Detective Roland Morante had one of those smiles – warm, wide and affable, like an oasis of white teeth in a sandy brown beard. When he was younger (and perhaps a little more fit), his smile alone earned him quite a bit of play with the ladies. Even today, after Roland put on several pounds around the middle and his once lustrous head of hair has started to thin, every once in a while, he still made a girl weak in the knees.

Take, for example, Christina Metcalf, the interim coroner, who tucked her chin and looked away as he passed, wandering back to the double desk he shared with his partner. As always, Dianna Brooks was hip-deep in work, even though their shift only started ten minutes earlier – ten minutes he'd spent meticulously avoiding work. The police department never mentioned all the paperwork when they came to Career Day at USC.

''Hey, hey, Brooksy... what are you up to already? You're makin' me look bad.'' Roland flashed his smile again, but the forty-something woman had always proven immune to his charms.

''Looking through mug shots,'' she said distractedly. ''Something still doesn't sit right.''

''Is this about the girl from last night?'' Roland's brows came up, drawing deep furrows into a wide forehead. ''The one with the... uh, the dress?'' The gesture Morante made indicated it wasn't really her clothes he was talking about. ''That's nothing, Di. It's just some small time crook that took advantage of the wrong guy. Not worth your time. You should be quizzing me, instead.''

She looked up briefly, brows coming up. ''Quizzing you? About what?''

''About my night last night.''

''Jesus Christ, Roland. It was nearly two when we left.''

''What can I say? I'm incorrigible.''

Brooks shook her head. ''You're thirty-six. You went home, watched SportsCenter and went to bed.''

''How do you do that?'' He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand. ''You really think this is something?''

''I swear I've seen her before,'' Brooks murmured. ''I just can't figure out where. She had Helena Maddox's business card on her. Does that seem weird to you?''

''All the shit they say Maddox was into?'' Morante half-shrugged, digging a handful of almonds from the bowl on his desk. ''Maybe they needed a cop on the payroll to make sure they didn't get busted. I don't know, and it's useless to speculate. We've got this girl dead to rights, anyway. I figure the cap would want us focusing on cases that, y'know, still need to be solved.

Dianna blew out a halting sigh. ''It just doesn't smell right.''

''That's my cologne.'' Roland's smile hooked back onto his lips.

''You're not funny, you know.''

''Christina thinks differently.''

''Well, now, if Christina thinks so, then I must be wrong.''

''What's that supposed to mean?'' Morante rested his hip against Dianna's desk. ''Sounds like the new girl may make you uncomfortable.''

''Not at all, I just think—'' The harsh bleep of the phone on her desk cut Brooks off. ''I think a bunch of grown men – policemen, at that – drooling is kind of sad.'' She picked up the receiver, tucking it against her shoulder as she unearthed a yellow legal pad. ''Detective Brooks.'' She raised a thin brow. ''Really. Thanks, Miguel. I'll be right down.''

''What's that all about?'' Roland dropped the nuts into his mouth one at a time.

''Someone's here to post bail for Natalie Emerson.''

''Is that the... the girl with the...''

''Breasts, Roland,'' the other detective said with an exasperated sigh. ''They're called 'breasts'.'' She pushed away from the desk, coming to her feet. ''Care to see if we can figure out who's pulling the strings?''

He looked back over his shoulder in the direction the girl disappeared from. ''Christina and I are supposed to have lunch. I figure can't hurt to have the medical examiner like me.''

''You've been here for five minutes. Come on.''

Roland tossed another pair of nuts into his mouth. ''Man, she helped Bernie get a promotion.''

''So can solving cases on your own, now shut up for once in your life and come on. Miguel can only delay them for so long.''

''All right, all right,'' Morante grumbled. He trundled after the other woman, snagging a new handful of almonds for the walk.

The blonde hadn't slept since they brought her in. That's not true, really – she hadn't truly slept in weeks.

The drunk tank smelled like stale vomit and cheap beer, but on a Tuesday night, it wasn't all that crowded, which is good, because the blonde in the corner would have attracted a certain amount of unsavory attention. The dress – if it could be called that – was a fuchsia, backless halter with a drape front, the kind of thing that required strategic double-stick tape just to keep it in place. Wide swaths of smooth flesh were revealed in the lurid fluorescent glow of the bulbs hanging overhead.

She didn't know how long she'd been waiting – didn't even know what day it was. The blonde just sat perched at the edge of the grated metal bench, her head in her hands, eyes focused on the strappy, four-inch stilettos she'd crammed her feet into. She remembered being brought in, and she remembered giving them the alias – Natalie Emerson, the one that was on the driver's license in her bag.

Other than that, the last three days had been something of a blur.

It was the hollow thoom of the bolt being thrown that drew her head up, honey blond hair spilling across her face. They hadn't booked anyone since sometime last night – the handsy bear of a man whose loving wife came to pick him up at the crack of dawn.

''She's through there.'' It was a man's voice, the sentence spoken around a barely-stifled yawn. ''Can't miss her.'' She knew that voice – he was one of the guards stationed outside, the ones who spent all night listening to Loveline.

She knew the second voice, too – and the rancid chuckle that came with it. ''That's what I keep saying.''

When the heavy steel door opened, it wasn't Detective Roland Morante or Wallace the guard that came through – the silhouette that filled the frame was tall and broad-shouldered, poured into a pair of khaki slacks and a sky blue, button-down dress shirt. He stepped into the light, ducking his head as if he was used to having to do so. Steely blue eyes flashed behind small, wire-framed eyeglasses.

Natalie Emerson – Alexandra Pierce – came to her feet, suddenly self-conscious as she tugged down the hem of her miniskirt. Those damned heels made her steps mincing as she moved to the bars. Her lips moved without any sound coming out – until an auburn-haired teen pushed around the big man and fairly ran to meet her.

On the surface, the girl was unrecognizable, brown-red hair held back by a preppy green-and-red checkered headband, and her belted sweater dress and leggings practically screamed ''entitled. She drew herself short to gape at Pierce's state of undress.

''Mo—Mother?'' Quinn Gregory wasn't as experienced in playing roles as her mother, only just remembering who she was supposed to be. ''Mother, this is... what is this?''

Alex pulled her drape top up higher, trying her best to cover up. ''I can explain.''

''I don't want to hear it.'' Quinn yanked smartly on the hem of her vest, flashing a quickly smoothed away grin as she spun to stomp away, her Mary Janes banging out a sharp rhythm on hard tile. She turned to the side to scoot between the large man and Detective Morante, who'd followed them in.

''Whoa!'' Roland threw up both his hands as the teen slipped past. ''Guess Momma's Little Baby won't be able to wipe that image out of her head.'' He let the door swing shut behind him. ''I guess that means this is your girl?''

The big man stepped into the light, a small smile touching his lips. ''Yes, Detective,'' Lance Marshall said. ''That's her.''

Morante didn't even try to hide his grin. ''Great, then I'll leave you two lovebirds alone for a moment. Dianna – Detective Brooks – wants to talk to you again before you leave.''

Alexandra Pierce touched one hand to the bars, hot pink nails vivid against the drab gray steel. ''What are you doing here?''

''That's a bit of a story. One I think I only have part of.''

How Alexandra Pierce got to this point, dressed like a whore and smelling of stale cigarettes and cheap booze, was quite a tale, one that began three nights earlier outside the Bank of America Arena in Seattle with the most unlikely of catalysts.

This is that story.

Three Days Earlier.
Seattle, Washington

The crowd had been let out of the Hec Ed several hours earlier, ten thousand screaming, jubilant wrestling fans beaming about another great Sin City show. All that remained was the crew and the cast, and soon enough, the wrestlers trundled out of the arena, dragging their bags with them. It was three weeks until SCCW visited Hawaii, and while some of them would head out early for a vacation, others had families to return to.

Alexandra Pierce waited through all the departures, offering only the most cursory of greetings to her colleagues. Sin City's Spectre would never expect to be liked – she'd earned all those hateful glares, and wouldn't pretend they'd go away. Turning over a new leaf was difficult when people remembered you attempted to maim them or to end their career.

Pierce tried to look busy, her iPhone in hand. She avoided the stares and ignored the comments. Inside the ring or out, the Spider's focus was like a laser, and tonight, that focus was reserved for a tiny redhead she hoped to see burst through the arena doors. Alex didn't know what to say – she'd rehearsed a hundred different lines, from jokes to heartfelt apologies, but none of them felt right. Everything felt so practiced.

Nothing between them had ever been ''practiced''.

Her phone buzzed in her hand with notice of a text message from her daughter. ''U OK? Haven't heard since show.'' It was followed quickly by a second message ''Nice Ellie voice. Toldja you could do it. ;)''

''Am waiting for Amy.''

''Sure that's a good idea?''

''No. But I have to try.''

The latest man that came through the door was Jared Sykes, wearing a faded, navy blue New England Patriots hoodie and a pair of baggy cargo shorts. His hood was pulled up, hiding his hair and most of his face. Sykes hadn't showered after the end of Temptation, hadn't pushed, hadn't said very much to anyone. He simply grabbed his bag and headed out once the medics cleared him.

As Jared strides past Pierce's stretch of wall, he didn't stop – he wouldn't stop. He just shrugged his bag up his shoulder, head down as he headed for his car.

She wasn't going to give him a choice. Alex waited, glancing back to the door, hoping Amy would be out after him. Her iPhone slipped easily into its holster at her hip, her lower lip caught between her teeth. He got perhaps twenty feet, and she knew he would have waited if he expected the other redhead to follow.

She gave chase, albeit not as fast as she might have been before Phillip Kennedy tried to twist her into a new shape. ''Jared?'' she called quietly. Pierce's voice was notoriously whispery, but the undercurrent of nerves was new. ''Jared!''

He was about halfway to his silver Nissan Altima when her words drew him to a halt. His shoulders slumped, his head fell – he didn't want to do this, and she didn't have to be Desade to know that. The bag fell from his shoulder, landing with a dull thump on the ground.

''What.'' It wasn't really a question, just an annoyed sigh. He didn't turn, hazel gaze focused in the other direction. She didn't need to see his face to imagine the expression.

''Is... is Amy still inside?'' Her hands bunched at her waist, like she didn't know what to do with them – should she touch him? She didn't think she should. ''I was hoping to get a few minutes with her...''

''Dunno.'' He looked back over his shoulder. He was visibly irritated – like he was trying to keep it in check, but failing miserably. ''Haven’t seen her since the show ended.'' He turned finally, bending to pick up his bag, which he slung over his shoulder, taking another step towards the car. Please let it be over.

''Ah.'' Words were often her greatest weapon, but they evaporated before the Black Sheep's scorn. ''Okay. I'll wait a little longer, but... if you see her, could you... no, nevermind. Just... I don't really know what to say here. Maybe it's best if I just go.''

Jared took another step forward, but then he simply stopped, the fingers on his left hand slowly uncurling. He let the bag slide the length of his arm, grabbing the woven nylon handles before it hit the ground. In one motion, he flung the thing towards his car, smacking the ground a few feet from the trunk.

Sykes pivoted on the spot, rolling the sleeves up on his sweatshirt. He took a step closer, then another, burying his fists in the front pocket. ''Twice, huh? Do me a favor, and tell me she was kidding when I heard her say that.''

Pierce had half-turned away, and those gray eyes flickered in a blink. '''Twice'? I'm not sure I follow.''

''Twice. Shot at. You know, with guns.''
 His eyes narrowed, lips drawn tight. She'd seen that look before – in other people, but not in Jared. It wasn't just anger – it was disappointment.

''Oh.'' She deflated like an overcooked flan, her shoulders falling down, eyes dropping. ''It's not really as open and shut as that. She was... I really shouldn't talk about it. But... but no. She wasn't kidding. She was brave, though. She didn't have to face either situation.''

His arms tensed, fists reforged inside the pocket of the sweatshirt. ''No. No, no, no, no, no.'' He shook his head slightly, voice picking up steam. ''No, see. You… you were supposed to tell me she was kidding. That’s how this was supposed to go. It’s the only way this makes any fucking sense.''

Sykes pulls his hands free, pressing his fingers into his eyes. ''All right, then.'' He ran his hands through his hair. ''Fine.'' He held onto his head like he was trying to keep it from flying clean off his neck. ''If I ask you about the other stuff, am I going to fucking hate that answer, too?''

''Probably.'' Alex allowed herself the ghost of a smile, but nothing more. ''My life is... complicated. I never meant to expose her to any danger. You have to believe that.''

''So the thing about her dad? Did you mean to expose her to that?''

She blinked slowly, lazily, like a Venus flytrap. ''Malcolm is... I didn't know he was her father when I met her.''

''Hrmph!'' Jared took a few slow steps forward, closing the gap between them. His expressive lips twisted into a weird half-smile, but there was no joy behind it. ''And what about the drugs, then?'' His voice dropped in tone and in volume – she could sense his building fury. ''Because I have it on pretty good authority that that was anything but accidental.'' The Black Sheep stared daggers at the willowy redhead, as if he could set her on fire with his mind. ''I dare you – I fucking dare you to try and justify that little gem.''

''I can't.'' Pierce's voice was small – not quiet so much as defeated. It was a wonder that this was the woman who made him throw up after talking to the first time. ''What I did was... unforgiveable, unconscionable. I've done a lot of bad things in my lifetime, but there is not one I regret more.''

Her toe dug into the ground, face turned away. She wasn't avoiding his gaze; she was hiding the tear she was too proud to shed. ''It was before I even dreamt that we could be anything. I was losing control, terrified it would all come out of my hands. I let myself be convinced it was the only way.''

Jared didn't say anything, though, and the ragged sound of his breathing prompted her to continue. ''But none of that justifies it. None of that excuses it. Yes, I have done this horrible, horrible thing, and however angry you are with me, however angry she is with me, it doesn't compare – doesn't even hold a candle – to how much I hate myself right now.''

''Don’t bank on it.'' His voice quivered. He was trying to keep a level head, to keep it cool. ''And for the record, it doesn’t fucking matter whether you thought she could be anything or not. Where the hell do you get off thinking that’s right under any circumstances?''


Sykes took a step back, shuffling as if he were uncomfortable on his own feet. ''Now. Then. Whenever. That's beyond fucked.''

''Don't you think I know that?'' Her brows arched upward pitiably. ''I have been a horrible person for a lot of years, Jared. I can't ask her to forgive me, because I know I don't deserve it. I don't deserve it, I'll probably never deserve it.''

''And what, you think admitting that just magically fixes everything? Maybe sets you off on some grand path to absolution?'' He scoffed, lip curling in a sneer. ''You’re insane.''

''Probably.'' Her shrug came only from one shoulder. ''I don't expect it to fix anything. It would probably be easier if I didn't feel it.''

''Well hey, I’m sure you’ve probably got part of her stash lyin’ around. Maybe that’ll numb you up.''

''I've thought about it.'' Her hands found her pockets, digging down. The motion drew her shoulders forward. ''I'm not here to argue with you, Jared. This has nothing to do with you. I just want to make sure she's okay.''

''Oh, yeah. Sure.'' Sykes' penchant for sarcasm was well-known, but it still stung. ''She’s fuckin’ swell. She’s so good in fact that I got flown out to California for a few days to try and help her deal with it. You have any idea how hard that is? To see someone you care about go through this shit? No, probably not.'' The joking stopped, and his teasing tone evaporated, his eyes locked on hers in a dead stare. ''Because I’m pretty sure you never cared about her at fucking all.''

''I hurt her, I'm sorry for it, I would give anything to change that.'' She looked up, meeting his eyes. Hers were sad, quiet, welling again with tears. ''It would be easier if it all was a lie. I understand why you may believe that, but don't you dare question what we had.''

''Riiiiight. I’m sure it was wonderful, what with the lying, and the drugs, and the gunshots.''

''It wasn't like that, not all the time. The connection, the... the thrill. I can't explain it, and I won't try, but I love that woman in a way you can never really understand. So I'm going to walk away now before one of us says something we regret.'' Pierce half-turned away, blowing out a long breath. ''Lord knows neither of us can handle anymore of those.''

It was like someone flicked a switch – one eyebrow skyrocketed, his voice rose, sharpening. ''What the hell is that supposed to mean?''

She didn't turn back. ''We've all done things we regret, Jared,'' Alex whispered through a frustrated sigh. ''My list is longer than yours, but you don't get to stand there and lecture me about a host of things that I already know, and moreover, that you know I already know. I waited out here for a chance to see her and I heard it all from them, and I don't need to hear it from you. Whether you want to believe it or not, I love her, and I won't see her hurt—''

''Correction: hurt again,'' he cut in.

''Yes.'' Her smile tightened against her skull. ''I don't want to see her hurt again because of me. But what Amy and I have – had – is none of your business, and I don't have to stand here so you can feel better about your life by making me into a villain for you to vanquish.''

''Seriously?'' Jared cocked his head, and Alex's eyes slit shut. She could feel it all spiraling out of control. ''Look, you can put whatever spin on this you want, but you and I both know that’s about as far from the truth as we’re gonna get. Tell Ashe, tell Quinn, tell whoever you want that Jared was being a dick. I’m fine with it. But let’s not kid ourselves here… I’m not making you into anything. You made your decisions. You’re smart enough to know there might be consequences. It’s not my fault you don’t feel like dealing with ‘em.''

Jared Sykes was the number one contender to the Universal Championship (well, one of them), and he wouldn't lose control. Not again. He cleared his throat, wiping the corner of his mouth on the back of his hand as his pacing began again, just not as frantically this time.

''You think I like this?'' he demanded. ''You think I wanted to get sucked back into all of this again? And don’t try to tell me this is none of my business. I’ve gone to bat for you more than most people you know, and at costs you couldn’t possibly fucking understand. And all that? It happened after you tried to fuck me over.''

''Tell me I’m not invested.'' A quick, stabbing stride brought them nose-to-nose, eye-to-eye.

''Of course I know what I am.'' Part of her wanted to scream, to cry, or to yell. ''No one would let me forget even if I tried. But you knew what I was when you were 'going to bat' for me. You knew what I'd been when you told me you had my back.''

She shrugged again, her left hand – her lead hand when she wrestled – balled at her side. ''So you don't get to pretend otherwise now that it suits you. I am horrible, I hate myself worse than you could possibly imagine, but, yeah, you're invested, Jared – whatever that means. You want to hate me? Yeah, fine, you probably should, but at least pretend to have a reason other than the one we both know you actually have.''

''I’m not the one pretending. I’m not the one who suddenly decided that a change in behavior was all I needed to make everything right with the world. You told me you wanted to be a nice person, a good person. Is this what a good person does, Alex? Do good people make a habit of ruining lives, especially for people they claim to love? Is it?!''

Jared lets his shoulders roll back, tucking his thumbs into the rear belt loops of his shorts. ''And yeah.'' He nodded, his jaw clenched tight. ''Maybe I gave you too much credit. Maybe I was willing to buy in on whatever lie you were selling because I wanted to believe you should get your second chance. I wanted to believe that under the façade there was an actual person instead of the monster everyone else told me was there. You have no idea how much it kills me – it fucking kills me – to know that I was wrong.''

''That would make this so much easier, wouldn't it?'' She lifted her chin defiantly, gray eyes meeting hazel. ''I mean, if this were a hoax, then I wouldn't need half a bottle of wine just to drown out my conscience every night. If I was lying, I sure as hell could stop bursting into tears at the drop of a goddamn hat, just because I miss her.''

That hat appeared to be falling again, and Pierce splayed the fingers of her right hand, still painted Eleanor Kannon-Hall's particular shade of cotton candy pink from her earlier masquerade, to dab at the corner of one eye.

''And you... you wouldn't have to worry about looking like a dick.'' Now it was her smile that was an odd one, one part sad and two parts angry. ''Don't worry, Jared, your precious reputation is safe, so you can stow that white knight garbage, because you're the only one who buys it. I know full well that changing my attitude doesn't undo the damage I've done, but I wasn't trying to when I did what I did.''

Alex might have needed the fake nails to play Xavier Kannon's wife on the show, but they were a hardship now, digging into her palms, her fists were so tight. ''No. I'm not expecting a magic spell to be cast, but I'm not about to give up just because you've given up hope. Funny how you're willing to forgive me for putting your best friend in a coma, but not for what I did to the girl you've got a thing for.''

Sykes closed his eyes, a slow, deep breath whistling through clenched teeth – it almost became a growl at the end. ''Do you wanna know what the difference there is?'' His voice was again very quiet. ''The difference is that I brought him here, and I put him in a position for that to happen. I know there are risks involved in what we do, and that was one I didn’t take into account. What I didn’t do was decide to fuck with his life for my own personal benefit. What I didn’t do was fill him up with drugs so he’d be the person I wanted him to be.''

Jared closed his eyes again, his head tipped to the side. He was trying to will it all away. ''You know what I did do, though?'' The question was strained; it was the last, desperate act to avoid this ending badly. ''You wanna know what I get to carry with me forever? How about the fact that the last conversation that he and I ever had… the reason he stopped talking to me a few days before…''

He brought his right hand to his mouth, clearing his throat. ''I stood in the front hall of my house, and I looked my best friend dead in the face, and I told him that everybody gets a second chance. I told him that you should get a second chance.'' Again their eyes met. ''Living with that mistake is going to haunt me for a very, very long time.''

The fork in the road was there for both of them. There were two ways this could go, and, though neither wanted to choose this path, the world wasn't listening.

A strange desperation leaked into Pierce's words. She wanted people to believe her, to have faith in her. But more than that, she wanted him to. ''So now it's my fault that your best friend got in an argument with you before he died? Your fucking self righteousness is... mind-boggling. Why don't you blame the Kennedy assassination on me, too?''

Another sigh escaped her lips, and her fists were so tight, those nails threatened to draw blood. Every inch of her screamed out to hit him or to run – maybe both. ''Just face it, Jared. Right now, you want me to be a bad guy, because you want her for your fucking self, and you're afraid that she'll realize that I am sorry and that I do love her, and then you'll be by yourself.''

Alexandra Pierce had never been a patient woman. She'd never been a logical one. Lindsay Troy and Jonathan Rhine earned her ire simply for saying no. Jared Sykes had said far more than that. ''You want to blame me for this?'' she continued. ''Fine. But don't you fucking dare blame me for the fact that you fucked up your relationship with Mervin and now he's dead, because I think you did just fine without me involved.''

The difference between the old Alex – between Desade – and the woman she was trying to be was simple. The moment she said it, she regretted it. Her mouth fell into a tiny ''O'', her eyes widening. She tried to concoct a response, but she wouldn't back down.

It was like the entire parking lot held its breath in that moment. There was a lapse of a few seconds as the gears in his head clicked into place. And then he lashed out, right hand leading, palm open. It was the hardest slap he'd delivered in weeks, and the first time he'd hit a woman in far, far longer. It echoed in the parking lot. It burned in his ears. His hand itched, and he rubbed his palm with the tips of his fingers.

''Turn around.'' Sykes' breaths came slow, in through the nose and out through the mouth, his voice barely audible, just a whisper between sharp breaths. ''And walk away.''

Alex turned with the blow, her pallid complexion turning bright crimson. The Spider was trying to turn over a new leaf, trying to be a better person. But as she told Ellie Kannon-Hall, it was a ''process''. She stayed in place for a moment – enough to make him see it, to realize what he's done.

When she turned back, the stone chips of her eyes cooled, and that was not a good thing. Wyatt Connors had nightmares about that look. ''No.'' It was a hiss and a sneer, a threat and a reminder. ''You're going to have to hit me harder than that to make me give up. I will not let you make me be Her.'' There was a weight behind the word. She wouldn't become Desade. She wouldn't.

But by God she wanted to.

His glare was surprisingly unwavering – while she wasn't the same frightening monster she was when they first met, he wasn't the man he'd been then, either. His voice was still low. ''Fine,'' he said. ''Just remember that when I promised to keep her safe…''

He leaned in – just an inch or so, not to get close, but for emphasis. ''That also meant from you. So be whatever you want. ''Good, bad, I don’t give a fuck, because whatever you are – whatever you think you are or how much you think you’ve changed…'' His head shook, eyebrows lifting. It was dismissive, scornful. ''It isn’t human.''


He maintained eye contact as he backed away. Pierce shouted after him, so mad she was shaking. ''You don't get to decide when our story is over, Jared Sykes. You hear me? You do not get to choose!''

Sykes paused briefly, his gaze dropping to the side as he considered whether to let this escalate – whether to tell her the truth. Ultimately, he shook his head, his hands sliding back into the front pockets of his hoodie as he went back to his car.

Alex's last words in his direction came in a quiet sob, head down. A bit of red hair came free, falling into her eyes. ''I won't give up. I can't.'' It wasn't until he was in the car that she touched her hand to the flesh on the side of her face.

''Are you... are you okay?'' The voice surprised her, coming from the side. It was Jordan Cross, half of the infamous duo of Jordan and Benji, and a many-time victim of Pierce's duplicity.

''I'm...'' The sentence was caught up in a hitch, her cool gaze following Sykes to the car. It would be so easy. Slip into the role, her mind told her. Whimper. Cry. He hit you. You can ruin him. ''I'm fine,'' she whispered. ''I'm fine.''

Staggering steps carried Alexandra to her rental car, and she was gone before Jordan's partner-in-crime joined him.

''The hell happened?'' Benji Dill asked.

''I have no idea,'' Jordan said. ''They're all a bunch of whackjobs.''

Alexandra Pierce couldn't have said what time it was – three o'clock? Maybe four? She'd driven from the arena straight to the airport, all thoughts of seeing Amy fleeing. It was the first time Alex had taken the SCCW-booked return flight, the same benefit offered to all of the federation's employees. It only went as far as Vegas, but, really, that was far enough.

The in-flight personnel were more than content to let the notorious Spider in the Web marinate in tiny bottles of alcohol, and the things didn't change when she got to the real Sin City. A quick change of clothes and a curly, strawberry blond wig allowed the GTT champion to slip away from her colleagues, to earn some peace in anonymity – but really, it was a chance to bury herself in someone else's life. Kerri Lloyd was a housewife from South Carolina, running away from her husband to live with her sister in San Francisco.

It was telling thing that playing an abused wife was less stressful, but in truth, it didn't matter who she was – anything was better than being herself. Kerri was a talker, armed with a host of prop photographs of cute-as-a-button children and the kind of sob story designed to spur softhearted customer service agents into action. It earned her a free upgrade to first class, and she had her fill of drinks on the short trip home.

Alex was lucid enough to shed Kerri in the San Francisco airport restroom, but she could barely stand when she waved down a taxi for the long drive. The driver was a middle-aged man of Kazakhstani descent, and he was kind enough to turn down the radio while she nodded off in the back seat. He even offered to carry her bags to the door, but the cynic in her imagined he had visions of taking advantage of inebriated passengers, so she declined.

Pierce left her luggage in a haphazard pile by the door, pulling a bottle off the wine rack as she passed without looking. The last thing she remembered was setting the bottle on her nightstand.

That was almost two hours earlier.

Alex awoke with a start, still incoherent from the drink she'd consumed. She reached blindly onto the wicker bedside table, nearly tipping the bottle over before she was able to wrap her hand around it. Alex swilled from the dregs, comfortably numb as she thumbed open her iPhone. She flopped back down into the stack of pillows on the bed. Most of them were Amy's, but (like a great many things) the Spider couldn't bear to part with them.

The first name on her contact list was unsurprisingly Campbell's; under different circumstances, she never would have dialed the number. But she'd been drinking for the better part of six hours, and tapping that name was the very first thing she did. It didn't occur to her that it was late (perhaps early?) or that they hadn't spoken to each other since an awkward conversation in the hallway of an Edmonton-area hospital. She wanted to talk to Amy, wanted to hear the tiny redhead's voice. So she called.

The call went right to voicemail – it was possible Campbell's BlackBerry was off. ''It's Amy,'' the recording said, drawing out the ''I''. ''Beeeep.'' An electronic bleep followed.

''Hey, you!'' Alex's grin was a lazy, lopsided thing. ''I just have to say... I hope you're happy. That's... that's not, like... not a bad 'hope you're happy', like 'I hope you're happy now, because I'm miserable' kind of thing. Because... I'm not mad. Not at you, at least. Myself? Yeah, I'm pretty mad at myself. It's like... it's like there's a thing now. Like a... wall. I can't climb it. Can't break it down. It's always there, and...'' She sighed out. ''And it sucks. You don't trust me, and I don't know how to make that happen again. And it hurts. It hurts all the time – like, wow it hurts, you know?''

She rolled onto her side, fighting a losing battle against the tears. ''I was... I got into a fight tonight. With Jared. I'm sure you've heard. I was...'' She pinched her eyes shut, swallowing. ''I was mean, I said things...'' A fat droplet slipped through those squinched closed eyelids. ''I should stop, right? Stop... stop fighting it. I screwed up everything – I screw up everything. When he... I wanted to hurt him. I still want to hurt him. I can't keep fighting it forever, not by myself. Because I'm going to lose someday and then I'm gonna... I couldn't deal with that.''

Pierce's sigh was strangled by a sob. ''Still. It'd... it would be easier if I could just... let it be. Let you hate me, let Jared... let Jared be right. If I could stop hoping. But I can't stop. I can't... I don't want to see that look in your eyes. I don't want to lose Quinn the way I've lost you.''

The Spider flopped onto her back, scrubbing the heel of her hand against her cheek. ''Wow. This was... this was a bad idea. I just don't... I'm not going to hassle you or, like, guilt trip you or anything. I just called... I guess I called because I miss you.'' Alex swallowed hard, unable to further stem the tide of tears. ''I miss you and I love you and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know you'll... it doesn't matter right now, because you'll never trust me again. But if... if you ever did believe me, believe that. Please believe that.''

Her shoulders were wracked with heavy, ugly sobs. ''I just don't ever want you to think it was just a lie or that...'' She cleared her throat, her voice ragged from alcohol and sadness. ''Jared said I got you on the drugs to make you the person I wanted you to be. And... I didn't do it to make you love me.'' She sniffled, sitting up. Her knees came up, feet on the bed, her forehead against her kneecap.

''The worst thing that could come from this would be for you to think... to think you're not... you are a great person. Kind and caring and thoughtful. You saved me, you braved the... the mess of what I was. You got Quinn and I together, and I feel like I never thanked you enough. You had faith in me that no one else did. They all wanted something, and you never asked me for anything. You never... why didn't you doubt me? How did you think I could do this? I can't...''

''All I ever did was give you a drug habit in return,'' she whimpered, wetting her lips with the last of the bottle. ''And now I'm alone. I'm alone and I deserve to be alone. Maybe Jared was right. I am insane. I'm a monster. I'm not human. You don't need me to keep reminding you of what I did, so I should stop calling, at least... at least for a while.'' Her lower lip quivered. ''I won't call, and when you're here to see Quinn, you won't even know I'm around. I don't want things to get weird between you two. Well, weirder.''

Pierce swallowed hard, forcing words past the lump in her throat. ''I guess this is goodbye, then. If you... if you ever need me for anything – anything at all – you know where to find me. Just call and I'll come running. I love you. I will never... never stop loving you. Be careful with Lane, and... and, uh, if you see Jared, please tell him I said I was out of line. Good night, and, hey, good luck in Hawaii.''

She pulled the phone away from her ear, squinting as she tried to remember how to hang up. ''She'll probably just delete it...'' she murmured.

A tap to the red ''End Call'' button ended the meandering message, but Alex's tears didn't dry. The drunken Spider only stopped crying when she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, nearly fifteen minutes later.

The phone was ringing off the hook when Quinn Gregory trotted up the walk the following afternoon. The girl wanted to go to Seattle, but her English teacher insisted she be present for a quiz Monday morning, and they'd been unable to arrange a flight that would give time to rest before she had to go to class.

They had a plan for this sort of thing – in all honesty, they had a plan for almost every sort of thing. Her mother traveled out the night before, and Quinn would spend the time at her boyfriend's. She wasn't to return to the condo for any reason until after school the day after the show. Alex had too many enemies, too many people who'd try to hurt her through her daughter, so there were protocols – rules that even her willful daughter wouldn't disobey.

Whenever she came home after one of these things, that stretch of concrete path never looked so foreboding. The persistent jangling of the house phone put her nerves on edge. They had an answering machine, and it surely should have picked up by now. Her hands shook as she lifted her thin, Q-shaped keychain to the lock.

''Breathe,'' she whispered. ''It's just a phone.''

The bolt seemed louder when it clicked open, and Quinn eased open the door. ''Mom?'' She tried to walk like her mother, toe down first, ease the heel after. If something was wrong – and something was wrong – then it was possible there was someone else in the apartment. She tried to remember the lessons Craig Maloof gave her, the ones about transferring her balance in a kick, but none of the lessons seemed relevant. She'd never actually hit anyone, not really.

She could answer the phone, though. She was good at that. A glance at caller ID box told her that the call had been forwarded from the office. She blew out a sigh, picking up the receiver – maybe her mother was just checking in. ''API Investigations, this is Quinn speaking, how can I help you?''

''Quinn!'' There was a smile in Helena Maddox's voice, but also something else – relief? ''I didn't think anyone was ever going to answer the phone. Is your mom in the office?''

''Uh...'' Gregory looked around the condo. The only sign that her mother had returned was the suitcase by the door. ''I'm home, actually. She... doesn't seem to be around, actually.''

''Oh. Damn.''

''Why?'' Quinn walked the cordless towards the master bedroom door. ''Is something up?''

''Eh, it's nothing. If you could just have her call me when you see her?''

The teen's hand dropped away from the knob. ''Something's happening, isn't it?''

''Maybe.'' Maddox was clearly trying to smile. ''Just have her call me.''

''Yeah.'' The dark-haired girl nodded. ''No problem. Look, I just got back from school, and I really need to change. I'll tell her the second I see her.''

She didn't wait for an answer, disconnecting the line. Her hand went to the doorknob again, but the door was still locked. Alex Pierce was private to a fault, paranoid about security and—well, paranoid about everything, really.

But she didn't lock her bedroom door. It was an extension of trust between them – the condo itself was on lockdown, with additional security that even Quinn wasn't fully aware of, so a bolt on this door didn't make it safer.

Quinn banged the flat of her hand against the door. ''Mom?'' she asked. ''Are you in there?'' No response came. ''Mom, I know you're home, just... please be okay.''

The banging continued – the girl had her mother's relentlessness. Finally, there was noise beyond the door, half a groan and half a grunt. ''Quinn?'' It was a hoarse whisper, a whimper. ''What time is it?''

''It's after three.'' She wanted to burst into tears. ''Are you okay in there?''

''Yeah. Just... just a little bit too much celebrating after beating Phillip.''

''Oh.'' Quinn put her forehead against the door. ''Are you... are you alone in there?''

''What?'' There was a pause, and when she spoke again, Pierce's voice was more conscious. ''What did you say?''

''It's okay if there is, I mean... I know you're probably—''

The lock came open with a soft click, and it cracked just long enough for one of her mother's infamous grey eyes to appear in the crack. That eye was red-rimmed and bloodshot. ''No, there's no one else in here with me.''

Quinn tried to smile and hoped it was comforting. ''I just... don't want you to be sad all the time.''

''I...'' Now it was Alex with her forehead to the door. ''I need to be. For a while at least.''

''It's not healthy.''

''It's not a negotiation.'' Pierce looked past her daughter, back into the condo. ''Who was that on the phone?''

''Helena.'' Gregory's lips twisted. ''You heard that? How come you didn't answer it?''

''I thought they'd leave a message.''

''It could've been Amy. It could've been the school telling you I'd been hit by a car or something.''

''And they would leave a message.'' Pierce pushed off the door, straightening her posture. ''What did the detective want?''

''She wants you to call her.'' The girl unconsciously mirrored her mother's posture, adjusting her eyeglasses. ''I, uh, I think something's up.''

The corners of Alexandra's lips turned down in a frown. ''I'm not taking any cases this week. I have a match to prepare for and—''

''What happened?'' Quinn's question was soft. She tucked a bit of tarry black hair behind one ear. ''With, uh, with Amy, I mean? You said you were waiting for her, and then I didn't hear from you until... well, until now, really.''

''I never got to see her.''

''Oh.'' Gregory's brows bunched together. ''I'm sorry.''

''She must have slipped out when I wasn't looking.'' Alex shrugged, tried to make it look casual. ''It's no big deal. I'll catch her next time.''

''Okay.'' The Devil's Daughter's smile was tremulous. ''You want to run to the store, get some ice cream, pig out and watch sappy chick movies?''

''Quinn, I... I'm not really the 'gorge on bonbons and watch TV' kind of girl.''

Gregory's smile wavered. ''I know. Me either. But I feel like I should do something. You can't just sit here in your room all day and beat yourself up.''

''I'm not.''

''You are. I get that you're upset, but... this isn't healthy. You're not going to beat Kannon or anyone else, by sitting in your room and—''

''I won the GTT this way. Hell, I was worse than this.'' Pierce's smile was brittle. ''I'll be fine. Really.'' All her daughter had to do was raise her brows. ''Really,'' Alex repeated. ''It's sweet that you're worrying about me, but I've been through worse, and I'll find a way to win. Even if I don't, it's not the end of the world.''

''Mom.'' Quinn's voice was weighty with gravitas. ''That guy is insufferable. You just won the biggest tournament in the history of ever. If you lose, he is never going to shut up. Like, never.''

''I don't care.'' Pierce's voice sharpened. ''I can't just pretend this didn't happen. I can't just move on.''

''Uh, yeah, you can.'' The teen reached through the door, taking her mother's hand. ''Happens all the time. Maybe not in your world, but over here in the real world, people go out after bad relationships, and like... get trashed and find someone to... to, you know... to make bad decisions with.''

The Spider's smile quieted. ''Don't even joke about that. I couldn't do that. I just... I just need time.''

''Fine, but no more sleeping until three in the afternoon, okay?''

''Deal.'' Alex stepped back. ''I'm going to get dressed, maybe get some reading done. You okay with your homework?''

''Yeah.'' The girl nodded, a little hesitantly. ''I should be fine.''

''Okay, then... I'll see you later.'' Pierce swung the door closed, but Quinn's splayed palm, which drew up the thin red line of her mother's brow. ''What's wrong?''

The girl pushed through the door, enfolding her mother in spindly arms. ''I love you, okay? Even if you don't, even if she doesn't, I do.''

The returned embrace was more hesitant. ''I know. It's just...'' Her eyes found more tears, which she honestly thought would become impossible. ''It's just hard.''

''I know.'' Quinn's eyes were wet when she retreated. ''Eventually, everyone else will know, too.''

''I'll be out for dinner. Promise.''

Once the door closed, the girl's lips pursed, glancing back over her shoulder to the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. Her lips twisted in thought, but before she could change her mind, she pushed off the wall and snatched the gray thing off its cradle. The redial button was a dangerous thing.

''Hello?'' Helena Maddox was a former police detective, assigned the difficult task of trying to solve Lauren Fox's murder, only to have her career ruined once she'd succeeded.

''Miss Maddox, it's Quinn Gregory.'' The girl held the cordless phone with both hands, turning towards the tiny kitchenette. ''Uhm, listen...''

''Is everything all right? Is your mom...''

''What? Oh, yeah. No, I, uh, ran into her, but she's not really up for a chat on the phone.''

''I promise it won't take long—''

The girl closed her eyes, willing her voice to stay level. Cool, calm, collected – like her mother. ''It's not that she doesn't want to talk, it's just... the last couple weeks have been hard. The Amy thing—''

Helena's response was a soft sound Quinn couldn't quite place. It sounded like ''Ah,'' but it meant more than that. ''I understand.''

''But we're ordering in tonight. There's this really super Italian place right up the road, and I – I mean, we – were wondering if you wanted to come by tonight, maybe explain it over some fettuccini?''

''If that's what she wants – and if we're talking about lasagna. Never liked white sauce.''

''Done.'' Gregory allowed herself a small grin. ''Say around seven? And leave Jonas Stryker behind – she really doesn't like that guy.''

''He doesn't know about this.'' Helena's voice was warmed by her smile. ''Seven it is.''

''So tell me the truth...'' There was a bond that Quinn Gregory and Alexandra Pierce shared – a bond that many people would question. Their discussions included many subjects that most mother-daughter relationships would steer well clear of.

This was one of those times. ''You have something silly planned, don't you?'' Quinn pulled open the refrigerator, pulling a bottle of Pepsi from the door. ''Like... ooh, maybe a redo of the Ellie thing? Separate them, be all like, 'Hey, bebeh' and then hit him with the Kiss again.''

Her mother was at the dining room table. In contrast to the rest of the top-of-the-line furniture in the condo, the table stood out. It was old, its wooden surface scarred and fading, the forest green paint along the legs chipped and peeling. The table was new, a gift from the girl's adoptive father, sent for her sixteenth birthday. It was the only reminder Quinn had of her life in Dallas, before Amy Campbell brought her into her mother's world.

Alex sat at the head of the table, left leg crossed over her right, a small coffee cup clutched in one hand. ''I don't do repeat performances.''

''So you spent a thousand dollars on clothes you'd wear for two minutes?''

''If he is smart – and he is – he will have a plan in place to prevent being fooled again.'' She stirred a spoon through the cup. ''I'll come up with something.'' Pierce lifted just her eyes to glance at her daughter. ''How is school?''

''Come on,'' Quinn grinned. ''If school was going badly, you'd already know about it. Don't think I don't know that you've got your creepy mom eyes everywhere, even without the resources you once had.''

''Fair enough.'' Alex always sat at the edge of a chair, and there was a time her posture was perfect, back arched, but no longer. Now she slouched in the chair, the weight of the world shattering her statuesque poise. ''I just... I'm tired of talking about this. About what I did. About Amy.''

''We have to talk about it.'' Quinn's hands knit at her waist. ''Because I don't trust you out there in the world. Not like this. You're barely coherent and you're going to get hurt. In the ring, out there in that... that world you live in.''

The knock on the door was a gentle one, barely enough to break the younger Pierce's stare. Alex set her mug down, pulling sharply on the hem of her blouse as she eased to her feet. Brisk steps carried her to the door, and only her daughter's pointed words managed to stop her.

''Mom, wait.'' Quinn came around the island in the kitchen. ''I'm sorry.''

''You have nothing to apologize for.'' Alex's gaze dropped to the tiled entryway. ''You're right. I just don't know how to do anything else.'' She wrenched open the door with a sigh, painting on a plastic smile for the deliveryman.

''No, I meant...'' the girl said hurriedly.

Helena Maddox hefted a bottle of red wine, the color matching her pale shade of lipstick. ''Hi, am I late?''

''I meant for that,'' Quinn finished lamely.

''Detective,'' Alex said quietly, stepping to the side to let Helena Maddox skirt past.

Maddox was a beanpole of a woman – tall, thin, with a head of deep brown hair and a face that belonged to a woman ten years her senior. She hadn't aged well; too many years seeing the dark underbelly of the world were starting to take their toll. She wore olive slacks and a matching blazer, her wild mane of brown hair kept in place by an old-fashioned #2 pencil. Even though the detective lost her career and was by rights being pursued by local authorities, Maddox still moved like a cop – she still talked like one, she still carried herself like one, and she still walked like one.

She was also still concerned like one. Her steps into Pierce's condo were hesitant, and not just because of the tension in the air between mother and daughter. ''I wasn't sure if I should bring anything, so I got some wine.'' She handed over the bottle. ''I'm also not sure it's any good, but the guy at the liquor store said it would go pretty well with pasta.''

''Thank you,'' Alexandra said quietly, backpedaling to set the bottle down on the counter. ''Though I must admit to being uncertain what the occasion is.''

''You...'' Maddox drew up short. ''You didn't actually invite me here.''

''I didn't, no.'' Pierce dipped her head, flicking her stony gaze to the side.

In the kitchen, Gregory wouldn't look up. ''Sorry, I—''

''Will you excuse us for a moment, detective?'' The redhead didn't wait for a response, retreating towards the master bedroom. ''Quinn, please join me.''

The girl nodded, brushing her palms against her jeans. ''Yeah, sure.'' She smiled – for Helena's sake more than her own. ''Excuse me for a sec, Helena.''

As soon as her daughter was inside, Pierce grabbed her by the arm, spinning Quinn towards the closet. ''You had no right.''

''Just hear her out. You can't spend all your time in here.''

''You had no right.'' Alex was hissing the words. ''You know what Stryker is like. You know what he's doing, and you know that what he's doing is not what I want to do.''

''Really? Because it seems that what you want to do right now is get drunk and cry yourself to sleep every night.'' The Devil's Daughter snatched her arm out of her mother's grip. ''You don't think I smell it on your breath? You don't think I know that it's not just coffee in that mug out there?''

''Quinn, it's not... it's not that simple.'' Pierce half-turned, her fists balled at her side. ''Every night, I hear her screaming at me. When I close my eyes, I see... I see the look in her eyes. I... I can't live like this. I can't live with this hanging over my head. I am in no condition to take part in something cooked up by that man.''

''I know you're sad, but--''

''It's not just sadness, Quinn...'' Pierce's voice rose with desperation, her fists balled at her sides. ''I gave up everything I had, everything I have ever been, just for the chance of a relationship I didn't deserve. And then I lost it anyway, because I was too much of a coward to confess my own sins.''

''She still loves you, but she wouldn't love this you.''

''She doesn't.'' Alex shook her head fiercely. ''She loved the idea of saving me. And I have to admit... the prospect of... of a life with her, with you both, using these things I can do to help other people... it was a nice little dream, but it was a joke. A pretty little lie I told to protect myself from what I really am. I'm not a good person, Quinn. I know you want me to be, but I'm not. And if I don't drink myself into a stupor, I'm afraid of what I will do.''

''You can be, though. You can.'' Gregory's voice quickly matched her mother's in both tone and volume, cracking with despair. ''You just have to try.''

''I have tried! Lord, have I tried.'' The redhead's temper flared, one finger jabbing at the girl. ''They hate me even more now. Jared Sykes used to cower before me, and last night, he hit me.''

''Well, fuck him,'' Quinn said. ''I don't hate you. He doesn't even know you. You're so... so caught up in other people and whether they 'understand' that you've really changed, you've forgotten about that. I believe you. I know the person you are today would never have done what you did, and that you'd give anything to change it.''

''You know I would.'' Pierce sank down onto the bed, her head in her hands.

The girl's sea-green eyes threatened to overflow. ''And that might not matter right now to Amy. It might not matter to Jon Rhine or Jared freaking Sykes, but it matters to me. I can't watch you keep doing this to yourself – I won't. I have tried everything I can possibly think of to help you, but if you're not going to help, I might as well go back to Dallas.''

''You'd... you'd do that? Leave me here alone?''

''I don't want to, but I can't watch you destroy yourself.'' Quinn's hands were stuffed into her pockets, her head down. ''I know that's selfish of me. I know you need me, but I've used up all the tricks I have, and I can't take watching what you're becoming.''

Alex flopped down onto her back, her feet on the floor, her hands knotted in her hair. ''What would you have me do?'' she whispered miserably. ''I can't just shut this off, but I can't lose you.''

''I'm not expecting you to change overnight.'' Quinn's voice softened as she perched at the edge of the mattress. ''I know guilt is new for you. Just... all I'm asking is for you to try. I know it's hard, and it's not gonna get easier, I'm not gonna lie. Just... just try. Hear Helena out. Even if it's dumb, even if it's easy... it'll get you back on the horse.''

Alex pinched at the bridge of her nose. ''I really don't know if this is such a good idea.''

''It's what you're good at, and it'll get your mind off of things.'' She tucked a lock of tar-black hair behind one ear. A tiny diamond stud glittered in her earlobe. ''Please? I'd like to stop worrying – at least about that.''

When the Spider sat up, her daughter wrapped a long arm around her shoulders, drawing the taller woman close. The two Pierces' foreheads touched.

''Fine,'' Alex relented. ''I'll listen. But I'm not making any promises.''

''I'm not asking you to.'' Quinn put a little squeeze into her embrace. ''You'll make it through this,'' she whispered. ''I promise.''

''I hope so.'' Alex sniffled, gathering her feet. ''Would you tell Detective Maddox I'll be just a minute?''

''Yeah.'' Gregory eased to her feet. ''I can do that. You could to be okay?''

There was a rueful cast to her mother's smile. ''Maybe someday.''

As her daughter slipped through the door, Alexandra Pierce dragged herself to her feet, staggering for the bathroom. She stopped at the sink, palms splayed on the counter. She lifted her head, copper-red hair hanging in front of her face. Alex had a startling complexion – ''hellafetch'' skin, if you asked Eleanor Kannon-Hall – but the last few weeks of endless tears and sorrow were taking its toll. She wasn't sleeping – or was sleeping less, really. The bags under her infamous, steel-gray gaze were heavy, only covered by a boatload of concealer.

She flicked her gaze to the haphazard stack of cosmetics on the countertop, a hodgepodge of her makeup and Amy's. She pulled over the lot of them, slender fingers working through countless bottles and compacts and cases. She knew what she was looking for – she'd seen its like in hotel rooms and restaurant bathrooms, not to mention backstage at arenas.

There it was – a mascara wand tossed in with the lot, but without the buildup of dried black crud along the lip. Alex unscrewed the top, pouring a bit of the fine white powder into one hand. It was Sykes that had said it (''Well hey, I’m sure you’ve probably got part of her stash lyin’ around. Maybe that’ll numb you up.''), and Alex looked at the cocaine in her palm.

It would be easy, she thought. Amy always seemed so happy afterwards.

She wasn't sure how long she'd stood there, how long she'd stared at the palm of her hand, but it was long enough that there was a soft knock on the door. The sound startled Pierce, the coke spilling from her hand to scatter across the counter. ''Fuck!'' Alex hissed, hurrying to brush it onto her palm.

''Everything okay, Mom?'' Quinn didn't open the door, but the worry was clear in her voice.

''Yeah.'' Pierce ran the sink, watching the stray granules circle down the drain. She pocketed the mascara. ''Coming now.'' The smile she pulled onto her lips was only a few degrees off from the plastic one she'd had prepared for the delivery person. ''Helena didn't leave, did she?'' The first rule of a good agent was controlling a conversation – get the information you want, but don't give up anything you do not.

''Hm? Oh, no. She's still out there.'' Quinn's grin quirked. ''Get this, she paid for dinner.''

Alex's brows climbed. ''Really.''

''Yeah.'' Gregory linked arms with the taller woman. ''It's actually sort of sweet. We were in here... you know, arguing or whatever, and the delivery guy came. Instead of interrupting, she just... paid.'

The Spider's smile for the detective was a little more natural. ''Detective, it would appear I owe you a debt of gratitude. So what is this that is so pressing that Jonas would send his best operative to recruit me?''

Helena was sitting at the table, knife and fork poised over her lasagna. ''Stryker doesn't know I'm here.'' She blew out a sigh. ''He'll probably be pissed that I used his resources for this.''

''I knew I liked her,'' Quinn murmured.

''I've been... I've been looking into the circumstances surrounding the frame-job that you peo—that the Order perpetrated. The one that has me wondering when the police will come kick in my front door.''

''And you found something?'' Alex's question was gentle, her own work over her fettuccini meticulous, almost surgical.

''I found someone.'' Helena set down the silverware, twisting in the chair to stick a hand into the pocket of her coat. She retrieved a folded piece of paper, with a badly scanned picture of a Chinese man. ''His name is Kien Choi Truong. 'Ken' to his friends. The... the, uh, jewelry they say I was paid with. It came from his store.''

''Stolen?''

''Gifted, if I'm right.'' She smoothed the paper onto the dining room table. ''A burglar comes in, takes everything in the store to fence it. The pieces are too select, they're perfect for bribes, but they're certainly not chosen indiscriminately. I think that Ken Truong gave them to whatever agent planted them. And I want to know who it is.''

''But you need me to find him.''

Maddox shook her head gently. ''I know where he is. I just... I tried to do this on my own. I really did. I didn't want to involve Jonas, and you still terrify me.''

One thin brow lifted, almost like a scar. ''It didn't go well.''

''His guards...'' She cleared her throat. ''It didn't go well,'' she confirmed. ''I need your help, Ms. Pierce. I know what you can do. I've seen it. I think I can tell you where he'll be, but I just need someone to flush him out. I can pay. Not much, but—''

Maddox didn't see the teenager kick her mother in the shins under the table, and the Spider didn't let it show. ''That's a rare and wonderful thing these days. Someone wise I know has told me to get back on the horse, so...'' She fished a slice of garlic bread from the basket in the center of the table. ''Don't leave out a thing.''

The club was called ''Pawn,'' and it fully embraced the typical, postmodern sensibilities of its fellows. The place was built into a converted pawnshop, the glass display cases still present, just strengthened to serve as platforms for go-go dancers. The lights were low, concentrated mostly around the bar, and the bass beat thumped loudly enough it wasn't so much heard as felt, even though the paper-thin walls.

The line outside wasn't really ever very long, and certainly not this early in the evening, just a few strays trying to beat the rush. One of these early birds was a blonde in a fuchsia thing that only qualified as a ''dress'' if one squinted an eye and tilted their head. It was basically just a bit of fabric wrapped around her hips, with a touch more draped across her chest, all tied in place by a ribbon at the nape of her neck. The dress didn't cover an inch of the woman's back, leaving a wide expanse of alabaster flesh visible beneath a head full of white-blond hair.

''I feel naked,'' Alexandra Pierce murmured, slipping a compact from her matching clutch. She resisted the urge to keep the meager skirt from sliding down her hips as she touched a pink-nailed pinky to her eyelid. ''This is what it feels like to try too hard, isn't it?''

''Well, you'd never catch me in anything like that.'' Helena Maddox was secreted nearby, crouched behind the wheel of a nondescript delivery truck down the block.

''Of course not. I have breasts.'' Alex let a smile she didn't quite feel spill across wine-red lips. ''It's my impression the nickname 'Beanpole' isn't simply for show.'' She bounced up to the balls of her feet – further even than those stiletto-heeled sandals made her stand. ''I think that's him.''

''Christ, how do you do that?'' Back in the truck, Maddox shifted her tiny binoculars from the roped-off queue to the small knot of approaching gentlemen. ''I can barely see them with these things.'' There was a pause – Helena even had to squint to make him out in the gloom. ''Yeah, I think that's him in the middle. With the long hair.''

Pierce waited as the group in front of her was let in, then flicked her eyes to Truong and company. ''They're moving too fast,'' she murmured. ''Drive past, slow enough they know it's you.''

''Won't that give away that I'm here?'' Helena asked, though she still turned the key.

''Not that you have a team, though.'' The Spider sashayed up to the bouncer, drowning the rest of her words in a smile so wide it hurt. ''Just do it. Brights on.''

''Welcome to Pawn,'' the man said. ''May I see your driver's license, please?''

''Ooh, you're polite,'' Alex trilled – she used a variation on Ellie Kannon-Hall's cadence, full of false brightness and with just a touch of venom in her words. Natalie Emerson (that was the name on the ID she handed over) was the head cheerleader, all grown up.

''Thank you, ma'am.'' The bouncer was implacable, a big man in a dark turtleneck and a pair of well-fitted slacks.

''So...'' Alex took a lock of the fake blond hair between her fingers. ''This club is hot, right? 'Cause if it's gonna suck, tell me now. I don't wanna pay a cover for weak sauce.''

''Dressed like that?'' Bushy eyebrows climbed the man's forehead, and Pierce had to will away the blush that threatened to touch her cheeks. Maybe he wasn't so hardhearted. ''I guarantee it's all eyes on you. How 'bout I wave that cover for you, though, babygirl?''

''Relax.'' Helena's voice was calm in her ear. ''You put on that dress, you're asking for this.''

Alex nodded briefly – almost imperceptibly – touching her hand to the man's forearm as he unhooked the velvet rope. She slid past, as close as she could stomach – there was a reason she usually had Kathryn Shaw do this back in the day. ''Than—''

The thunderous roar of the delivery truck's engine attracted everyone's attention. The van barreled up the road, and Truong's bodyguards fanned out, forming a protective shield around him – and, once the Spider took a step forward, around her as well.

Maddox slowed once she was in view, leveling a finger-gun at the shopkeeper. Pierce squealed, cowering close behind him; her light fingers liberated the man's walled as he barked orders. Her Mandarin was shaky, but she was certain he demanded the guards call the police.

''Go,'' Pierce whispered, deathly quiet. ''Now. Cops.''

Maddox didn't respond, but the growl of the old truck's engine sped, gears whining as it shifted gears and turned the corner.

''Uhm. Holy. Fuck, dude!'' She intentionally quickened her breath.

Truong whipped around, his eyebrows livid. He was ready to shout, but his eyes caught the glint of the mermaid's tear at Pierce's throat, and his fury abated momentarily – just long enough for her to jump in.

''We totally just got drive-byed!'' Alex kept her voice quiet, breathless. ''You rescued me! Are you all right?''

''I am fine.'' He wasn't nearly as curt in English as he'd been in Chinese. ''Who are you?''

''I'm Nat.'' She extended a hand fingers forward, but he simply looked at her. ''C'mon...'' She tapped him on the arm. ''At least let me buy you a drink?''

''Hrmph.'' Truong bumped past her, tugging open the door. The rest of his guards followed, and Alex rolled her eyes theatrically as she shuffled out of the way of the rest.

''Don't mind him.'' The bouncer didn't turn. ''Ken's... he's just different. Go have some fun.''

''Totally planning on it.'' She rocked up to her toes, brushing her lips across his cheek. ''You're such a sweetie.'' Pierce flounced through the door, a little bit of shake in her step.

Once the door shut, she stopped, blowing out a long sigh as she hurried into the club. Inside, the music was even louder, vibrating in her bones as she looked over the sparse crowd. Truong and his guards had retired to a corner booth, and Alex lifted her sunglasses into her hair, striding briskly over.

''We totally got off on the wrong foot,'' she said. ''I mean, you got... like, pointed out or whatever, but you didn't have to be rude.''

''Accept my apology.'' Truong didn't look up, and it was as good a dismissal as she was likely to receive.

''Oookay. Guess I'm sorry I bothered you...'' She turned a hair. ''Mr. Truong.''

It was the shopkeeper that looked up first, barking a single-word order to the other men. Burly Asian men in smart suits burst out of the booths surrounding her. Alex didn't slip into a fighting stance, merely withdrew the shopkeeper's wallet from her purse. ''You... didn't even feel me, did you?''

Ken's eyebrows spiked, hazel eyes locking on to her glittering aquamarine ones. ''You stole my wallet?''

''I thought that was kind of obvious.'' She lifted a brow. ''Your son is adorable. Wonder what else is in—''

A gesture from the man, and two large men took her by the arms. One snatched the wallet away, tossing it back to the shopkeeper – a term that was as true as calling her a ''club girl''.

''You wanna try that introduction thing again?'' She dropped into the booth beside him, curling one bare leg along the seat between them. ''I'm Natalie. I steal things. You're Ken Truong, and unless my information is wrong, you facilitate things being stolen.''

''I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.'' He was looking at her locket again.

''And what if you do?'' She pulled herself into a kneeling position. ''A girl like me could be useful for a powerful man like you.''

''Really.'' Truong leaned one elbow against the back of the booth, raising a thin eyebrow. ''And what could you do for me?''

The innuendo made her skin crawl. She knew what she was supposed to say – what the character wanted to say. She just couldn't bring herself to do it. Alex sat back on her haunches, blowing out a sigh as she tried to refocus the conversation. ''Do you know how many guys will ask me to dance tonight? I just have to play a little spacey and I can have any wallet in this place.''

Truong dropped his hand on Pierce's thigh, rubbing gently. ''And what do you want me to do for you?''

''Not that.'' It was sharper than she'd intended, her hand falling atop his. ''I just need your help, making sure no one catches on. Nothing too hard, and I'll cut you in for fifteen percent of everything I take.''

Truong's hand skimmed even higher up her thigh. ''If I was involved in something like this, I'd want at least twenty.''

''Twenty?'' Alex scooted away, her brows shooting up. She hoped her offense to his demand allowed for her to put some distance between them. ''I'm doing all the work!''

She was wrong – the shopkeeper pulled closer to her, even closer than before. ''You will be committing a crime in a place of business that you assume I have a stake in. If you are caught—''

Again she scooted back, running out of bench and coming unsteadily to her feet. ''Whoa.'' She put up both hands, finding it far easier than she'd like to affect a nervous smile. ''I'd... I'm not gonna get caught!''

''Pretty little things like you think it's work to put on a slinky dress, make men think you're interested in them.'' He came roaring out of the booth, one hand to her throat. ''Twenty percent and you will provide services to me as I require them.'' He flung her onto the table, his hand slipping beneath her skirt. ''Starting now.''

Instinct took over. What was good for the mission, what would get the job done – none of that mattered. She wasn't about to blithely surrender, to give herself to this man. She kicked up, both heels aimed low. Truong swatted her feet away, his left hand coming across her cheek and knocking her to the ground, scuffing her cheek. Alex crawled across the ground, trying to get her bearings.

Her hand touched a brown leather loafer, and she looked up to the man, catching sight of a gold police shield at his waist. ''Help!'' she cried. ''Help, they're trying to... please, help me.''

Roland Morante had one of those smiles – the kind that could charm the ladies. ''Is that so?'' he asked.

It wasn't so charming right then. ''Kenny, you trying to hurt this pretty lady?''

''She stole from me. Picked my pocket outside this very club. I want her brought up on charges.''

''Is that so?'' Morante pulled out his phone. ''Lemme call Brooksy. Can't have pickpockets running around respectable clubs like this. It'll drive away the tourists.'' The call connected immediately. ''Di, it's Roland. I know we're not scheduled till morning, but you ain't gonna believe it.'' He tipped his heavy-eyed glare down to the blonde at his feet. ''Caught us a pickpocket.''

The Spider dropped her forehead to the dance floor. She knew the rest, and she exercised her right to remain silent.

Quinn Gregory wasn't sure when she nodded off on the chair (sometime after NCIS, in all likelihood), but the machine gun like rattle of a cellphone woke her with a start. The girl slipped on her signature cat's-eye glasses, one long-fingered hand stopping the dancing phone. Thin lips curled downwards in concern – it was the throwaway, pay-as-you-go cell that rang, not her mother's iPhone.

''Hello?'' Gregory strove to keep the worry out of her voice. She cradled the phone against her shoulder, flipping open the small, spiral-bound memo pad that rested between the two phones.

Her mother was meticulous (some would argue ''paranoid'') about secrecy, and they'd long ago drafted a system to allow the Spider to check in when she was out on assignment. The prepaid cell was only for emergencies, ones where a call to Quinn's Palm Pre would expose her daughter to unwanted attention. This was the first time they'd actually used their system, however, and the teen had to will her hands to stop shaking.

''Hey.'' It was close to her mother's voice, just empty of all its weight. ''Sorry to call so late, I know you're watching your TV. Is your grandmother home?''

Quinn ran her finger down the first page of code phrases, translating in her head. The first sentence confirmed her identity and reminded her to use the code. The second – the question – was meant to verify her daughter was alone.''

''No, she's... she's gone to bed. Everything okay?''

''I'm in a bit of a pickle.'' There was a pent-up quality to Pierce's words, like she wanted to say a good deal more. ''But you can't call your sister.''

''Sister'' referred to Amy, and Alex's order draw a soft sigh from the girl. ''Are you sure?'' she asked. ''She could probably—''

''I'm sure.'' Alex's tone brooked no disagreement. ''I just need a couple hundred dollars for bail for this bullshit charge. You'll find cash in the safe in the closet. When your father gets home, have him come down to the station. I'll still be here.''

''My father?'' Gregory's brow arched as she frantically flipped through the notes. She found no reference to a ''father'' in the codebook. ''I don't... I can do this.''

Pierce's whisper was sharp. ''Victoria Shane Emerson, you will listen to your mother. Your father should be back in town by morning, and today is – was – our anniversary. I know you don't like him, but you will tolerate him until I've given him the Rolex in my drawer. Am I clear?''

Her daughter didn't have to feign the annoyance that ''Victoria'' felt. ''Whatever, Mother. I guess I'll see you when he gets here.''

''I love you.'' There was more warmth in three words than any others in their veiled conversation.

''Love you, too.'' Quinn was already standing, even as she disconnected. The girl slipped into the master bedroom, closing the door behind her – Hermes wasn't allowed inside. Though Alex Pierce slept in an extra-large California king bed, she only ever used half of it – the other part would always be Amy's.

She tugged open the nightstand on her mother's side of the bed. In truth, she wasn't sure what to expect – Mr. Hawke's business card, actual contact information for Malcolm Girard, surely something like that.

The latest issue of Pro Wrestling Illustrated magazine, folded open to Jeff Coltz' latest article wouldn't even have made the top twenty.

''Jesus Christ, Mom,'' the girl murmured, picking up the magazine.

The article was called The Lion and the Mouse: How Sin City's Spaceman Mended Camp Marshall, and the accompanying photo featured the broad, bare-chested former Universal Champion with a golden retriever standing on its hind legs against him. Lance Marshall was smiling, real joy in his eyes.

''You have got to be kidding me.''

Somehow, she doubted Alexandra Pierce had a sense of humor about these things.

''Nng... hon, the phone's ringing.''

Alanna Marshall never thought she could be so tired. Her treatments sapped her energy, and that was before she factored in caring for a rambunctious preteen or a golden retriever. So where she used to be up before seven on her days off, nowadays, she relished sleeping until nine. She felt like an old lady going to bed before eleven, but today had been a very long day.

Her husband tapped the spacebar to pause his movie, tugging an earbud out as he glanced down to the caller ID box. ''650 is up north, isn't it?'' Lance asked, one brow quirked. ''San Francisco?''

''Maybe?'' The Hawaiian Lioness was already drifting off. ''Just answer...''

The big man's ham hock of a hand dwarfed the receiver as he lifted it to his ear. ''Marshall residence,'' he said, a lilt at the end almost making it a question.

''Oh, thank God.'' Quinn didn't even try to feign the relief in her voice; she had no desire to try to con the Lion into helping her. ''I was sure you'd be asleep.''

''Lani is.'' Lance tossed the bed sheet off, easing out of bed as gently as his bulk would allow. ''I was watching a movie.'' Both his brows lifted. ''This is Quinn, right?''

''Oh! Sorry, yeah. It's just been a little bit hectic.'' A smile drifted in and out of the girl's voice. ''Listen, I'm sorry for... for, you know, calling late or whatever. But she was adamant.''

''She... your mother, you mean?'' Marshall padded barefoot down the hall, his voice down until he reached the kitchen. ''What's wrong?''

''It's just... it's Mom, you know? So it's a little bit...'' She chirped a sigh. ''It's complicated.'' Gregory was struggling with how much she should tell him – not to mention how to go about it. ''Think you could make a 6:40 flight from LAX to San Francisco? Or is that too early?''

''Probably. Why? What's going on? Is your mom... is everything all right?''

''Hrm? Oh! No, it's nothing like that. She's just... she got arrested or whatever, and she really doesn't want Amy involved.''

''Arrested?'' Lance only realized he shouted after he'd said the word, and dropped down onto the sofa. ''Arrested? For what?''

''Uh... pickpocketing stuff, I'd guess. It's nothing serious or anything like that. She doesn't do stuff like that.'' Quinn sighed again. ''Look, I can meet you at the airport in San Francisco, and then—''

The Lion raised a hand, even though the girl couldn't see it. ''Whoa, hold on. I haven't said I'll go yet.'' He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing at the back of his neck. ''You've got to tell me what's going on, Quinn.''

''I... I can't.'' Gregory's voice was quiet, small. ''Look, I know you and Mom don't really... really get along or see eye-to-eye or... or however you want to say that you've been fighting for years. But she's trying to change – she's trying so hard. With Amy gone, she doesn't have anyone but me to lean on, you know?''

A small whimper slipped through, quickly stifled. ''I'm just sixteen, okay? I like to pretend I'm not, but, hey, I don't know everything. I don't have anyone to lean on anymore. Mom... she's a wreck, and I haven't seen Amy since they split up. I know you want to know what's going on, but can you just... just trust me? I can babysit, or help out around the house or—''

''Quinn,'' Lance interjected softly. ''I'll be on that flight.''

''Wait, really?''

''You had me at 'babysit'.'' He hoped she could hear the grin. ''I'll see you tomorrow.''

He could certainly hear hers. ''I'll be there with bells on.'' She paused. ''Not... not literally, though.''

With that, the call ended, and Lance leaned back in the chair. Now all he had to do was convince Alanna, pack, and try to catch some sleep before being up for the flight at oh-dark-thirty.

''Another day in the life,'' he muttered, pushing up out of the couch.

If you ever want to see the world's airports, become a professional wrestler. Lance Marshall had lost count of how many different airports he'd visited – there had been some times in the old days when he would lose track of whether he was coming and going, but at least in those days, he'd have someone to keep him company. When he wheeled his suitcase off the small plane early Wednesday morning, Lance was alone, and he still wasn't quite used to that fact. He missed being able to turn to her and make a joke or point out something.

He imagined they'd have quite a bit of fun with the auburn-haired girl in the sweater dress who stood just outside security, for example. Lance paused along the far wall, sliding his iPhone open with his thumb. His jaw was clenched – it was one of those nervous habits that Alanna used to point out. She'd use an elbow in the ribs or a kiss along the jaw, and he'd relax for a few minutes.

It was another thing he was missing with her home and him here.

''Hi.'' The voice behind him was quiet (just once he'd like someone in this family to yell). ''Don't turn around yet.''

''Quinn?'' His eyebrows lifted.

''When you turn around, it's going to be weird, but I promise there's a logical explanation.'' She sighed, swallowing loud enough that he could hear it. ''Okay, you can turn.''

The big man did, and his eyes widened at the girl with the reddish-brown hair standing behind him. ''Quinn?'' he repeated.

''Hi,'' the girl said awkwardly. ''Thanks for coming.'' She rocked up to her toes (not as far a journey in her Mary Janes as it would have been in her sneakers), wrapping the Lion up in a half-hearted hug.

It took Lance a moment to return it. When they separated, ice blue eyes met the girl's gaze. ''What is going on?''

Quinn glanced over her shoulder, touching her hand to the back of her neck. ''Here.'' She took his hand, pulling him down the concourse. ''This way.''

One did not pull Lance Marshall far against his will. ''Quinn.'' His whisper was sharp – perhaps sharper than he intended. ''You've got to tell me what's going on here. Why are you dressed like this?''

His outburst wasn't unexpected, but Gregory still rocked back a step. ''She said never to talk about these things in the airport, so... I'm going to listen.''

Lance blew out a sigh, his jaw tensing again. ''No.'' He shook his head. ''No. We're going to talk right now or I'm booking a flight home. I don't know what Alex is up to, but I'm—''

''All right!'' Quinn raised both hands, forestalling the rest of Marshall's sentence. ''Just... come here, okay?'' She pushed into the ladies' room, holding the door open. ''Come on...'' She waved frantically. ''We don't have a lot of time.''

Lance growled at the back of his throat, stepping into the restroom. Gregory quickly pushed open the stalls to make sure they were empty, one after the other. ''Okay, we should be safe now.''

'''Safe'?'' Like most of the locker room, the Marshalls only had a cursory idea of what Alexandra Pierce did in her time away from an SCCW ring. Until recently, they hadn't really wanted to know – you're better off not asking what the Devil does when she's not trying to steal your soul.

''Mom is... you know she's getting her private investigator's license?'' The teen smiled a little – proudly, Lance decided. ''One of her clients was, like, totally set up. The police found some evidence – real particular stuff – and Mom went to the bad part of town, trying to find out who planted the evidence.''

''And she got arrested?''

''And she got arrested, yep.''

Marshall leaned back against the sink, nodding slightly. ''So why the clothes, the wig? Why all this secrecy?''

''It wasn't Alex Pierce who was there.'' She knotted her hands at her waist. ''You, uh... you know what she can do. You've seen it on the shows.''

His smile was small. ''She still owes me for that Blu-ray player we gave Charlotte.''

''It's actually in my bedroom.'' She matched his grin. ''It kind of rules entirely.''

Lance sighed. ''So let me get this straight: your mother is in jail, only the police don't actually know it's her?''

Gregory nodded again. ''Pretty much. Trouble is, the longer she's in there, the... the bigger chance that someone figures it out. It's the same precinct that investigated the thing with Aunt Lori, and... it'd be messy.''

''So that's it? You just need me to walk in to a police station and post bail for her?''

''I'm too young to do it, and... and, y'know, things with Amy are kind of... kind of really messed up right now. Like... really bad, and I—''

The door pushed open, a pair of laughing voices on the other side of the door. Quinn crossed the distance between them in a single stride, wrapping both arms around Lance's neck and collapsing against him in surprisingly believable sobs. ''I'm... I'm sorry!'' she wailed. ''I know this is a lot to put on you, but...''

Marshall's surprise faded quickly as he patted the girl on the shoulder, guiding her out of the restroom. The two women fell silent, but he was fairly sure they'd gossip the moment the door shut.

The moment it did, Quinn straightened, brushing off his shirt with one hand. ''Sorry if I slobbered.'' Her smile was small – and, for the first time, nervous. ''If you want to go home, I'm sure Mom won't mind paying for the ticket, but if not, we have to go.''

''You're not telling me everything, are you?''

''I'm telling you everything I can.'' Quinn glanced to the side. ''Anything else, you'll have to get from Mom. Please, Mr. Marshall... if I need to find someone else, if you're going to get on a flight home, I kinda need to know now.''

It was a long moment before Lance responded, the two of them walking side by side down the concourse. The wait was an agonizing one for the girl. ''All right,'' he said finally. ''But just this once, and we're not so much as breaking the speed limit, okay?''

''Promise.''

It was took twenty minutes to get a rental car, and another half-hour to drive to the San Leandro Police Department. They made the two of them wait – delaying them for the detectives, in all likelihood. Lance watched Quinn beside him, marveling at how well the girl maintained the role. Only the death grip she had on his hand kept him from believing she was every bit the aloof, disappointed daughter.

Morante didn't even try to hide his grin. ''Great, then I'll leave you two lovebirds alone for a moment. Dianna – Detective Brooks – wants to talk to you again before you leave.''

The fit Quinn pitched when the odious detective showed them into holding cell had been pretty impressive, however – enough that the man followed her out to watch her stew, leaving Marshall and Pierce alone for a brief moment.

Alexandra Pierce touched one hand to the bars, hot pink nails vivid against the drab gray steel. ''What are you doing here?''

''That's a bit of a story. One I think I only have part of.''

''You came anyway.''

''Your daughter can be very convincing.''

''She is, at that.''

He rubbed at the back of his neck. ''Should have you out of here in a half-hour or so. More if that detective really wants to interview us.''

''Don't say anything,'' Alex cautioned. ''Quinn is a natural, and—'' She cut herself off with a sigh. ''And thank you.''

Dianna Brooks did want to interview her, but a fire in the evidence room distracted most of the precinct, and by the time the detectives realized they were gone, they were gone.

The clerk at the Motel 6 didn't look away from Alex's chest the entire time he booked her reservation, and while Marshall's fists were balled at his sides, a simple touch from her daughter to his forearm kept the Lion's temper in check.

''What do we need the room for?'' Lance asked.

''I need to change.'' Pierce explained. ''This dress is awful. We won't be here long, but try not to touch anything.'' She strode briskly for the bathroom, words trailing behind her. ''Quinn?''

''Yeah, Mom?'' Gregory unpinned the auburn wig with a great deal less ceremony than her mother favored.

''I'm starving.'' Alex stuck her head out through the door. ''You want to walk up to Jack in the Box and pick up some breakfast?''

The teen blinked, her hands pausing. ''I could, but I thought that maybe we could—''

Two sets of colored contact lenses met across the room. ''Please?'' The Spider's brows rose.

''Oh, it's 'adults have to talk' time.'' She rolled her eyes. ''Yeah, no problem. Half-hour enough?''

''Should be fine.'' Alex ran the shower as the girl gathered her purse. ''Thank you.''

Quinn stepped towards the door, but Marshall stopped her, partially blocking her path. ''You don't have to go,'' he said.

''It's fine.'' Gregory smiled. ''You wanted your answers, and she needs someone to talk to that's not me.'' She ducked out the door with a slight skip in her step.

Lance sighed again, crossing the room to sit down on the bed. He heeded Pierce's warning, and didn't even turn on the television. Nearly ten minutes passed before the water in the bathroom was turned off, and the woman who stepped out was a lot closer to the hard-edged redhead he'd come to know and loathe (and begrudgingly respect) over the last ten years.

''Again, sorry,'' Alex said, scrubbing a towel through her hair. ''It wasn't my intent to drag you all the way up here for me.''

''Don't worry about it.'' Lance didn't raise his voice or even stand. ''What happened?''

Pierce sighed. ''It's... it's complicated.''

''She said the same thing, you know.'' His smile was warm – it was always warm, Alex thought. '''It's complicated'. What does that even mean?''

''It means... it means I don't really want to talk about it.''

''I came all the way up here, Alexandra. I didn't ask many questions. You and I have never been...''

Alex drew her terrycloth robe tight against her shoulders, padding barefoot to a pea green, wood-framed chair. ''No, we haven't,'' she said quietly. ''What did my daughter tell you?''

Despite the casual situation, the Lion stretched out on the bed, the Spider curled into a chair, there was always an unspoken weight between them. They might not always be comfortable in their positions, but they'd always be at opposite ends of the light and dark spectrum. The fact that Pierce was seeking to slide along that scale didn't change what she'd done – what she'd done to him – and they both knew that.

''Just that you were investigating someone who'd been framed and ended up arrested for picking pockets.''

''And that's the truth.''

Lance's sigh was increasingly frustrated. ''But not all of it.''

''Not all, no.'' Alex tipped her head to the side, curling her legs up onto the chair. ''Like I said, I'd really rather not talk about it.''

''Ordinarily, I'd agree, but... what I can't figure out is why. What does getting arrested stealing some small-time crook's wallet get you?''

''Nothing.'' Pierce sighed. ''That's the problem.''

''Then what...'' He put up his hands. ''It's not my place. I'll confess that I probably don't want to know.''

''You don't, no.'' She toyed with a frayed thread along the armrest of the chair. ''I heard they caught the man who took Zachary. I heard the man died.''

Lance looked up, his brow wrinkling. ''I'm not... we're not going to talk about that, either.''

They fell into an awkward silence. Despite their shared occupation, they didn't have anything in common, really – nothing to talk about past the obvious. Marshall flipped on the television as they waited for Quinn's return, the low murmur of the morning news a disquieting background noise.

Alex never looked at the screen, staring off into space. It wasn't long before she spoke again. ''Sex,'' she said, eyes welling.

''What?''

''I picked the man's pocket, the man who did this thing.'' She looked up, gray eyes burning with tears. ''I hoped to infiltrate his organization, to prove they... planted the evidence. And it was going so well, but...'' She curled a finger across her cheek, catching a tear. ''But he wanted me to touch him. To...'' She swallowed hard. ''And I know I should stop thinking about it, but... but I miss her. I miss her all the time.''

''I understand.''

''No.'' Alex shook her head. ''I don't think you do. I've done some horrible things, you know that – I've done them to you. And I honestly never cared. They were... they were expedient. But two years ago, I did something horrible, something unconscionable. Beyond the scope of a wrestling ring. And I can never be forgiven for that, no matter how much I want to be.''

''What did you do?''

Pierce met Marshall's gaze, his blue eyes softer than she'd ever seen them before, and she couldn't hold that gaze. ''There was a party,'' she mumbled. ''No, I threw a party. I threw a party and I invited Amy. I invited Amy and...'' Her shoulders shook. ''And I had her drugged. I deliberately reintroduced her to her cocaine habit.''

Lance swung his legs off the bed, his elbows planted on his knees, his back to her. ''Why?'' He wet suddenly dry lips. ''Why would you do something like that?''

''Because it was expedient.'' She spat the word like it was a curse. ''Because I need – needed – to control things. You can hate me for it. Add your name to the list of people – Amy and Jared and Quinn, even if she won't admit it, even to herself. And me. Oh, God, do I hate myself.''

''Alex, I don't... don't even know what to say here.''

''No one does.'' Pierce wiped harder at her eyes, as if the force could put her back in control. ''There's not anything anyone can say that can make me feel better. No way to say, 'Oh, I'm sorry you fell in love with the woman you made into a cokehead'. So scream at me if you want. Lash out. Hit me. I... I really don't care anymore.''

''I'm not going to hit you, Alex. I'm just... I'm surprised.''

''Because you never thought I could sink so low?''

''Because you care enough to feel guilty.'' Lance turned over his shoulder. ''I've never seen you guilty before. I've seen you pretend to be guilty, but... I've never seen you actually feel it. It's... 'nice' is a bad word for it, but I'm not the wordsmith you are.''

''Stop that.'' Her glare hardened, flinty pinpricks in an alabaster face.

''Stop what?''

''Being so fucking great about everything. I don't deserve your kindness. I don't deserve that from anyone. I have done... so many bad things I can't even keep track, and I'm trying to make up for my sins, and I was doing it for her. So that she wasn't scared to be around me. So that she'd stay with me. I was selfish. I was greedy. I was—''

''You were in love.'' Lance ran his hand through his hair. ''I know what that's like.''

Her smile was bitter, fracturing even as it formed. ''That's not enough, though, is it? I would have given up anything. I would give up my life to be with her, but that isn't enough, because she can't even look at me without... without seeing what I've done. I know because I can't look in the mirror without seeing this monster I am. Is this how everyone else sees me?''

''It might be.'' Marshall pushed himself up to his feet. ''It's the way I once saw you. But it's not how I see you any more.''

''I'm a shell of my former self.'' She lifted her chin defiantly. ''Is that what you're going to say? I'm as frightening as a Scooby-Doo cartoon.''

Lance crossed the distance between them in a heartbeat. ''You are one of the most talented wrestlers in the whole world. Your performance in the GTT Tournament is proof of that.''

He grabbed his former enemy by the arms, dragging her bodily from the chair. ''And you are better than this. I'm watching you change, change in ways that I never thought possible, but if you're doing all this for her—''

''I know, I know...'' Alex waved her hand through the air. ''I need to do this for myself, right? Because I want it. If I do this for her, for some twisted hope that she'll realize I'm not the horrible monster she thinks I am and come back to me, then when she inevitably laughs in my face, I'm going to burn out. Flame out and be worse some day. I've heard it before, and I understand it, but... what other reason is there?''

Alex wrenched herself from his loose grip, stalking across the room, just to get some distance between them. ''Don't tell me to do it for myself – don't you dare. Because I don't deserve to be saved. Part of me doesn't want to be saved. You know I've already thought about how easy it would be to turn to you, desperate, alone, and contrite. Collapse in your arms, make the 'mistake' of losing myself.'' She met his gaze across the room. ''I've already considered trying to ruin your marriage. Who does things like that?''

''If you're trying to drive me away, to get me to give up on you... it's not going to work, Alex.'' Marshall didn't move or dare approach – he knew how fragile this all was. ''I'm not going to abandon you.''

''Why not?'' Pierce's whispery voice cracked. ''Why the fuck not? I just told you I wouldn't even be going out of my way to ruin your marriage, and that's not enough to make you mad at me? Are you even human?''

''Yes, I'm human. I love my wife. I adore our son.'' Lance circled the chair, leaning on the back of it. ''And if you did that, things would be different. But that's the thing – I don't believe you will do it. I'm sure you've thought about it – I don't pretend to know how your brain works, but you can't be expected to turn that kind of thing off.''

The Lion was a pacer – always had been. It was something he picked up years ago, when he'd launch into speeches back when cameras from the National Wrestling Council followed him around, and he'd be asked for comment about his week's opponent. It was a habit he never managed to break.

''But I think you have changed. I think you know, just like I do, that this kind of thing doesn't happen overnight.'' Those ice-blue eyes flashed as they met hers. ''I used to do bad things. And I can say I let my temper get the best of me, or that it was the liquor talking... but that's not true. Not really.''

''Don't speech at me, Lance. You haven't done half of what I have done, okay?''

Again, Marshall leaned on that chair. ''You're right. I don't know what you've done, but I know what I've done. You think I'm a Boy Scout, that I'm some shining beacon of righteousness. But I've been there. I've crawled out of the hole you're in—''

''Ten years ago, Lance.'' She spun to fix him with an angry, tear-filled glare. ''Ten fucking years. Don't pretend this was yesterday, that you're still clawing out of the abyss.''

''I am. I'm still clawing.'' He blew out a sigh. ''I'd love to tell you that what you're going through will stop. But it doesn't stop. It's a hard road. Every day, you'll be given the chance to do these things, and everyday you're going to have to fight that desire.''

''Why? Why should I try? If she's not going to... to be with me, then why not go back? I wasn't happy then, but at least I wasn't fucking miserable all the time.''

''I don't know.'' He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. ''I can't answer that question for you. All that I know is you can't keep this all bottled up, and that you can't do this by yourself.''

She sunk down onto the bed. ''I don't have anyone else. I've given up so much, burned so many bridges. Amy is gone, Hawke and Ashe would be risking everything they have to stand with me, and I'm all alone. People used to fear me because of what I could do to them, and now they shun me because of what I have done.''

''Quinn is there for you.''

''I won't bring her into this, no matter how much she wants to be a part of it.''

Lance finally crossed back to the bed. ''I know I may be overstepping my bounds, but... she's your daughter. She's going to be a part of what you do, no matter what you try. You can either embrace her to keep her safe, or she'll tag along anyway. She's a fantastic girl. You should be proud.''

''I would be if I did anything to deserve it.'' Alex's chin was tucked against her chest, her hands at her waist. ''She's that way without my help – maybe despite it. Someday, she'll realize what the rest of you have: I'm only good at being the bad guy. I don't deserve anything, and certainly not someone as consistently great as Quinn. I don't want her to get hurt, sure – but I don't want to hurt her.''

''Oh, Mom...'' Neither of them had heard the Devil's Daughter reenter the room. She set down the paper bags, crossing the room. ''You do deserve it. You're smart and caring and... and I'm so scared that you're going to give up. I'm scared all the time. Please don't give up.'' The girl took her mother's hands. ''It feels right to do this, to help people. You said it yourself.''

''Is that enough?'' Alex lifted her gaze to the girl's. ''It used to feel good to hurt people. What if I—''

''Stop worrying about 'what if'.'' Gregory settled down onto her knees. ''Stop being scared you'll slip up. Stop being frightened that I'll abandon you, because I'm not going anywhere. Just... let it happen.''

''Let it happen?''

''Let it happen,'' the girl repeated. ''I'll be here. I think Lance will be here.''

''I will.'' He put his hand on the teen's shoulder. ''I know we've never been close, but anytime you want to talk, I'm available. Day or night. You don't even have to get arrested.'' He grinned.

''Amy will come around. Jared will pull his head out of his ass. But we're doing real good here, helping people who don't have anyone else. You can't give up now, and you need to stop beating yourself up all the time.''

Pierce collapsed back onto the bed. ''I miss her,'' she murmured.

''I know you do.'' Quinn managed a smile. ''I miss her, too. But as long as you're helping people, she's here with us in spirit.''

''Okay.''

''Okay?'' Dark brows rose behind the teen's glasses. ''That's it?''

''I'm too tired to fight. I haven't slept an entire night since Amy left me. I got lucky with Johnny. And I'm done fighting, done crying all the time. So, yeah. 'Okay' is all I've got.''

Lance retreated to the door, smiling softly. ''I'll leave you two alone, then.''

''No, wait.'' Quinn pivoted back up to her feet. She snatched up one of the bags. ''Here. It's a Supreme Croissant; I hope you like it. I changed your return to the 2:40 flight back to LAX.'' She smiled through a sheen of tears that hadn't faded. ''I'd go with you, but—''

''I understand.'' For such a big man, Marshall's smile could be a very soft thing. ''Take care of her. And if you ever need me...''

''I'll call.'' One side of the girl's smile rose higher than the other. ''Promise.''

He opened the door, stopped by the Spider's shaky whisper. ''Lance?'' He turned, and she lifted her head up, pillowed by her hand. ''I can't begin to thank you enough. If you ever need me for anything—''

''I know,'' he said. ''Get some rest, Alex. And don't forget about Xavier.''

''Oh, believe me, I won't. Neither of us want to deal with him if he manages to beat me.''

With that and nothing more, Lance slipped out of the room. Quinn crossed to the window, slipping the curtains closed, before dropping onto the bed beside Pierce, who had her iPhone in hand, thumb rapidly tapping the keyboard.

''What are you doing?'' Quinn asked. ''You said you were going to get some rest.''

''I know. And I will.''

The text message went to Lance, his phone buzzing against his hip as he climbed into a yellow cab for the drive back to San Francisco International.

''You're right, the message read. ''I can't do this alone.''

But that is a tale for another time.

Sixteen days later
The Royal Hawaiian Hotel
Honolulu, HI

They were so ubiquitous, they were almost part of the scenery – men and women (well, mostly women) in smart business suits and carrying clipboards, floating salespeople meant to sell wide-eyed tourists on the purchase of a timeshare on the property. They were the worst parts of salesman and real estate agent, striking a delicate balance between closing the deal and annoying guests that just paid a couple of thousand dollars for staying at the hotel.

Many of the high-dollar properties didn't use them – they made enough from the room rates alone that the sale of a condo or two wouldn't make or break them. The Royal Hawaiian tried to find the middle ground, their salespeople also part concierge, encouraged to mingle with the guests. Make the guests comfortable, then the rest followed naturally. It was a concept they picked up from the high-dollar whale hunters at the hotels in Las Vegas.

The woman with the pinned-up honey-blond hair fit in with the rest – deep blue blazer, skirt cut just above the knee, clipboard in hand, gold nametag reading ''Eileen'' – but she wasn't actually in the employ of the hotel. She actually had an ocean view room upstairs, and a voice in her ear as she waited.

Alexandra Pierce fell into a role better than most actors in Hollywood. Eileen was businesslike and friendly, helping one family make their reservation for the Cultural Center, and never letting on that she was waiting for someone in particular.

Quick, sharp steps carried her through the door of the hotel's famous Mai Tai Bar, unaware the bar had another guest. Amy Campbell sat at the bar itself, three hundred dollar sunglasses over her mismatched eyes, her stoplight hair pulled back in a lazy tail. Unlike the rest of the patrons, who were in shorts (or less), Campbell still wore her blue jeans and sneakers.

''No, no sign yet,'' Alex murmured. It was a risk to run a game at the same hotel she was staying in – the one that most of the SCCW superstars were staying in, actually. But risk bred reward, and the fish she was looking for would make the evening worthwhile.

Well, they would if they'd ever fucking show up.

Pierce adjusted her eyeglasses – stylish (if she said so herself) no-prescription transition lenses – overlooking the patrons. Maybe it was the hair, maybe it was the gauged ears, but she froze in place like a deer in headlights.

When she finally impelled herself into motion, the Spider stepped around a pillar, her sigh sharp. ''Amy's in the bar.''

''Amy as in—'' the voice began.

''Amy as in Amy.'' She stepped to a bench, putting her foot up on the seat to adjust her shoe. ''We need a new place. Find me something.''

''There's nothing we could get in time. You picked Honolulu in March, the week of some big event you might be familiar with.''

Alex turned her face away from the bar, offering a slight smile to a passing couple. ''So you're saying I need to clear her out of the bar?''

''Or make her okay with it.''

''That's a little more unlikely.'' Alex tugged the hem of her blazer sharply – it was an old habit of hers from the days she wore a pantsuit more frequently. ''I'll get it done.''

Pierce's heels clicked on the tile as she crossed to the phone on the wall. ''Front desk,'' the chipper-voiced woman on the other line said.

''Hi,'' Alex trilled. ''Could you page Amy Campbell to a white courtesy phone? She seems to have left her wallet down here at the bar.''

''No problem.''

The Spider retreated to a nearby vantage point. She wanted to just go to her, to talk to her. Dimly, Alex remembered the message she'd left, and her cheeks colored with shame. They'd talk soon. Just... not right then. Maybe not for a while.

A five-star hotel like the Royal Hawaiian wasted no time, especially for their VIP guests. ''Amy Campbell to a white courtesy phone, please?'' It was the same woman. ''Amy Campbell to a white courtesy phone.''

Alex watched as Amy's head lifted, but the little redhead didn't move from her stool, taking another sip from whatever fruity-with-a-little-umbrella concoction she had in front of her. Campbell lifted her BlackBerry, checking the face of it, her lips curling into an expression partway between a frown and a scowl.

''Damn,'' Pierce said. ''She's waiting for someone, in incognito mode. We're going to have to do it with her here.''

''Are you nuts?'' Coach was displeased. ''She'll make you. Just talk to her.''

''No.'' It was a little louder than the disguised Spider wanted it, her back turned to the bar. ''I'm not...''

''Allie...'' It was a different voice, a woman, but with a voice harder than Coach's. ''I know there's issues here or whatev, but we're on a timetable here.''

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. ''This is a bad idea.'' She still drifted that way, sharing a few warm words with a couple of college kids en route to the bar. ''A really bad idea.''

Pierce approached from behind, trying to seem haphazard about it. Instinctively, her hand reached out – surely just one touch wouldn't be bad, right? – but she forced it to her side. It wasn't her place to touch. Alex put her back to Amy, smiling for the thick Samoan man behind the bar. ''Club soda, no ice,'' she said, tapping glittering red nails on the gleaming bartop.

Good as she was, Amy was quite certain that Pierce wouldn't have been able to hear her heart stop in her chest. It took her a moment to decide the course of action – the odds that Alex didn't know she was there were ridiculously slim, so she just sighed and grumbled to the bartender. ''I need another shot. Same thing I've been having.'' Her voice got softer in a hurry, gesturing to where Alex wasn't looking at her. ''One for her, too.''

''Don't click your nails on the counter,'' she continued to no one. ''You know the sound bothers me, and they always used to scrape.''

The sound stopped immediately, even though she didn't turn. ''Can't drink on duty, ma'am.'' Alex hadn't intended to whisper the words, but she couldn't find her voice.

''I insist.'' Amy didn't look up, not immediately.

Pierce nodded slightly, a sigh slipping out. ''All right, just don't tell anyone.'' The words were more for the man than the woman. The smile over her shoulder was supposed to be a bright one – it's what she told the muscles of her face to make, they just weren't listening. ''Hope you're enjoying your stay?''

The college kids saddled up to the bar, and the man turned away, two new shots and the glass of club soda left in his wake. Alex only half-turned, trying to cook up a smile but mostly failing.

''Been missing someone, actually,'' Amy answered. ''Their bad acting, not so much.''

''I'm sorry,'' Alex began. ''I'm—''

Campbell raised a hand. ''I really don't want to know.''

Pierce folded her hands atop the bar, fingertips retracted. ''Walk with me?'' She finally turned to face the smaller, seated woman. ''Just for a moment? Someplace less... open?''

Alex didn't have a chance to touch her shot before they both disappeared, and Amy slipped off her barstool. ''Fine.''

To all appearances, it was just another case of one of the salespeople getting to a tourist. Campbell's frown stretched a little as she watched Alex pull the clipboard in front of her, looking down as if referring to it. As if she was giving a tour.

''Can you... not?'' the smaller redhead asked.

''Not what?''

Amy's irritation grew, but she knew Alex wasn't trying to aggravate her – when she wore a wig, it was like there was another brain sharing Pierce's head.

Didn't make it any less irritating. ''This. I don't want a condo here, so I don't want to talk to...'' She peered at the nametag. ''Eileen.''

''To be fair, you don't want to talk to Alexandra very much, either.'' Alex's shoulders bunched when she was nervous, and she couldn't quite meet that mismatched gaze. Finally, the clipboard dropped to the side, and Pierce stopped. ''This isn't how I imagined this happening.''

''I had no doubt I'd run into you while you were playing somebody else.'' Amy shrugged. ''And don't tell me what I do and don't want, all I ever wanted was to be able to trust you at all.''

''I know.'' Pierce shrugged one shoulder. ''And I wish I could change the fact that you don't. I never deserved that trust, no matter how much it...'' She swallowed as she turned, blinking rapidly. ''I'm not going to rehash it. I just... this has been hard for me. Hard for both of us, I know. We work together, and it was stupid of me to think we could avoid each other.''

Alex settled onto a bench, looking down. ''You know, I'd change everything. I'd tell you the truth from the start. I wouldn't do it at all.'' She looked down, running hand through the pinned-up wig. ''Even if it meant I never got to spend that time with you, even if I had to be Desade forever, I'd still take it all back right now if I could.''

''I'd like that, too.'' Amy half-turned away, her jaw set. She refused to be moved. ''But it's not in the cards.''

''No...'' Pierce's sigh was sharp – it was that sound that hurt Amy more than anything the disguised redhead said. ''No, it's not.'' When Alex lifted her head, her false blue eyes were shining. ''Is this how it's going to be all the time? I know we can't be what we were, but... is this the only other choice?''

''That's something only time is gonna decide.'' Amy looked to the ground. ''And if it's any consolation, my life is all kinds of upside-down right now. Not speaking to my 'father', and I don't even have a best friend to talk to about it, because I had to go sleep with him and fuck things up.''

The bar wasn't empty – there was the general murmur of conversation, the clink of glasses, and splashes from the small pool just off the side. But still, the silence between them in that moment was deafening. Alex didn't move – she didn't dare move. She wouldn't look up. She hardly even breathed.

''Oh,'' she said finally, breathlessly. She pulled sharply at the hem of her blazer. ''I see.''

''I'm gonna take a stab in the dark and assume I know which part of what I just said turned you all ice-queenish.'' The little redhead moved a little closer to her ex – which still felt strange to think. ''I never, ever cheated. Didn't even think about it,'' she said. ''And I'm far too damaged to be looking for anything right now.''

''How long did...'' Pierce stood in a rush of motion – of emotion, reaching up to yank the hidden bud out of her ear. ''No. Forget it. None of my business. I can't... I have to go. Good luck on Suh—on Sunday.'' Her head down, the taller redhead turned to slip past.

Amy blocked that move bodily, reaching an arm to the side for extra measure. There was a touch, however light, across Pierce's abdomen that kept her back. ''No, no. Ask anything. It's the only way to get past this and end up somewhere near 'friends' again.''

Alex's brows knit over miserable blue eyes. She still wouldn't lift them to the other woman. ''I-I can't,'' she whispered, nearly swallowing her tongue. ''Okay? I can't. I don't want to know anything... I'm not enough in control to know anything. I wanted to hurt him for wanting to be with you. To find out that he was? I can't – I won't.''

''Al—''

''I love you,'' she said desperately. ''I will always love you. Only you. It could only ever have been you.''

''Nobody is 'with' me, Alex, and that's not the way it was. Don't hate him or want to hurt him – it's what I wanted at the time, probably because I can't seem to have any sort of companionship without fucking it up roya—Look,'' Campbell interrupted herself. ''I know you don't want to hear these things, and I certainly don't deserve to be loved by anybody right now... but you need to deal with this. I can't hear 'I love you' from you, it... it's just not good for either of us.''

She sighed finally, putting a hand to Pierce's arm. ''And I have a selfish request. Would a hug be okay? I mean, I'm not here to ruin your day, but it's hard to see you and not want to make it as okay as I can...''

Pierce lifted her face, but her eyes were still slit shut. ''I can't very well lie to you. Not if I intend to prove I've changed.'' When her eyes finally opened, there were tears there, and it took every bit of her iron will to keep them in. ''But... but I'd like that hug, yeah.''

''I think you've changed, you know that. I just can't deal with what's already happened. I'll always doubt; it won't matter what's on the horizon. C'mere.''

Alex rose into Amy's arms, nearly shaking with the effort of controlling herself. Campbell's hug was soft, gentle – loose, but loving. Pierce's was tighter, and she lost her first few tears in that embrace. ''I'm so sorry,'' Alex whispered, and Amy would've had to been as close as she was to have heard it. ''So sorry.''

''I know you are,'' Amy murmured. Like Pierce, Campbell thought she'd run out of tears these last few weeks, only to continually be proven wrong. ''I know.''

She drew the taller woman (taller even in those hears) down as she tightened her own arms. The gentlest touch of Amy's lips to Alex's cheek was meant as a reassuring gesture.

''I'll make this up to you,'' the Spider sobbed. ''I don't know how, I don't know where, but I will find a way. I will...'' She turned, nuzzling her nose against Amy's cheek. It was arguably pathetic and entirely sad, but it turned Campbell's head, and Alex's thin lips pursed.

On the list of things Alexandra Pierce wanted in that moment, a kiss – a single, honest kiss – would have ranked pretty high. As with much of that list, she was denied that chance, as Amy pulled back slightly, just out of the range of the other woman's lips.

''Sorry,'' Pierce whispered. ''I just...''

''I know.'' Amy retracted, wiping clammy hands on the hips of her jeans.

It took Pierce a moment longer to straighten, twining her hands together to keep them off the smaller woman. ''If you ever need anything – anything – or you just want to talk...''

''I know where to find you.'' Amy smiled. ''And eventually, I will.''

When Pierce smiled, it was the first one – the first real one, at least – that she'd managed in nearly a month. Even when she won the GTT – the greatest moment in her wrestling career – Alex's first thoughts had been a simple one.

God, I wish she was here to share this with me.

Alex didn't know that Amy had smiled then, ensconced in a hotel room by herself, the wet bar raided for a potion that would've stopped a grown man in his tracks. Alex didn't know that despite it all, despite everything that had happened, that Campbell was happy for her. She'd raised her plastic cup as, on-screen, Alex fell to her knees after she hit the Spider's Kiss out of nowhere to earn a victory over Garbage Bag Johnny, before her daughter slid under the bottom rope to tackle her.

What Alex didn't know was part of Amy wished she were there, too.

That was almost a month earlier. So much had happened in that month, that all that was left between them was the surprising fragility in both women as Amy retreated. ''I've...'' Campbell hooked a thumb behind her. ''I'm going to be late for an interview about the main.''

''Yeah.'' When Alex tugged on Eileen's blazer, it was gentler than it had been earlier. ''I've got... uh, this thing. I'll see you around?''

''Of course.'' Amy tried to stretch her smile into a grin, but could only manage for a moment. ''Good luck on Sunday. And I don't know what you're doing tonight, but be careful?''

''I will.''

Campbell retreated into the hotel, and Pierce fit back in her earpiece, ''Coach'' in the middle of what was probably a quite extensive rant.

''—don't particularly give a shit about your love life, but you've got a—''

''I'm here.'' Alex tried to gather her bearings, the lingering scent of Amy's peach shampoo still filling her nostrils. ''ETA?''

''They're coming in now. You sure you can do this?''

''Sure as I'll ever be.''

Short, quick strides – just this side of running – carried Alexandra Pierce back into the hotel, just as a group of men pushed through the hotel's massive, filigreed double-doors. As they'd arranged, none of the other concierges were available in that moment, so it was Eileen that stopped before them, her smile wide and plastic.

''Welcome to the Royal Hawaiian,'' she trilled. ''My name is Eileen, and I'll be taking care of you today. Gentlemen, lady... let's go get you checked in, shall we?''

She stepped out of the way, letting them continue past. Her eyes only skimmed briefly over Ken Truong, his thick brows beetled over his eyes, landing on the only woman among them.

Julissa Minorez let a smile play across her lips, leaning just so on Jadian Bridden, just enough to guide the self-proclaimed ''GateWire'' Champion towards the front desk. Bridden didn't even notice Alex as he plucked his stylish, designer sunglasses off, tucking them into the collar of a button-down, tiger-printed silk dress shirt.

He also didn't see his Minorez' hand drop behind her as she pressed her lips to Jadian's cheek. Pierce executed a picture perfect brush-pass, so quick it was unnoticeable. A tiny little fob of a keychain passed from Juli to Alex, and it quickly went from the Spider's hand to another's, the second girl pushing out through the doors and breaking into a run once she was clear.

Alex turned, watching them with eagle eyes, her soul still soaring. There was a light at the end of the tunnel – she knew that now. It wasn't going to be easy to get there, to climb out of this hole, but maybe she could do it. Maybe she could fight to keep her head above water.

Maybe she did deserve the chance to be a better person.

As she'd told Ellie at that fateful Temptation... it's an ongoing process.