, little one." He smiled warmly at sight of the unkempt bright-brown head and a face with impressed traces of a pillow. Kate's eyes, still bleary with sleep, sparkled happily when she noticed Casey.

"Hi!" she squealed, and with one jump she landed on the floor, her arms around Casey's neck.

"You fu—" he bit his tongue— "shameless sleepyhead!" He realized that swearing had become second nature to him to such an extent that it was becoming difficult to control. "You know what time it is?" he asked, squeezing his sister and lifting to swing her around like a helicopter’s rotors.

"Hey, put me down! Now!" Kate shouted angrily. "Or I'll vomit!"

Casey put her down, laughing loudly. "Like a baby. Like a baby!" he teased, knowing that any mention of her immaturity would be welcomed with unstoppable rage.

"I hate you, Casey!" She pouted and snorted, taking offense. "Now leave me alone. I have to get dressed."

"Sure, sure," he said with pretended seriousness, thinking how funny she was with her adolescent shame and demand for absolute respect. "I'll wait in the kitchen, then. Just don't take too long—you don't have to look like a princess." He winked at her, enraging her even more. She pushed him outside the room and slammed the door.

Casey shook his head in amusement, and in a much better mood then when he’d come upstairs, he went back to his mother and Monroe. He even made a strong resolution not to get provoked, and to behave like a good boy. Actually he still believed he was the same old Casey who had left Green Rock to work for the government, only a bit frustrated and going through some turbulence in his life.

With this optimistic frame of mind he entered the kitchen and, smiling widely, threw himself onto the chair. His eyes met Monroe’s cautious glance. She still looked offended.

I can't blame her. I'd be just as hurt. Having thought that, Casey gave the woman a charming smile and said, "Hey, have mercy, okay? I had a heavy day yesterday, spent the whole night on the bus, and the people I work with are no angels. I'm only human. It's not easy, you know?"

"You should have said that in the first place, jitterbug, instead of shouting at me." Monroe shot him another sour look.

"Yeah, I should have. My mistake. Are we cool now?" He gave her a pleading look.

Monroe rolled her eyes helplessly and said in resignation, "Yeah, we're cool."

"Mwah!" Casey blew her a loud, theatrical kiss. "Love ya, baby."

She drew her brows together, slightly confused at his sudden playful attitude, but she couldn't help blushing. It didn't escape Casey's notice, and he felt a pleasant warmth in the region of his heart. That warmth had nothing to do with friendly, innocent feelings, though. It was his own private devil heating the atmosphere, pushing him to tease, confuse, seduce...to play with others' emotions. He gave Monroe one of his ravishing smiles, knowing exactly what kind of effect it would have on her, and savored the barely hidden excitement visible on his friend's face. Wasn't he wonderfully mean?

"Good kids!" Lise laughed as she put the sugar bowl on the table.

Kids? Aren't you more of a kid than us, Ma? Casey thought sadly, and commented, his eyes narrowing, "I was always a good kid."

"Don't be so full of yourself, young man. I had my share of problems with you, that's for sure." His mother wagged her finger at him.

---

A huge brick-red Dodge parked in the driveway. Harry Moore stopped the engine and leaned against the seat, tired and overwhelmed by the weight of matters that had slipped out of control some time ago. Finally he sighed heavily and dragged himself out of the car. He took his suitcase out of the trunk and reluctantly started toward the door. He rang the bell, and after a minute of silence quick steps sounded in the hall and the door clicked open, revealing a skinny man in his sixties who wore a silk wrapper and equally elegant slippers.

"Right on time, Harry," Leon Castello mumbled, chewing an aromatic cigar. He reached out for the suitcase, which Harry slowly handed to him. "Thank you. See you next month, then." The man smiled and slammed the door in Harry's face.

Harry stared at the tips of his shoes, still facing the door and feeling too heavy and numb to turn back and leave. Every month, every suitcase full of money, dragged him deeper and deeper into the tangle, making it more and more impossible to break up these complicated, binding relations.

He raised his head and forced his legs to take the few steps back to the car. When he finally dropped onto the seat he felt as if he’d walked ten miles on foot.

"Good God," he whispered. "Let me end this somehow." He raised a pleading look to the ceiling as his trembling hand turned the key in the ignition.

Leon Castello watched him drive away through a sheer curtain, his face thoughtful and cold. When the red Dodge disappeared in the shadows of the elm alley, he reached for the phone and dialed a number. The other party answered almost immediately.

"Hello," Leon said in a low voice. "I think we might have an issue with that Moore guy."

"Which Moore?"

"Cleven's partner."

"Oh, yeah. What issue?"

"He's breaking visibly. Another day or two and he'll be singing at the police station."

"We wouldn't want that."

"That's right, we wouldn't." The confirmation sounded like the sealing of some kind of cruel deal and, as a matter of fact, was exactly what it sounded like.

"That's risky, what you're thinking about. Remember that his son works for the government. We'll have them on our backs sooner than you can fart."

"Don't make a fool of me, George. I don't intend to do it. Yet."

"Then...."

"Just put a tail on him, for now. I want to know if he decides to snitch."

"He already has one, Leon. Just in case. Sapachenko. And we have his phone and e-mail tracked."

"That's perfect, then. Have a nice day, George."

"Yeah, thanks. Likewise."

Harry Moore was petrified with despair. He pulled the earplug from his ear and threw it on the seat next to him. That was exactly what he’d wanted to find out by sewing a bug into the suitcase handle, although he’d hoped for a different outcome. His chest yanked with a muffled sob and his eyes glazed over with tears. What now? How to get out of this mess, he had no idea.

"God, help me!" he groaned, clenching his hands on the wheel so hard that his knuckles went white.

---

Sunday slowly drew to a close. The cold sun showed through the thinning leaves. Casey sat on a park bench, staring in a melancholy way at the carpet of red and yellow leaves that covered the alley. The leaves rustled as somebody's shoes shuffled through them. Casey raised his head.

"Hi," said Monroe, smiling tentatively, her hands pushed deep into the pockets of her jacket.

"Hi," he answered, indicating a place on the bench.

"Couldn't we meet somewhere inside? It's freaking cold." She shuddered, burying her head in her shoulders and sitting down next to him.

"Nah, it's okay. I felt like getting some fresh air."

"Thank you very much," Monroe snorted, pretending to sulk. "So—what did you want to talk about?" she inquired and stretched out her legs, letting her head lean back against the bench.

Casey bit his lip. A few hours ago it had seemed like a great idea to share his doubts and anxiety with Monroe, but now things looked different. What was he supposed to say? "Hey, I'm in love with a man." "Oh, who is he?" "You know, a killer."

He sighed and said, "Nothing, really...I just wanted to talk. We rarely have a chance nowadays."

"Yeah. So, tell me—how's your work out there? Anything exciting?"

"Nah. Computers and stuff, as usual." He shrugged and leaned back, his arm touching Monroe's.

"Where do you train? With whom? You said they were good."

"Oh yeah. They are." He nodded.

"Who?"

"My...team. I attend army training sometimes. They teach us some useful tricks."

"Useful?" She gave him a doubtful look. "Useful for what?"

"Dunno," he lied. "Just in case."

"Sounds cool!"

"Yeah." Cool? Don't fuckin' kid yourself, he thought bitterly. Army, CIA, agents, actions—he must have been a complete idiot to see anything appealing in them.

"Are there...any girls there?" There was an almost imperceptible change in Monroe's voice. Casey caught it right away, though, trained in the game of oblique statements and allusions that was his relation with Sam.

"Yeah. Some."

"Soooo...." She couldn't bring herself to ask the question.

"You want to know if I have someone?" A knowing smile flickered across his lips and his eyebrow cocked.

"Do you?" She challenged.

"What do you want to hear?" His smile became cool, but Monroe was too worked up to notice.

"Well, an answer. Do you?" Her heart clenched painfully in anticipation of words she didn't want to hear.

"I...I have a different life now, Monroe. I don't have time for women," he sighed. But men? That's a whole different story.

"Different? C'mon. You live in a big city and you think it's so much different?" she snorted sarcastically.

"I don't live in a city, let alone a big one. Let's not talk about it, please." He couldn't let her dig into his fucked-up reality. It would be too hard to hold it back.

"What should we talk about, then?" she asked bitterly. "About fucking?" She was angry. They were so close, yet so far away; craved conversation, yet had nothing to say; were trying to keep their friendship alive, yet got annoyed so easily.

Casey, on his side, felt an inexplicable temptation to hurt Monroe, to play unfairly, to take out on her his resentment of all the nasty, humiliating tricks Sam had served him.

"Sounds nice, doesn't it?" He glanced at her with a mocking sneer, challenge in his eyes.

"So that's how low you’ve stooped?" She steadily returned his gaze, burying her hurt feelings deep in her heart.

"You have no idea how low I’ve stooped," he hissed, bitterness fighting with impatience to get the better of him.

"That's right. But I'm sure you're more than willing to show me that. Go on, show-off!" Monroe snorted, giving him a wry smile.

With an effort, Casey laughed, but it was harsh, unpleasant. "Show-off...right," he muttered, more to himself than to her, as he shook his head. "You're a goddamn smartass."

"Then what does that make you?"

"A pathetic bastard, Monroe. Pathetic bastard."

"Tell me 'bout it!"

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the wind as it rustled in the trees, knocking off the last feeble leaves. They thought of how much they couldn't understand each other.

"I don't have a woman," said Casey all of a sudden. Monroe, surprised, drew her brows together, and a short "Oh!" was her only response.

"Actually, there was one." He remembered Sarah. "She could have been mine, but it didn't work out."

"Could have been yours? What does that mean?" The thought of some strange woman that "could have been" Casey's stung her with jealousy.

"It means she wasn't. I didn't want her." Casey took a packet of Marlboros out of his pocket. Holding Monroe's glare indifferently, he calmly lit one up and slipped it between his lips.

"What happened to your healthy lifestyle?" she asked with a grimace of disgust, waving her hand to drive away the smoke.

"To hell with my healthy lifestyle. Wanna try?" He passed the cigarette to her, not even looking in her direction. "No? Well, suit yourself." He raised his brows philosophically and dragged in smoke.

"I don't get you, Casey Moore." Monroe shook her head. Her face expressed nothing but concern.

"Pisses you off, doesn't it?" he sneered. That makes two of us.

"No, not really. Not any more. I just...." She didn't finish, and seemed to be having trouble putting her anxiety into words.

"Say, are you a virgin, Monroe?" asked Casey thoughtfully, out of the blue.

"What the—" She jumped in shock and blushed. "That's none of your business!" Her eyes flared.

"Or is it?" He looked at her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on her silhouette. "Saving it for someone special? Do I count? What do you say?" He teased her mercilessly, his face mean and cold.

"I say you're disgusting," Monroe answered flatly, her expression closed. "I'm going home. Have fun with your fucking good buddies in your big city." She stood up.

"I told you it's not a city." Casey grabbed her hand angrily, some strange instinct making him violent. He tugged her back so powerfully that she lost her balance and collapsed onto his lap. "Oh, yeah! That's better." He chuckled, ignoring her attempts to break free. "Don't you wanna give it a go?" He kissed her neck through the scarf.

"Get lost! Are you insane?" she shouted, struggling in his embrace. She kicked him in the shins, her eyes wide with fear and her heartbeat madly fast. She put all her strength into her escape attempt and broke away, landing forcefully on the ground in consequence. Casey didn't move to attack her again but slipped the cigarette back into his mouth as if nothing had happened. He lowered his head, letting his long hair hide his face.

"Go ahead, despise me," he said dryly, his voice hoarse.

"Why?" asked Monroe, pulling herself together and getting up. Dry leaves stuck to her jacket and curly hair.

"Why, you ask? As if that wasn’t enough reason," he snorted, still staring at his shoes.

"Why did you do that?"

Casey didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even understand his own motives. What he did know, though, was that he'd become a recluse; frustrated, pushy, and edgy.

"Fuck," he hissed and gritted his teeth, squeezing the Marlboro between them. Monroe was still standing in front of him, at what she considered a safe distance, taking in his pathetic silhouette with dull pain in her heart. "Have a drag, Monroe." Casey held out his hand, offering her the cigarette.

She declined, shaking her head.

"Please," he whispered. He raised his head, his expression miserable and eyes pleading.

"Why? What does it matter?" She didn’t get it. She didn’t get anything.

"I don't know. Really. Just take it, please." His hand, trembling slightly, still hung in the air, waiting for her reaction. Reluctantly Monroe reached for the smoke and took it from Casey's fingers.

"I don't like them," she commented.

"I know."

Monroe slowly raised her hand and placed the cigarette in her mouth, carefully, with disgust written all over her face. She inhaled charily and immediately breathed the smoke out.

"More," Casey demanded.

God, he's crazy. And scary. She tried again, taking just as shallow a drag as before.

"More!" Casey insisted. "Deeper."

"I can't!" She got irritated. "It stings!"

"I know. Do it. Until you can't breathe." Casey's eyes were sharp and intense. He didn’t take them off her.

"Shit," she groaned. "Why? Are you insane?"

"Yeah, probably." He nodded his head. "Just drag on it as hard as you can. Go for it."

Monroe held his look for a long while, then she gathered her courage and thinking, What the hell! she inhaled with everything she had. Oh God! Holy Christ! Her lungs seemed to explode as she suddenly choked on the thick, stinging smoke. It felt as if her respiratory tract was filled with pitch. She coughed violently, unable to catch her breath, with tears in her eyes and her guts feeling like they were turning inside out. She bent forward and rested her hands on her knees, the left one still squeezing the cigarette, coughing and trying to overcome stomach cramps.

"Holy Christ," she stammered when she was finally able to talk. "How can you do that?" She looked at the cigarette in disbelief and gave it back to Casey.

"Dunno. Got used to it." He took the cigarette back and dragged on it casually. It relaxed him. "I barfed after the first one."

"So why?"

Casey only gave her a one-shouldered shrug.

After a moment's thought Monroe decided to sit down again. She had wanted to go home, but there was something about Casey. She felt sorry for him. She couldn't explain why, but she did.

"Monroe?"

"Yes?"

"Do you want to fuck?"

"What?" She tensed, her eyes growing as round as saucers. "You're sick!"

"We've already established that," Casey pointed out calmly. "Answer my question."

"Of course not!" Monroe felt indignant and piqued.

Casey laughed it off, smiling like an idiot, and pretended to concentrate on the cigarette.

"Are you serious?" She found it difficult to believe what she'd just heard.

"Dead serious," answered Casey, although his slightly lunatic eyes said otherwise.

"Would you...would you do it if I said yes?" she asked hesitantly, the heat of embarrassment and unintentional excitement spreading across her body.

"Yes."

Silence.

"You used to claim you wanted someone special," she whispered after a moment.

"Aren't you someone special?" Casey's lips twisted in a caricature of smile.

"You tell me." Tears glistened in Monroe's pretty eyes.

"I don't really care, Monroe, I—I—" His voice cracked suddenly. Oh, God. What do I want? What's going on with me? He felt two powers fighting for him: his reason, or maybe a weak voice of conscience, and his inner monster, growing in might day by day—a creature of dark instincts, traumas, and frustrations, whose existence he couldn't yet control. "I'm sorry," he stammered at last and looked Monroe in the eye, his gaze honest.

"What's going on, Cas?" She touched him tenderly on the shoulder. "Will you tell me?"

"Maybe," he whispered, "someday." He played nervously with the cigarette butt.

"I'm here whenever you want to talk."

"Thanks. You’ve already helped me a lot, although it might not seem like it." Casey smiled slightly. "Just tell me—you really wouldn't go to bed with me?"

"God, you're impossible," she sighed. After a short while she added, "Okay. I'll tell you something. I like you, Casey. You're a very attractive man, I admit it. But as much as the idea might seem exciting and tempting—no. I wouldn't. I...don't want to land in an awkward situation where everybody regrets what happened. Satisfied?"

"I guess so... I think that’s what I hoped to hear. It means a lot to me that you'll keep what I've already lost."

"You sound melodramatic," Monroe snorted.

"Right." Casey gave her a warm half-smile and patted her knee. "I always wanted to be a drama queen."

The day grew dark and the long shadows of trees merged into thick gloom. There must have been a slight frost, for their breaths floated in the air as white clouds. Half an hour longer, Monroe thought, and she’d have frostbite on her rear end, if she could even unglue it from the bench.

"Are you planning to sleep here?" she asked finally, shaking with cold and sniffling.

It took some time for Casey to focus and get the meaning of her words. He had just been thinking that maybe he should stay in Green Rock for a while to sort things out, regain his balance and hammer out some detachment from his problems. "You cold? Wow, it's freezing! Let's go back." He stood up energetically and stamped his feet to speed up the blood circulation. Together they returned to their street. After they wished each other good night, Casey thoughtfully pulled out a mobile phone and weighed it in his hand as he made a decision. Then he dialed a number.

"Hello. It's Casey."

"Hello." Ramson's voice was unusually kind. He must have been in a good mood. All the better, thought Casey.

"I have a request to make, if I may," he started dryly, trying hard not to let emotion make his voice falter.

"I'm listening."

"Would it be possible for me to stay here for a couple of days? It's been a while since I've had some leave."

"You don't have a leave in your contract, do you? Not until your first year is up." Casey felt all was not yet lost; Ramson's tone was teasing rather than serious.

"Well, we could treat it as a bonus for, let's say, overtime I did last time...or a period of convalescence."

"We could." Ramson was indeed in a good mood. "How long?"

"One week?" Casey gave it a shot, not really believing he could get that lucky.

"Under one condition." Having learnt his lesson the hard way, Casey waited for the condition with mistrust, almost sure it would be unacceptable. And it was. "I'll send Sam there."

"What?" Casey almost choked, overwhelmed by the idea.

"He's the one in need of real convalescence. I can't send him anywhere alone now. First, he would refuse and I'd have to force him; believe me, it's a very unpleasant operation for both of us. If I sent him anyway, he'd unleash hell out of boredom and pure malice. Second, I won't send anybody with him as I can't afford the half of the team flying free in the big world. And third, there’s no place I could send him to without bringing troubles on all of us. It’s your choice, Casey: a week with your friend—" oh, there was so much irony in that word— "or we see each other tomorrow."

No—no fucking way! Everything in Casey screamed out in helpless fury. That was exactly why he wanted to stay at home: to avoid Sam, to detach from the team and all that mess. Moreover, bringing Sam to Green Rock was like opening Pandora's box in the very center of his private life. The ultimatum was fatal, one choice worse than another.

"He'd stay at a hotel, right?" Casey decided finally, not without difficulty, that it was better to deal with Sam on his own ground.

"Sure. Unless you want him in your mother's house." Ramson chuckled.

Fuck you! Casey hissed at the receiver, only at the last moment swallowing the curse. "I won't get him from the station. I won't look after him at all." He wanted to make that clear.

"I'm sure you'll have other things to take care of when he's there."

Casey gritted his teeth, painfully aware of the truth winking at him from Ramson's words. "I'll manage," he commented dryly.

"I'm sure you will. Good luck then, and see you next Monday."

Casey pushed the phone into his pocket. All his muscles tensed involuntarily as if getting ready to take a blow, a psychosomatic reaction he couldn't help.

His personal hell was coming.

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Now, before Casey's hell comes, leave a word for me not to make me go through my own hell of no feedback :D
'See' you soon :)