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Kelvin had slept soundly, once he'd finally cried himself to sleep. Sunlight beat his alarm by five minutes, and the Shiba Inu sat up on the couch, his back aching dully from the piece of furniture that was probably older than he was. He grabbed the duffel bag that he carried his life around in now, and pulled out some fresh, albeit wrinkled clothes. Next to the couch, the bedroom door swung open and Aiden walked out and into the kitchen.

"Morning, sunshine!"

"Hey." He grumbled.

"Sleep well?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, the couch just isn't where it's at, huh?" Aiden queried, attempting conversation over pouring some orange juice into a glass. He turned to face the other dog and started heading back towards the bedroom.

"You okay? Things got a little crazy last night."

"Yeah, I -" Kelvin looked up to see the lab downing the juice in his glass, and his eyes immediately traveled south. Aiden was nude from the waist down and sporting an erection. His morning glory was in full swing, and he had every right to be proud of it. The Shiba Inu tried not to stare, and collected himself by the time the lab's glass had been drained.

"I can't believe what happened last night."

"I know. Reid said the same thing, but sometimes, you have to take it to that level. There's sticking up for yourself and showing a bully what for, and there's making sure no one else has to. I prefer the latter when I have the tools handy." He winked at the younger dog, whose eyes flicked southward momentarily at the mention of the word 'tool'.

"Anyway, what's done is done. Hopefully he'll learn his lesson from this." Aiden shrugged, and set his glass down on the kitchen counter before disappearing back into the bedroom. The door shut, and the Shiba Inu looked down, pulling the waist of his boxer shorts open and frowning, nonplussed at his size in comparison to what he'd just seen.

***

Reid's stomach dropped and his face flushed with anxiety when he pulled into the parking lot at work. What had become of Billy and Vance? Vance's car sat in its usual spot, but Billy's Challenger was nowhere to be seen.

Vance intercepted him on his way into the bays.

"Reid."

"Vance. Morning."

"Listen, we need to talk. I wanted to uh...apologize. You know, for last night. Things really got out of hand back there, I think we'd all had a few rounds and it just escalated to a point it should never have gone to, and I'm sorry."

His voice was shaky, and there was a fear in his eyes that the heeler had never seen before.

"Hey, don't worry about it. It's okay. Are you all right? You hit your head pretty hard on that bar."

"Yeah, I'm good. Boy, that dude really let us have it, though. All I remember was going down and I woke up in the emergency room like this."

The pit bull turned around to reveal a large, white bandage on the back of his head. Reid winced when he peeled it away slightly, revealing a large portion of hair and fur that had been shaved away around a nasty, sutured gash.

"Jeez, man. If I'd known you were hurt that bad, I would have stuck around. We lit out of there pretty quick after that happened."

"Not your fault."

"Yeah...Billy around?"

"Um, no, I think he called in sick today. I haven't heard from him all morning."

"All right, that's fine. We'll just have to make sure whatever's on his ticket gets finished up today. I think he was almost done with that Lancer, once you're done with yours, go ahead and get that one taken care of." Reid turned to enter the garage, but he was stopped.

"Reid?"

"Hm?"

"It's none of my business or anything, but I wanted to ask...are you gay?"

He sighed. There was really no point in trying to hide it anymore. Enough people knew as it was, and his defenses around the truth were crumbling fast.

"Not entirely, no. You might say I go both ways. It's been years since I've been with a girl, but yes, the lab from last night is my boyfriend, Aiden."

Vance just nodded slowly.

"I know it may not seem like it, but...I respect you. You know, for coming out. It takes some big balls to do that. And I think that's pretty cool, to be honest. It seems like you've been happier ever since he started coming around. Makes it easier to work with you." The pit bull laughed.

"Thanks, Vance. I always knew you were the good one." Reid smirked dryly and shot him a wink. They shook hands, and pulled one another into a quick hug, each man clapping the other on the back once. The pit bull disappeared through the doors, and the heeler set his course for the coffee pot, only to see Paul standing right behind him.

"We need to talk."

They stepped into the office and Paul walked around to take a seat at his desk, the old chair sagging under the bear's imposing weight.

"Close the door."

He did.

"Reid, I heard about what happened between you and Billy last night."

"You did?"

"Yes, I'm a little concerned, to say the least."

"I'm sure he's fine, Paul. Vance said he called in sick, I'm sure that-"

"No, I fired him."

Beat.

"You..."

"I had to let him go. I can't have someone representing my shop and acting that way in public, it reflects poorly on all of us."

"Can't argue with that." Reid concurred, the news of Billy's termination still sinking in.

"Would have fired Vance too, but we can't afford to lose another man."

"Vance was just along for the ride. He didn't mean any harm, you know him, he's like a sidekick."

"I'm not concerned about any of them. I'm concerned about you." Paul said, flatly. Reid played the fool and furrowed his brow in feigned confusion.

"Concerned? Why?"

"Because you're not getting any better! You still show up to work smelling like booze half the time and you take God only knows how many of those pills a day just to function. You've got a problem, and you need to address it before you do some real harm."

"I'm not going to heal overnight..."

"I know that. But you're also not going to come to terms with your past if you keep up with the habits that perpetuate the pain that they cause you."

Reid wasn't sure what to say, so he said nothing.

"If he really loves you and cares about you, he should be pushing you to do right by yourself, and that means getting off the sauce and kicking those pills to the curb."

"I guess maybe he doesn't do that because he knows that's part of who I am. And he accepts me for that. He's got a bad past, and he's got faults, but I don't think any less of him, and neither should you. I've finally found someone I can relate to. He's someone I didn't scare off within five minutes."

"You shouldn't settle for someone at your level just because you think this is where you're destined to stay."

"Well, I'm old; I'm set in my ways." Reid retorted with a dry smile.

"No one else is going to be able to help you if you're not willing to help yourself, son. But you're almost forty. You're a grown man. You can make your own decisions. I trust you'll make the right ones. Hell, it's how you made it to the position you've got here."

Reid sunk slowly into a seat on the other side of the desk, his expression somber, his eyes never leaving the bear's. Finally, he cast those steely blue orbs to the ground and nodded.

"Okay."

***

Reid hadn't been to the doctor in years. Not even for a routine check-up. He'd taken a day off and scheduled an appointment for a general wellness exam at the behest of his loved ones, even Aiden, when approached with the idea of it.

He'd liked Aiden's reaction the best. The lab had acknowledged the truth; that it was his decision and his alone whether or not to combat his vices, but had promised to support him either way. He hadn't felt discredited, or as though Aiden only had self-interest at heart - it only made the lab that much more endearing.

Grayish-blue eyes scanned the pages on the clipboard, full of blank fields in which to write names, social security number, date of birth, and other general information. It was all smooth sailing until he got to the rows of check boxes, named with everything from depression, to drinking, to self-harm, changes in appetite, and everything else he'd experienced since his last doctor's visit.

Do you drink? If so, how much?

The tip of the pen hovered over the box marked 'yes'.

A snore nearby broke his concentration and the heeler looked over to see a portly, middle-aged fox laid out in one of the chairs in the quiet waiting room, his hands laid over his gut, rising and falling as he slept. He returned to his sheet, and from out of nowhere, a young fox of no more than three, likely related to the fat man, climbed into the chair next to him and sat there in a pink sundress and a matching bow in her brown hair. She beamed up at him with big, doleful eyes and presented him with a book, the large, thin kind with pictures for children.

"Will you read it to me?" She asked. Reid smiled weakly at her and set the clipboard down in the next chair.

"Amber, don't bother the man, he's busy." A vixen swooped in and scooped up the kit, whisking her away. Peering over Mommy's shoulder, the little girl never broke contact with the sad, lusterless eyes.

For the first time, Reid wondered if he smelled like alcohol. He couldn't tell anymore.

"Travis?"

He looked up. A nurse beckoned him into a corridor and then into an exam room, where he was made to wait for the doctor. Then, it was just him and his clipboard.

"Yes..." Check.

There was a knock at the door. A goat in his mid-forties sporting a white coat and a beard to match greeted the heeler cheerily.

"Reid, all right. I'm Doctor Hamad. Let's get you checked out. How are you feeling?"

"To be honest, I'm not sure how to answer that."

"All right, little bit of this, little bit of that, okay." The animated doctor rocked at the hips with his words. "Let me just get a read on your blood pressure here..." He secured the cuff around the cattle dog's arm and hit a button, causing it to tighten for several seconds. It released, and the goat looked discontentedly at the reading.

"One fifty-five over ninety-four...hm. Let's do this the old fashioned way."

Reid couldn't read the sphygmomanometer around his arm, and he couldn't hear what the stethoscope pressed against the crook of his elbow was telling Dr. Hamad, but the goat's face was darkening with each passing second.

"Your blood pressure is abnormally high. Do you have any history of hypertension in your family?"

"I'm not familiar with my family's medical history."

"I see. I'd like to do a blood draw so we can get a better look at what's going on." The doctor picked up Reid's clipboard and thumbed through the pages on it.

"How much do you drink a day?"

There it was. He knew it was coming, and he was ill prepared to answer it. If there was any time to be honest, it was right then, right there.

"Too damn much."

Close enough.

"Can you quantify that? What beverage do you normally consume?"

"Beer, whiskey."

"And how many beers might you drink in a given twenty-four hour period?"

"Anywhere between fourteen and eighteen I would guess, interspersed with the whiskey. I'll go through four or five handles of whiskey in a week."

Dr. Hamad seemed floored.

"All right. Are you currently taking any medication?"

"Valium."

"Valium? Did your usual healthcare provider prescribe you that to help you reduce your alcohol intake?"

"I guess you could say that."

"But you're still drinking."

"Yes."

"Are you taking Valium and drinking at the same time?"

"Sometimes."

"Mr. Travis, that's an extremely dangerous practice. Valium is a benzodiazepine; if you're mixing it with alcohol you're not only putting yourself at high risk for several diseases, you risk slowing the brain's functions to such a degree that major organs like the liver and kidneys are in danger of shutting down. You could wind up comatose, or dead."

Reid remained silent. Dr. Hamad glanced back to the clipboard briefly, noticing the box marked 'depression' was checked.

"All right. Let's get that blood work done. In the meantime, I'd like to get you off Valium and on Naltrexone; it's an endorphin blocker that reduces your urge to consume. We can start weaning you off and hopefully get you on the right track to a healthier you." He smiled. Reid did not.

While the heeler's vices were a hot-button issue, the rest of the exam went off without a hitch. Eyes, ears, throat, lymph nodes; nothing was out of the ordinary for a thirty-six year old canine addicted to prescription drugs and alcohol. Dr. Hamad ho-hummed and jotted down illegible notes on his pad, and when the procedures had been completed, he addressed the dog on a more personal level.

"My son was a Corpsman with the Marines. When he returned from Iraq, he too turned to alcohol to cope with his troubles. Naltrexone worked for him. But, I think therapy had a helping hand in his recovery. Perhaps it will for you, too."

Reid left with a receipt for his co-pay, a business card for a local therapist specializing in addiction recovery, and a different outlook on life. On his way out, he locked eyes with the little girl from the waiting room.

He almost made it to the car before the tears began to fall.

***

"It's two G's a head, buy in. What, you think you're fast, hot shot?"

José, an otter who often joined Aiden for poker games smiled as girthy rolls of bills were pushed on him from all directions. Stakes were higher than ever, and anyone who thought they stood a chance against the lab was willing to pit their ride against his.

"Come on bro, twenties? I ain't got time to count this!"

Aiden was in sixth gear by the time he crossed the finish line at almost 120mph with over two car lengths to spare. Using a city block for a turnaround, he swung back into the crowd and stepped victoriously from his car in slacks and a dress shirt.

"Next!" He declared, thanking a young lady politely and accepting a large amount of cash from her - his winnings. Bets had been placed in the crowd, and a rule of thumb was quickly established: you didn't bet against Aiden O'Flynn.

Aiden's ears drooped a bit and he glanced at his watch. Reid had agreed to spend the night together, but he hadn't answered his phone when called right before the race. The lab had greased a quarter-mile stretch of road three times, and had beaten three opponents by staggering lengths - a feat he'd wished the heeler had been there to see. He pocketed his winnings, and got back into the car.

"Hey, where you going, man?"

"I've got some prior engagements."

"No dude, one more. Check this out. Four drivers. Two large each. Take this one and you're good. Six grand, bro." José splayed his arms out with a smug grin. You'd be stupid not to do this!

_ _

"Twist my arm, will ya?"

"That's my boy!" The otter punched him playfully, and within minutes, Aiden was back on line, head-to-head with three other cars in his class. Bumpers hovered over the vandalized road, the haphazardly spray-painted, bright yellow strip marking the starting point. A traffic signal one quarter mile away marked the finish line.

He tightened his harness and tuned out the whine of the superchargers next to him. For the first time in a long time, Aiden was a little worried - these guys weren't casual racers, and they hadn't gotten their cars in the bottom of any cereal box.

Above them, the streetlight turned green. Eight wheels dug in and squealed, propelling the cars out past the intersection and onto the street. It was going to be a close race. One of the Camaros was gradually pulling out into the lead, and Aiden was losing his. As a precaution, he lifted the red cap on his instrument panel labeled 'nitrous' and flipped the toggle switch underneath. A quick glance to his left sized up the opposition. Whoever was in the Dodge was going to be out two thousand dollars. One of the Camaros was neck and neck with him, but the other was taking the lead by a car's length.

Aiden held his breath, and hit the red button.

Nitrous oxide was injected, and the Mustang was given a veritable boost of speed, one that pushed him ahead of the Camaro, and his car to redline. In spite of this, he kept his foot on the accelerator, and his eye on the boost gauge. Never before had he anticipated the approach of the finish line so much.

He could almost feel the car sigh with relief when he stomped the clutch in immediately after finishing in first place by a hair's thickness. Cheers and jeers arose from the crowd, and surly losers exchanged money with gleeful winners, one of whom happened to be Aiden himself.

"Fair and square." José the bookie said, slapping a fat wad of cash down into the lab's hand.

"Fair and square." He repeated, and looked up in the direction of the other racers. The Challenger had sped off, and one of the Camaros had disappeared as well.

"Good race, man." Someone said, and Aiden turned around to see a Mexican Wolf standing there, offering his hand. It was Hector.

"Hey! Yeah, you were good back there." They shook hands.

"Hey uh...don't tell Reid you saw me here, okay? He doesn't know I do this." Hector snickered.

"Yeah, likewise. I think he knows I do, I just prefer not to plague him with the knowledge of it, you know what I mean?"

"I get you."

"All right. Good meeting you, I have to get going. Got places to be and people to see, you know?"

Aiden piled back into his Mustang and took off down the fastest route to the highway. He'd told Reid he would come see him, and while he had every intent to make good on that promise, the road to hell was paved with the same.

Flashing lights didn't even scare him anymore. Hand on the gearshift, he prepared to punch it, but when the officer blipped the siren in a particular way, he popped it into neutral and pulled over. A few seconds passed before the light from the officer's flashlight covered the lab in the driver's seat.

"Larry's?"

"What's the buy-in tonight?"

"Three. You down?"

Aiden rubbed his chin. Reid was expecting him, but he'd just been presented with the opportunity to double his winnings at poker. Depending on how many people were there, if he won, he and his beau could go on a cruise, or maybe a romantic getaway on an island in Fiji. There would be many opportunities to be with him - but this was one he wasn't going to pass up.

***

"I'm sorry he couldn't make it tonight." Kelvin said, sitting at the kitchen table. They'd made a lasagna for dinner, and the Shiba Inu had eaten ravenously.

"It's okay, I'm sure he just got tied down with work again."

"Seems to happen a lot." The younger dog pointed.

"Well, he stays busy at the firm. I'm sure that with these high-profile cases that come through, it's important to have your facts straight."

"I bet. I don't mean to pry but how'd the doctor visit go today?"

Reid went blank for a moment.

"They drew blood. I haven't heard back from them, but they prescribed me something. Naltrexone, it's a...opiate blocker, or something like that. It fucks with the brain and reduces the effects of alcohol. That's what I got out of it, anyway."

Kelvin simply sat there in shock, his grey eyes shining out from under his mop of black hair.

"Did you fill the prescription?"

"It's over there." Reid took a bite and motioned with his head to a bag from the pharmacy.

"Are you going to use it?"

"I don't see why not. I paid for it; I might as well give it a shot."

Kelvin hopped up from the table with such haste that Reid was thrown from his train of thought. He crossed the apartment and grabbed his shoes, pulling them on and grabbing his keys and cell phone.

"What are you doing?" The heeler asked, watching the Shiba Inu's rapid fire texting.

"Come on!"

"What?"

"Come on, just trust me."

Reid took one last bite of his dinner and left the apartment, hot on Kelvin's tail. They jumped into his Nissan and they took off for places unknown.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Oh, fuck, are we going to that club again? Kelvin, I don't want to go back there, that place is toxic."

"Don't worry about it, just relax."

Kelvin smiled the whole way. Down California State Route 2 they drove, through West Hollywood, through Beverly Hills, until the welcome sign for Santa Monica was straight ahead of them. The Costa Club loomed off to the right, but to Reid's relief, they passed it up without so much as a mention of its recently hosted event. Instead, they took Ocean Avenue down the incline to Highway 1, where the Shiba Inu swung them into the parking lot for the beach.

"We're going to the beach?"

"Yes!"

"Why?"

"Jeez, this is how you must have felt when I first came to the shop. Questions, questions, questions..."

Reid smirked. It wasn't until he stepped out of the car that he noticed Paul's truck. And Chris' Jeep. Frank's Lancer. Hector's Camaro. Vance's Supra.

"Gang's all here..." He whispered. Kelvin popped the hatch on his Nissan and pulled out a six pack of beer. He instructed the heeler to follow him, and they took off down the three-hundred yard stretch of beach to California's expansive coastline, where everyone waited. Reid's expression soured the moment he saw them all.

"Oh, fuck me; this isn't one of those interventions, is it?"

"No." Paul said as they approached. "There's no need for it. This is a celebration. You've made the decision to get your life back on track and face your fights like a man. We just want you to know that we're here for you, every step of the way."

They approached the water as a group.

"Some of the guys have some things they'd like to say." Paul explained. Reid just nodded, and the guys pulled slips of paper out of their pockets.

"Reid..." Chris began, "I haven't worked at Doghouse for very long, maybe a couple of months now, but in that time, I've gotten to see behind the scenes. Not just with the cars, but to be able to work with you. It's been an honor. I saw a lot of cars marked with the 'DPE' sticker, and to think that I've been working with the guy who's responsible for them is just awesome. I want to make a career out of it, and I want you to be a part of that career. So...thanks, and good luck. I'll be here for you." Chris pocketed the slip of paper, bent down, and grabbed one of the beers Kelvin had brought out. He twisted the cap off and turned the bottle upside down, symbolically pouring it out on the sand at his feet.

"Bro, I've been working with you for years now." It was Hector's turn. "I've seen a lot of guys come and go around here, but you've always been that one that stuck around, and I appreciate that. You're good all the way down to your core, man. I'm just really glad you've decided to get well. Like Chris said, we've got your back." Hector knelt and grabbed the second beer, repeating the gesture, spilling its contents out into the mud puddle that was forming.

Vance looked down at the ground and slowly unfolded his note.

"I know I haven't been the best guy to be friends with." He started, his voice wavering a bit. "If anything, I was just making things worse for you. Billy and I both. I didn't know what you were going through, and I promise you that if I had, I would have told Billy's ass to shut up a long time ago."

They laughed.

"But I want you to know that even if it doesn't seem like it, I always respected you, and your abilities at the shop. I've wanted to be as good as you ever since I started there. But I worried about you too. You're my friend. I care. I always cared." Vance began to cry, and embraced the heeler, burying his face into his shoulder. Reid slowly wrapped an arm around the pit bull, patting him on the back a few times. It was awkward coming from someone like Vance, but he wasn't going to spoil the moment for him. When they separated, Kelvin handed him the third beer, and he relieved the glass bottle of its contents.

Finally, Paul stepped in and placed his reading glasses on his nose.

"Son, you came into my life sixteen years ago as a young, bright eyed kid, unsure about his future and busted up about his past. I took you in not out of pity, but because I saw a future for you in cars. You were already set up for success. You knew what you were doing, and with my tutoring, you've become one of the best tuners in LA. Probably California, hell, the entire United States, as far as I'm concerned. That's something to be proud of. You're not a bigwig CEO or something, but I know you well enough to know that's not what you want to be. You're lucky enough to be doing something you love, with people who love you. We're a family here. The last thing we need is to lose another member of it." A fourth beer joined the previous three on the ground, and when it was empty, Paul dropped the bottle to the sand.

Reid tried to swallow the lump in his throat. Kelvin was doing the same, but he hid it well while he pulled the fifth beverage from the container. Everyone was silent while they waited for Kelvin, who had not written a speech, to begin. The Shiba Inu's mouth hung open for several seconds before he was able to gather himself enough to speak.

"I came to Doghouse Performance Engineering in search of a career, not a hero. In the end, I found both. Something about the way you carried yourself, how proficient you were with cars...I idolized it. I idolized you. I wanted to believe that you were perfect, but I knew you were not. I found out you were not. But in spite of that, in spite of your shortcomings...you came through. You gave me a home when I had nowhere else to go. Everything they said about your vices was true, but everything they say about how good you are, deep down, is also true. So thank you. Thank you for being my friend."

They hugged, and Kelvin opened the beer. There was one left in the container. Reid knelt down in the sand and grabbed it. One beer. It seemed so quaint in comparison to the amount he drank in a given day. Tsst. The bottle hissed when he twisted the cap off. He watched the water vapor twist like smoke in the neck of the bottle for a moment, and with great hesitation, he upended the bottle, everyone bursting into applause as the golden-hued liquid cascaded to the ground, splattering in the mud puddle they'd created.

"I wish Aiden and Jeff could be here for this." Reid said, glassy-eyed. Kelvin wiped away an errant tear.

"Jeff's here, buddy." Hector said. He kept his mouth shut about Aiden. "He's here in spirit. He's watching over us right now. And I know he'd be proud of you. We all are."

"Thanks, guys." Reid said. Pausing momentarily, he pulled the pill bottle out from his pocket and emptied the tablets into his palm. He closed his hand into a fist and walked to the crashing shoreline, staring out at the horizon and moonlit waters of the Pacific. Then, winding back, he whipped the handful of pills into the surf, a shotgun blast of anxiolytics. Kelvin smiled.

"It's the beginning of a new era."

***

"Don't fuck my fridge up again." Larry commanded sternly. Aiden laughed at him and grabbed a beer out of the new appliance he'd supplied the hog with post-fight.

"No promises if someone starts getting ugly."

"Yeah, well Matt hasn't been back since you whipped his ass six ways from Sunday." Bobby said, removing his duty belt and uniform. "José coming tonight?"

"He's about ten minutes away, he's wrapping up shit over at the race." Aiden said, reading a text from the otter.

Within five minutes, two beers each had been consumed, and the ceiling was hung with a haze of cigar smoke. Laughter, good conversation, and the chattering shuffle of the cards kept a lively soundtrack going until the doorbell rang, signaling José's arrival.

"I'll get it." Larry said, and headed into the other room to let him in. Bobby puffed on his cigar and laid it in the porcelain ashtray in the center of the table.

"Still dating that guy from the auto shop?"

"Yeah, Reid? Sure am. Things are going good; he's a really great guy. What about you, you and Amy still going out?"

"Nah, man. She got to be too much for me. Things were getting a little crazy in the sack, you know? It was like a drug for her; she needed more and more of it, and needed it weirder and weirder as time went-"

Bobby's exposé of his ex-girlfriend's bedroom tastes was abruptly cut short by the unmistakable sound of automatic gunfire. Blasts of plaster and glass seemed to explode all around them as bullets ripped through the thin exterior walls of the house. Chunks of sheetrock exploded into dust. Wood splintered, a picture frame shattered nearby, and Aiden and Bobby were sprayed with bits of broken glass on their way to the floor where they took cover.

The two men covered their heads with their hands, staying as low to the ground as they could possibly get. It felt like forever, but the fusillade of gunfire lasted no more than a few seconds before the sounds of the bullets' echoes began to die out in the night air. An engine revved, and tires burned as the attackers began their getaway.

Bobby grabbed his duty belt. Aiden pulled his gun out from underneath his shirt, and the two ran from the den, through the kitchen, into the living room and out into the front yard where they both opened fire on the fleeing vehicle. Between them both, thirty-six shots were fired as they moved into the street, bullets piercing the car's rear window and body, but not a single projectile found its target in the car's tires.

Slides locked to the rear, barrels smoking, the cat and the lab rushed back to the front door of the house, where José and Larry lay. It was a grisly sight. José was dead. A bullet had pierced the back of his skull, and he'd fallen forward onto the hog, who had been shot in the chest and neck.

"Fuck!" Aiden said, and looked around. Bobby disappeared into the house and hastily threw his uniform back on before calling for additional units to respond to the address. Aiden thanked his lucky stars that he and Bobby used the same kind of gun, and traded his empty magazine for one of the officer's full ones.

"I was never here." He said.

"And I wasn't here playing poker." The officer responded. "Get out of here. Hey! Take it slow."

"You got it."

Aiden left the neighborhood as quietly as his car would allow him to, and when he found the highway, he took off for home, his heart racing. He'd change, wash the cigar smoke out of his fur, and head for Reid's with the excuse that he'd been tied up with work again. It worked every time before, there was no reason it wouldn't work now.

Reid would never have to know.