“So what’s the story, Isabel?” Michael asked as he flipped through the take out menus. He and Maria were making take out a lifestyle lately, since between their schedule and the car, time was too short to do real cooking.

“What story do you want, exactly?” Isabel was looking him over closely. He looked great. She had forgotten how great he looked after a year of not seeing him, but somehow he looked even better. There had always been a tension about him, almost like he was on alert and not willing to rest, but that seemed to have changed as he now sat loose-limbed and casual next to her.

“Start at what brought you to the loft and not Max’s apartment.” Michael answered offhandedly. He wrote down another item on the list as Maria called it out to him. She was rutting around in the cabinets, refrigerator and pantry. They hadn’t gone grocery shopping in forever and everything was low, to the point of non-existence.

“Detective, add milk to the list-lots of milk. Oh, and chocolate sauce, three cans.” Isabel watched as the young woman in dirty greasy clothes searched the kitchen. Michael’s clothes were just as bad, if not worse.

They had just finished installing the new part into the engine, and all that was left to do was lower the engine back into the car, bolt it down, and reconnect all the hoses, belts and electrical wires. The paint shop was picking up the car first thing in the morning. Isabel sat in the garage watching Michael, Sean and (surprisingly) Maria work on the engine for the last two hours. They had now stopped for food.

“I did go by Max’s first, or can I still call it my home too?” Isabel asked.

“Of course it’s still your home.” Michael searched the list he was making, frowning at the size. “Maria, maybe we should go shopping ourselves instead of calling this in for delivery. It’s looking huge.”

Maria came over and looked at the list, and winced. “You willing to do that? Remember last time?”

Michael shuddered at the thought of them actually perusing the shopping aisles in person. Together. Maria, whose idea of shopping was home delivery, actually went shopping with him once. Since she hadn’t realized the enormous variety that was available, she read practically every label, asked numerous questions, and turned a simple shopping expedition into a three hour nightmare. When they called for food, usually the store sent top of the line and brand name only, so there was never any fuss or problem. After that horrific experience, Maria obtained a detailed list of their local grocery store's inventory and did research on all the products, including price versus quality.

“We’ll call it in. I’ll pay the tip,” Michael said and watched her nod in agreement, as she went back to calling out items they were out of. “Is there any beef jerky left? How about cheese doodles?”

Maria’s head came out of the pantry. “Nope, last poker game took out your stash, so if you're thinking of another game soon, you need everything including frozen pizza rolls.” Maria had a thought, and quickly opened up the wine rack, where they kept their supply of beer. “Add the bootlegger to the list of places to call, we’re down to a six-pack and three bottles of wine, all red and no white.”

Maria looked at Isabel and smiled. “So you went by your apartment before coming over?”

Isabel smiled uncertainly at the woman, still unsure how to take Maria DeLuca. She was a strange woman, and nothing like Isabel was expecting. Michael's last relationship before Maria was a cold, hard-eyed bitch with greed flowing in her veins. But Maria seemed the extreme opposite. She was warm and inviting, obviously had her own money and didn’t need Michael’s, and as far as Isabel could tell, the woman fed half of the Roswell PD.

“Yeah. I dropped off my bag and called the PD. They said both Max and Michael were out of the station for the day, so I came over here since the two of you weren’t at our place. I figured you'd be here.” Isabel looked at Michael, who was looking through menus again. “Guess, I could’ve called first.”

Maria just shrugged. “Why? You’re family. People drop by all the time.” Maria looked at Michael’s growing pile of menus as he tried to decide what to order. Picking them up, Maria dumped them in front of Isabel. “Here. You decide. Just choose what looks good. We usually like the ones with a red mark next to them. If it has an enthusiastic red mark, order it. Order enough for about ten people. Anything you like. Just give them our address. Our credit card is on file and they'll take care of it.”

“There’s going to be ten people eating?” Isabel looked at the two. Her count only had herself, Maria, Michael and Sean so far.

“You're right, order for twelve. Kyle and Max are on their way, and I usually count the ‘boys’ twice and Michael three times, so that should cover it.”

“Lots of food!” Isabel couldn’t grasp the amount needed.

“You’ve got no idea.” Maria looked at Michael and frowned. “You think Kyle will bring Tess again?” Maria looked discreetly at Isabel, but decided that it was Max’s place to inform the woman that she was going to be an aunt.

“Doubt it. The tension today at work was so heavy, you could've sliced it with a knife.” Michael said, but he clammed up too. Max’s news was his to tell. “Iz, I’m partial to Thai, Chinese, Italian, or that barbeque place with a special on beef ribs.”

“Ignore him, Iz. Pick what you feel like eating. Michael will eat anything as long as there’s lots of meat available.” Maria kissed Michael’s nose as she grabbed the grocery list and went off into the living room to quietly call in the huge order.

“I’m choosing Tex-Mex.” Isabel looked at Maria talking in the phone. “I’ll have to wait until Maria is through to call it in.” Michael picked up his cell phone, and passed it to Isabel, listening closely as she called in the order and added a few extra items. Isabel balked at the cost when they gave her the tally. Writing it down she showed Michael and he just nodded. Yeah, that was about right.

“How long?” Michael asked.

“They said about an hour for an order this size. Something about having to make more tortillas and guacamole.” Michael just moaned and went into the kitchen to scrounge for anything to eat. He was starving again. “You eat like this all the time?”

“Mostly, but more so just recently.” Isabel watched as he found a partial bag of potato chips and began eating them with a mixture of ketchup and Tabasco.

“A far cry from a man whose only real culinary talent was warming up Campbell’s soup.”

“Things change. I can actually do eggs, make a mean meatloaf and an Italian sauce that would knock you on your ass.”

Maria came back to join them, kissing Michael quickly as she put away the phone. “He’s not lying. He changed my family’s old recipe into something new and different, but damn awesome!” Maria looked around the loft frowning. “Detective, have you seen Mr. Booboo?” Michael just shook his head no. Strange. The cat was always around him, and suddenly today he was missing. Michael watched as Maria went to find him.

“So?” Michael asked, shoving chips into his mouth, munching and opening a beer, while passing Isabel a bottled water.

“So?” said Isabel back.

“You going to tell me why you didn’t call or let us know you were coming home after a year?”

“Does it matter? I thought home would always be home.” Isabel drank the water feeling a stranger here.

“It is, Isabel. It’ll always be home, regardless.” Michael looked at his surrogate sister, taking in her cleaned-up look. She still had an edge to her, a wrinkle or two around the eyes left over from too much abuse, but the rest of her looked young and alive, looked twenty-nine again.

“It’s just so strange, you know. Here you are in a home, a real home with Kandinsky on the walls, art that cost more than everything I own in my life! Your stuff is all over the place mixed with hers, and my God, Michael...your car- it's finally being fixed!” Isabel felt the need for a beer or something illegal for the first time in almost six months. “It’s like I’ve walked into an alternate universe, a twilight zone, and I’m reeling from the almost grotesque caricature of something that's familiar, but foreign at the same time. You’re suddenly a stranger to me, and after seven years I didn’t think that could happen.”

“I’m the same, Iz. I’m still here for you. That’s not going to change. But you're right, I’ve changed in some ways, some big ways, and this is a home to me.” Michael didn’t like talking about personal things, mostly because he lacked the words that could really convey what he was feeling. “When Mikey died. He left me everything, his home, his life, and his name. But that house, it was nothing to me. Just an empty shell without him living there. I lost that warm feeling he gave me, a sense of being loved and belonging. I sort of found that again with you and Max, but not quite. You both had your own family, histories, pasts, and I couldn’t really belong to that. So it was like belonging, but sort of from the outside fringe looking in. Then I found Maria.”

“She seems nice. Strange, but nice.” Isabel said uncertain if that was really what she wanted to say.

Michael laughed at that. Strange, but nice. Such a simple way to try to describe something too complex for mere words. Maria DeLuca.

“I just know that this place, this home I’ve got with her has the feeling of warmth again, of belonging. Here...here I don’t feel the need to be on alert, to be watchful, and on guard every moment from some unknown enemy. Here I find...”

“Peace?”

“Something like that.” Michael leaned over and kissed her on the forehead and hugged her tight. “Give it some time, Iz. Let whatever it is that Maria does wash over you, and I promise she’ll make it better without you even knowing she's doing it.”

Isabel started to make a comment, but the doorbell interrupted her. Michael looked at the time. It was too early to be either the grocery store or the restaurant. Opening the door, he looked at his washed-out and battered partner standing on the doorstep in his "go to court" suit.

“Didn’t even make it home, huh partner?” Max just shook his head and came in. He stopped in his tracks at the sight of his sister sitting there holding her breath. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and he dropped his jacket rushing to her side to pick her up in a full body hug.

“Jesus! Iz, you scared the sh-it out of me!” Max hugged her tight to his body, feeling the racking tremors from both of their bodies. He didn’t even admit until that moment how upset and afraid he was when she had just dropped off the face of the earth. Isabel laughed a full joyful sound when he spun her around in his arms like he used to when they were kids. “God, you look so good to me!”

“Max.”

“No, just let me look at you. Isabel, is that really you? Are you finally okay?” Max didn’t notice the tear wander down his cheek. She had been missing so long, so many years, ever since their parents died.

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m home.” Max just hugged her even tighter. Michael watched the two of them silently, letting them be what they always were, a unit. Looking up the stairs, he saw Maria standing there holding their cat. She was crying. Leaving the brother and sister pair, he went to her.

“You okay, Professor?” Maria just nodded.

“Damn emotions are all over the place lately, but I swear, Detective, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful. Max looks so happy all of a sudden.”

Michael looked over at his partner, and nodded. “Yeah, he does. They were always close, almost inseparable. It’s been a hard year for him without her, worrying about her and not having her near.” Michael looked at the fifteen pounds of black fur in her arms purring contently and he reached out and stroked the cat's shiny fur. “Where was he?”

“Oh, he was in your sock drawer all curled up and sleeping.” Maria rubbed her head against the cat, liking his low purring sounds. “How attached were you to those special cotton athletic socks you wear playing basketball?”

“Why?” Maria just looked at the cat, and so did Michael. “Oh no, what happened? What did he do?”

~~~

Isabel watched from where she sat in the garage laughing at the talk between her brothers, Kyle and Sean. They were sweating and swearing profusely as they tried to get the engine back under the hood. Maria was instructing them, and finally came to squat down next to Isabel’s chair.

“So how long have you done this kind of work?” Isabel asked. It was interesting to see a female grease jockey.

“Over five years. It's soothing for me, watching something broken being fixed. I like the smell, the feel of the thread of a bolt as it turns. It’s hard to explain, but I just know that no matter how angry or upset I am that I can’t hurt two tons of iron and steel, and that gives me some peace.”

“I should’ve found a hobby. You know, something other than men, drugs, and booze.”

“Different responses. That’s all, Iz.” Maria laughed as Michael swore at Kyle. Looking at the other woman critically, and then away she asked almost casually, “So what are your plans?”

Isabel stared at Maria for a moment. “For the future, or tonight?”

“Well, lets just start with the future. I think your brother has your night planned.”

“Yeah, we’ve got a lot of catching up to do.” Isabel looked at Maria with her eyes narrowing. “You don’t mind if I come over from time to time to see Michael, do you?”

“No. Not at all. I was actually going to suggest that if you didn’t want to necessarily move back in with Max, you could stay here with us. We have the downstairs bedroom, which Sean is using, but will be vacating soon.”

Isabel looked at Maria sharply. How could she know that Isabel didn’t want to move back in with Max again?

“Thanks. I’ll think about it.” Isabel had to know. “How did you...?”

“I think that if I once had an overprotective brother, or brothers, and I spent a year learning to deal with myself alone, that putting myself back into a situation where I was dependent on them would feel like stepping backwards.” Maria said quietly.

Isabel looked over at Michael working and remembered his words from before about letting Maria work her magic. The woman was a witch with her insight.

“You know, I spent six months in a clinic, and six months outside. The therapy was actually eight months long. The first six were in the clinic, and the last two were outside in the safehouse. The thing is, I really felt protected and watched there, almost like if I felt myself slipping someone would catch me.” Isabel watched the men for a second and looked at Maria. “It was a trap, much like the one I was recovering from. Everything was safe, and I was protected. But one night, I woke up, and I was afraid. I realized that I was living in a marginal society, a void. That life was just moving on, and I wasn’t. Being around people who knew me and knew my problems was a relief, but it also didn’t make me stretch myself, try to reintegrate myself back into mainstream society.”

“It’s hard. Real life is demanding. It comes with pitfalls and temptations.”

“I know. I kept wondering if I was going be strong enough to actually make it back. But hiding in a halfway house in Arizona, that long road home just kept looking longer and harder. And coming home to Michael and Max, knowing they would create that same kind of safehouse for me, made it hard to come back.”

“I can imagine.” Maria went over to her Coke machine and took out two Cokes. Sitting back down next to Isabel, she offered her the drink. “So what do you see? What do you want?”

“Hard question. I really don’t have any money. Working six months on a crisis line barely paid for my upkeep. The money thing still forces me to be dependent on Max. And I know Michael will help if I need it.”

Maria nodded. “True. They will. But,” Maria took a drink of her coke, “say money wasn’t a problem, or not a real one. What would you want to do?”

“Money is always a problem.”

“No. Just in a ‘what if’ scenario. Lets say, money is not the problem, and the only thing stopping you is your own ability to dream, and to make those dreams come true. Any fool can dream, but it take immense courage to take a chance at failure to make those dreams a reality.” Maria looked at Isabel again, her eyes dark and serious, quiet. “Would you? Could you? Do you have dreams? Ambitions?”

“School. I left school, and I wanted to be a psychologist. A psychologist that took care of overweight, over-pampered, and neglected trophy wives to high-powered men. That dream changed and took on some real meat. Now I want to be a psychologist that specializes in helping victims, survivors...people like me.” Isabel looked off into some place far from that garage. “I want them to know that there’s someone out there, someone who will help. Someone helped me once, and that’s the kind of person I want to be.”

“That’s a nice vision.”

Isabel just laughed. “Yeah, it is. It is also damn near impossible. I’d need funding because I pissed away both mine and Max’s inheritance. He’d have to support me while I was in school, and that would be for years, lots of years. And no matter how we look at it, money will be a problem.”

Michael called over to Maria. They had the engine back in and they needed her to help them reconnect everything in its proper place. Maria stood up and grabbed her wrench.

“There’re always second chances, Isabel. Maybe I can help. If you come by the University, tomorrow, we can talk more about it, and see what options are available.” Maria went over to help put the engine back in.

Second chances? What about third and fourth ones? It seemed like her entire life was full of second chances she had wasted along the way. She’d go see Maria, because she was more afraid that all her second chances were running away, and she had no more time to ignore them.

After everyone left, and even Sean decided to go home, Maria and Michael sat in his Mustang listening to it run. Mr. Booboo was sitting between them, majestically admiring his surroundings. The engine sounded sweet, strong, and powerful.

“I wish...”

Maria leaned over and kissed him gently squeezing his arm. She knew. Mikey Guerin. He wished that Mikey could hear the roar, see the end results. “I know.”

Michael looked down at her head, and in a moment of pure weakness felt tears in his chest, a need to just rest against her. Maria was right. Emotions were all over the place lately, and after seeing Isabel for the first time in a year, after only having talked to her on the phone, seeing her hug Max, and just feeling better because she was finally home, they were hitting him in places he hadn't realized had been sore. Then, the car. It was done. A lifetime dream, one started with his father, and finally it was realized.

“Maria, I lo...” She kissed him, stopping his words. Not yet. She couldn’t let him say it. That was her place, something she owed him, and it was almost time. Pulling his tongue into her mouth, she tasted him deep. It was so right, so familiar, and yet it always felt like the first time. Clearing her throat, she smiled at him. “You want to take it out for a spin? Cut open the carburetor and let it roar?”

Michael smiled at that. The f-ucking carburetor was the first thing she had tossed out of his car like so much junk. She was right. He had sweated over every part, every decision, having a hard time seeing his beloved car in pieces around him. But every step was a good one. Hard, but good.

“No. I want to wait until it’s done. Completely done, and then I’m going to take you for a ride, Professor that you’ll never forget.”

Maria kissed him again. “Of that, I have no doubt, Detective. No doubts at all.”

Michael was silent for a while, and then brought up the subject that was bothering him earlier. “What did you and Isabel talk about?”

“She wants to go back to school, but she doesn’t have the funds.”

Michael sat silently thinking of all the money he had sunk into his dream of rebuilding the car. “And?”

“And I told her that there were ways.”

“Ways?” Michael nodded. Yeah, with Maria, there usually were. “And you’re going to show her the way?”

“I’m going to point her to the path. What she does is up to her.”

~~~

Max couldn’t stop looking at her. She had gone to take a bath, and was now sitting in the living room all curled up on the sofa and drinking a hot chocolate. Isabel. She was home, and he felt unsure where to start.

“The alcohol in the house, do I need...”

“No. I’m fine. Strange as it may seem, something happened to me after I dried out. I can barely drink half a beer without being wasted off my ass. Sound like anyone else you know?”

Max smiled. His tolerance was just as low, and only Michael seemed able to handle beer and alcohol in higher quantities, but still way below most people's minimums.

“And drugs?”

“Lets just say that I'd rather not know how they affect me anymore.”

Max took a drink of his coffee, and asked not looking at her. “Men?”

“Sex. You should just say, sex, Max.” Isabel looked into her cup of hot chocolate. “I think I’ll always be addicted to that, so for now, I’m staying away from men. I want something more this time. I want...” Isabel sat back and concentrated on finding the description, the words. “I want what Michael has.”

Max laughed. Yeah, she and the almost everyone else he knew. Maria DeLuca, a home, a place...love. “Yeah, I want that too.” Max looked at Isabel and laughed again. “Who’d have thought that Michael Guerin would find it first?”

“He was always different. More reserved, whereas you and I took the high road swimming in it. Michael sat quietly and waited. It was like he was waiting for her and the dream she brought him, and when he saw it he didn’t know if he deserved it, but he wasn’t letting go.”

“Isabel, it’s worth waiting for. I watched them this last year, through some hard times and touch and go. But with every hurdle, they came out stronger. I have to believe in the dream is possible, because I watch it work every day with them.”

“I know. It was hard to ignore.” Isabel smirked. “Michael Guerin with a cat named, Mr. Booboo!”

“Crazy.” Max joined in with his sister’s laughter. “So, what did you think of Maria?”

Isabel was silent for a moment. “Honestly?”

”Honestly.”

“I hated her.” Isabel saw the shock on Max’s face. Obviously hating Maria DeLuca was inconceivable and utterly unheard of. “I hated that she’s got everything I wish I could have, and then some. A home, a man, confidence, a career, and just feeling so good in her own skin. Her scars don't rule her, they define her. And it’s hard not to envy that.”

“Maria is...”

“Special. I got that.” Isabel drank her hot chocolate. “I expected to hate her from the moment Michael met her last year. But, she's a hard one to ignore. Could she really be a person that wants nothing from anyone? I didn’t know people like that existed.” Isabel paused and remembered one other person she knew like that. Actually two. Michael and Alex Whitman.

“You really hate her?” Max asked quietly.

“I think that Maria DeLuca might be the best friend, best female friend, I’ll ever have in my life. I envy her right now, but somehow sitting next to her, it didn’t take anything away from me. It gave me confidence that I could do it too.” Isabel looked at her brother. “I want to go back to school. I don’t know how yet. But I want to go back.”

“We can make that happen.” Max said. He couldn’t remember the last time Isabel wanted a future.

“No. I’ll make it happen. I might need help, but in the end, only I can make it happen.” Max just nodded. Strong. She felt so strong. He could feel the prick of tears behind his eyes again, and quickly cleared his throat. Isabel was back. The real Isabel. The one he hadn’t seen in so many years.

“It’ll work. You’ll see.”

“Maria told me to come see her tomorrow at the University.” Max was silent. “She says we could find out the options. Do you think she was serious?”

“Go see her, Iz. Maria has ways of opening doors that no one else can see. She opened up the door to Michael Guerin with just a look. Take a chance. Michael and I will always be here if you need us.”

Isabel nodded. “I know. Maybe someday I can find a way to repay that.”

Max thought about it hard, and long. This was hard, but he had to tell her. “Maybe sooner than you know.”

“What do you mean?” Isabel looked at her brother staring into his coffee cup. “Max?”

“I’m going to be a father.”

~~~

Maria was late again. She didn’t have classes today, but she was scheduled to work at the museum. Stopping there first, she made sure everything was opened and ready to go before running over to her office in the Anthropology Building to pick up her mail, coffee, and leave a message with her secretary to send Isabel Evans to the museum if she showed up.

“Maria.”

Maria felt dread in her stomach. It was bound to happen sooner or later. “Professor Price, good morning.”

“I didn’t think I would run into you this morning.”

“Normally, no. I usually work the museum on Tuesday’s. But it doesn’t seem like I can get away from my office here, at least long enough to pick up my messages and mail.” Maria shuffled her mail and smiled at the man. “Anything I can help you with, Ken?”

“Actually, yes.” Indicating a chair in the lounge where Maria was filling up her coffee cup, Maria reluctantly took a chair. “Your acquaintance, Mr. Stiller tell me that you are involved with the Foundation, and that he is recommending you for a seat on the Board of Regents here at the University.”

“Yes, he informed me of the same thing.”

“I see.” Ken Price looked away from her, as if looking directly at her bothered him. “I should congratulate you then.”

“That would be...premature. I’ve refused all nominations.” Maria took a sip of her coffee and wondered what was with this sad man.

“Refused? But...”

“Jonathan knows better, or he should.” Maria said, taking pity on the man. “He knows I’m spread far too thin already, but he was just making a gesture.”

“Still it’s an honor.”

“Actually, no it’s just what is appropriate and expected.”

Ken Price frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I sure Jonathan told you that I’m the Foundation. Technically, that is correct. I’m the founder. I took my inheritance, or a large portion of it, and started the Foundation which is a non-profit organization. After the first year, I was overwhelmed and needed help, real help in the form of a person or people who understood money. That’s when Jonathan and his companies joined the Foundation. Later other companies joined and it became a large entity, whose sole purpose is to channel and distribute money to needy causes. My original Foundation has grown beyond my expectations, but it hardly belongs to me any longer.”

“You’re the member of the board, correct?”

“I am.”

“Then you must be aware that I was trying to receive a seat on the board.” Kenneth Price felt ridiculous having to talk to her about something so private.

“Actually, no. I didn’t know.” Maria hurried to explain before he could compromise their working relationship with a request. “I have no real power any longer on the Foundation. I don’t even cast a vote.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. The Foundation voting proxy is split up in blocks, and at a given time the Board could find itself in a deadlock on a decision. Should that ever occur then I would have the deciding vote, the swing vote. But in over six years since its inception, this has never happened. I have never voted.” Maria sighed and shrugged. “I find it best to let the Board handle the business of the Foundation, and even for funds for the museum I’ve had to write up a proposal and submit it just like any other applicant.”

“So you didn’t know.” Ken stared at her confused. He was certain that she was blocking his position out of spite.

“No. I’m afraid that Jonathan Stiller holds full proxy to most of my votes, and a block of his own. I maintain control of my votes and sign them over at each quarterly Board meeting. If your request to hold a seat is being blocked then you should contact Jonathan, and request a hearing or rite of understanding as to why he is blocking your position.”

“You’re saying that he holds the power.”

“Yes, he does, but not exclusively. If you can find out why he is blocking you, and petition the other Board members, you might be able to push a stalemate or get him to relinquish the hold on your request. It might be simply that he doesn’t feel you honor or understand the mission statement of the Foundation. Its agenda is designed to support and maintain programs that will aid individuals and organizations in second chance endeavors, or in education exploration. We don’t support first time businesses since there are many agencies and options available for first time setups.”

“I just think the Foundation wields an awesome amount of power and money, and that it could be used for other things as well.” Ken said.

“Perhaps, but it is vested upon the current Board to understand and maintain the mission of the original Foundation as it was conceived, and to interpret that mission to the best of its ability. That includes accepting new Board members who can work within those parameters.” Maria stood up and looked at Professor Price. “Talk to Jonathan, and if no compromise can be found, petition the other members. At most it could come down to a deciding vote, which would be me. Personally, I think a little work and a show of good intent is all you need to convince Jonathan.”

“Thank you for saying that.” Maria refilled her cup. “Maria, can I ask you one other question?”

Maria sighed, but turned and smiled, acquiescing. “By all means.”

“If I can get the rest of the Board to back me, would you support me?” Kenneth Price despised having to ask, but he needed to know.

“It would depend. I’ve trusted Jonathan implicitly for years. But, if you managed to get a split vote and half the holding proxy supports your appointment, then I would listen to your arguments and make the best and the fairest decision possible.”

“We haven’t always gotten along.” Ken reminded her.

“True, and if for any reason I felt that our past differences biased me against you, I would turn over my proxy to another, to vote in my position.” Maria smiled at him. He was a pain, pissed her off to no end, but he was highly intelligent and ambitious. Those weren't always bad traits. “It is the best I could do.”

“I appreciate that.”

Maria looked at her watch. “If you’ll excuse me, Professor. I’m afraid I need to get back to the museum.”

Maria hurried out of the building to go hide in her museum office. The confrontation with her boss wasn’t as bad as she had feared it would be, but it still was uncomfortable. It changed the dynamics of their working relationship, making him wary of her. Life was so much easier when she was just an underling that he had to deal with. Jonathan Stiller had a lot to answer for, and right now at that moment, she was far from happy with him.

~~~

Max looked around for Michael again. The man was eternally disappearing lately. Max had two guesses, he was either torturing a vending man to restock the 5th Avenue bars on 3rd floor, or he was napping in Holding. Wrong on both counts. Max saw his partner emerging from the breakroom across the hall with a cup of hot coffee. Obviously the pot in Major Crimes was empty and Michael, not wanting to make the next pot, went across the hall to mooch.

Max didn’t even bother to watch the commotion. His partner was back on the floor and in an ugly mood. No other person could walk through a room causing so much unhappiness from those around him. Waters’ collar chose that moment to make a break while Waters' partner, Philips was moving him to Interrogation. Unfortunately for the unhappy felon he ran out of Major Crimes and straight into Michael Guerin.

“Where ya going? Whatcha think we’re gonna do, just let you walk?” Michael literally picked the man up like a wet puppy by the scruff of his neck and walked him back into the room. “Sit down you vicious felon, or I’ll put you in Holding with the big boys and pantyraiders.”

The man started talking and blubbering to an unreceptive Michael, who looked to be having another "off" morning. “Waters, get this sniveling snot under control! What kind of loser felons are you busting now? Spilled my coffee all over the place...dammit, look at this mess!” Michael was using a Kleenex trying to mop up the spilled coffee down his front.

“Sorry, Guerin. You want a towel or something?” Waters tried to quickly diffuse the situation before his partner, Philips came under fire. Guerin without his morning coffee was a nightmare.

“Pick up your sh-it, Waters. I almost got trampled by your collar.” Michael stopped to pick up the stuff on the floor. “What is this?”

“Candy bars. My older daughter’s raising money for band camp.” Michael rutted around in the box.

“How many you sold so far?” Michael was reading the labels and ingredients.

“Not that many. See, everyone I asked is mysteriously on a diet or has an aversion to chocolate.” The whole new health awareness was crushing for candy sales, and it usually took lots of coffee, tiredness, and end of the day lull before the early morning crowd forgot all the promises they made themselves while shaving that morning to clean up their acts.

“Now that’s a f-ucking shame when your own compadres can’t buy a little chocolate to help out a few band camp goers. How much a bar?” Waters' brow went up. Raging Bull Guerin just went from a pissy bastard to a nice socializing, albeit foulmouthed bastard in mere seconds.

“Two bucks a bar.” That didn’t last long, as Waters and those around him winced at the colorful language spewing forth.

“Every frickin’ time I turn around lately I see price bilking, greedy, greedy bastards, the whole lot of them.” Michael seemed to realize what he was saying. “Um, not your daughter of course, Waters. She’s just another cog in the flywheel of frickin’ capitalism, and the search for the all-powerful buck.” Michael looked in and saw candy bars with chocolate and peanuts. “How much for the box?”

“There are seventeen bars left in that box.” Michael reached into his pocket and passed over a fifty.

“Keep the change as a donation, but if you feel bad you can spot me another eight chocolate with peanut ones later.” Michael walked off with his box under his arm already opening up a bar and reaching for his Tabasco.

Max watched Michael put the chocolate bars away in his lower drawer. “You going to share...”

Michael gave him a dark stare and looked over at Kyle. “What do we got on the Seers and Whitman cases?”

“Seers was pretty much a loner. She had some major time clocked for Internet usage, and didn’t really socialize much, mostly with a few friends none of whom considered them really close. Other than academic and professional gatherings, most nights she was on her computer talking to electronic friends. She had a lot to say against junk food and greasy fast food joints, but a search of her rooms showed that despite her talk and dislike of it, she was a closet fast-food junkie.”

“Any hits on her past?” Michael finally reached into his drawer and passed both Max and Kyle a candy bar, just not the peanut ones.

“Married young, divorced less than two years later.” Max read through his notes. “Her husband, Gus? He took off with one of her ‘best friends’. She was left with some bills, so she consolidated their home mortgage with the bills and returned to school.”

Michael nodded. “Whitman’s cousin, Krystal was a good kid literally. She wasn’t into school spirit, cheerleader stuff, but was pretty and popular enough to be one. Her school records showed an intelligent enough young lady, mostly a B average student with a consistent attendance record, participation in the arts, especially music, drama and dance. She was on the school's tennis and swim teams, a strong player but no major kudos. She was well liked, and not a runaway risk. Boyfriend of three years, who was still carrying her picture in his wallet, and had called her the day before.”

Max read the cover. “She only sang in Whitman’s bar on nights he was there, one set, and she drank either bottled water or cola. No one really noticed if she was socializing with anyone, but she never hooked up with friends and left. Instead she waited for her cousin every night, helping him close down. She sang mostly Thursday thru Sunday, nothing earlier in the week because she was already out late on two school nights. Senior in high school, she was accepted into the University in Santa Fe for the fall semester. She was a strong debate team leader, and was looking at a career in communications or the arts, more than likely music.”

“Need some help?” The three men looked up at Sean’s voice.

“DeLuca, you look like sh-it, flushed sh-it that keeps rising to the top. Thought you were off until tomorrow.” Sean took a seat, ignoring Michael and his happy descriptive observations.

“Cap said I could come in and make myself useful. He was afraid what untold mental damage I would suffer from watching daytime soaps. Though I thought Luke and Laura were dead, and all this ‘Prince’ sh-it sounds so stupid and lame. Every time someone calls this dude, ‘The Prince’ I felt this overwhelming desire to giggle. Enough of that, so I called in.”

Kyle looked up in interest. “You taping?” No one tells him anything. So were Luke and Laura back together, or not?

“Are you limited to desk, or can you do legwork?” Max asked.

“Desk only for the week, unless we get a late night caller. Otherwise Friday I’ve got a court thing to sleep through all day.”

Michael tossed Sean a candy bar, one of the disgusting krispy ones. “Okay, that makes you Phone Boy .” Sean cussed as Kyle laughed. “You can start by calling Parker and see if Lab has anything resembling any leads on our materials.” Michael ignored Sean’s moan. “If they don’t harass them to get the lead out, we’ve got another 'Missing', and it feels too close not to be connected. Pray that it’s not.”

~~~

“Maria?” Isabel stood in the doorway, uncertain whether she was in the right place. Maria’s secretary at the Department had given her directions.

“Isabel, come in.” Maria stood up and smiled as the woman entered the room. Isabel looked around, impressed by the mess. “Yeah, it takes getting used to, but surprisingly, I know where everything is.”

The phone rang, and Maria waved Isabel to take a seat across from her, which was actually clear of debris. “I don’t care, Dickie. I can’t have people accepting large deliveries on weekends. I know. I know! The deliveries here exceed the entire campus combined, but that is the nature of the business. Okay, find a new system, and call me back. I have a staff of workers, students, and volunteers. I can’t start housing full-time staff on top of that. I don’t have the funds. So you have to either catch me or the assistant curator, and that means weekdays.”

Isabel watched the woman do her thing-work. “I swear, if you send it to my other office I will find you and shove your US Postal stamps down your throat! I don’t care. The deliveries have correct routing numbers, so they better show up here and not all around campus. If you and your department can’t control the mail, a federal responsibility, then maybe you need to reassess your job description!” Maria slammed the phone down and enjoyed a few moments’ tirade, on the nature of polyester eating away brain cells, and the possibility that Dickie was a cross-dressing Polynesian whore with beriberi.

Isabel just listened, impressed. “Did you learn that from Michael, or could you always talk for so many minutes flat without breathing?”

“I’ve been cultivating the fine art of holding my breath, and it's amazing how good the air feels when you finally get some.” Maria looked at the young woman meticulously dressed. “I’m glad you came, and you're just in time.”

“For?”

Maria looked at her watch. “It’s almost lunch, and today there is a special lunch mixer with Departments and the Board of Trustees. And, the person I want you to meet is going to be there. He better be there, because I have some not so sweet, choice words to scream in his ears.”

“Okay,” Isabel was at a lost for words, “is this what they mean by networking?”

“Could be. Actually Jonathan can help you apply for help through a special program that will not only provide you with living expenses, but pay your school cost. And...and if you’re in earnest about working with victims and survivors, the contract can be negotiated as a pay later contract where they support you through school, and after you complete your training you work at some of the programs they have running that needs your special talents.”

“You’re serious? You mean I could be totally independent of Max’s support?”

“Financially, yes.” Maria got up and grabbed her jacket to cover her sleeveless silk blouse. “Emotionally? I would keep his support, both his and Michael’s. Humans live every day alone in their own skins, their own heads, and except for sex and childbirth, or unless they host some damn parasite, they remain that way. It’s a lonely existence if you think about it, so keeping those connections to others is so important. Don’t be too quick to cut the string.”

“I just want to do this on my own.”

Maria smiled at the woman. “I know. That's admirable, but emotional support doesn’t take away from the experience, the goal. It just makes it less lonely getting there.” Maria locked her door and waved at the Museum secretary that she was taking off. “So any ideas where you would like to live, if the Foundation supports you?”

“I haven’t thought about it. I just assumed staying with Max was going to be my only real option. And last night, it occurred to me that Max was going to have places his money needs to go to support...” Isabel paused mentioning Max’s unborn child.

“The baby?” Maria nodded her head. That would be an expense, a costly one. Those small little bundles were surprisingly expensive.

“Yeah, the baby.” Isabel was once again disoriented at how much Maria knew about her brother’s personal life. “But, if I could live anywhere, I think I would like to live at your loft.”

“You want to move in?” Maria was startled. Isabel hadn’t seemed willing to take her up on her offer last night.

“No!” Isabel laughed. After spending most of last night watching Michael and Maria barely keeping their hands off each other, being a third wheel in their household wasn't appealing to her very much, although she did appreciate the gesture. “Just some place like your loft. I love the openness, the light, and it feels clean.”

“Well, I have a maid service that comes in three times a week, otherwise Michael and I would be waist deep in our own filth and dust.” Maria watched Isabel opening her mouth to correct her. “I know. Just joking. I understand. And you know...” Maria pulled her arm through Isabel’s, “I might be able to help you find something like that. But you’ll probably need a roommate to afford it.”

Maria searched the crowd of people eating appetizers before the formal dining room opened to serve. Keeping an overwhelmed and quiet Isabel next to her, she spotted him.

“Jonathan!”

“Maria! And a guest?” Jonathan extended his hand out to Isabel.

“Yes, this is Isabel Evans. Isabel, Jonathan Stiller, CEO to some companies, and a true scumbag.”

”Scumbag? Maria, my heart can’t take your discord. What’d I do?” Jonathan wiggled his brows at Isabel. “I once had her mother, Amy in my office trying to realign my disharmonious chi. I’m still not sure what that meant, but it was painful, real painful. Not to mention the large contribution she extorted,” Jonathan noticed Maria’s increased glare, “...kindly requested of me.”

“Kenneth Price ambushed me this morning.” Maria put her hands on her hips, tapped her foot, and displayed the most explicit pissed-off expression she could muster. “I sent him back on you. So he’s going to be coming and looking for you for an interview.”

“I thought we were friends.” Maria just snorted, as Jonathan hooked his arm through both ladies' and led them towards the buffet table of appetizers. “They have shrimp on the buffet.” Jonathan said nicely to distract Maria from her task of torturing him.

Jonathan watched as Maria took off without them, searching the long table for edibles. Isabel backed off from the man untangling her arm from his. Jonathan noticed, but didn’t mention it, just acknowledged the move with a lifting of his brow.

“So, Miss Isabel, how is it you know our resident firecracker, Maria DeLuca?”

Isabel felt uncomfortable around the man. He seemed nice enough, but his dark eyes were piercing. “She lives with my brother.”

“Guerin? You’re Guerin’s sister?” Jonathan wiped his mouth in amusement. “That shoots my theory that the man was born from the depths of hell, expelled by Lucifer himself. Guerin, born of man...who would have thought it?”

“I take it that you don’t get along?”

“Sure, if you can call being threatened by a jealous raging cop who sees only red 'getting along', we do fine.”

“Well, technically he’s not my brother, more of a surrogate one. My brother is...”

“Wait! Evans? You’re Max Evans’ sister?” Jonathan’s whole demeanor changed. He became more attentive. “Strange, I could see a resemblance to Michael, the coloring and such, but you and Max don’t look anything alike.”

“You know Max?”

“Yeah, we’ve...bumped into each other a few times.” Jonathan led Isabel to the table and started filling a small plate with appetizers. “You’ll have to trust me implicitly over these morsels. Stay away from anything that resembles cheese.” Isabel looked down the table to see Maria talking to a few other people while happily devouring her food. “So how is Max?”

“Professor DeLuca? How is our youngest professor in the Anthropology Department doing?” Maria paused in stuffing her mouth with another crab puff.

“Professor Tiny...”

“Gerald.”

“Right. Gerald. I’m fine, thank you. And how is life in the Department of Modern Linguistics. Are you still fighting over the correct enunciation and phonic shifts for the word ‘horse’?”

“That was a solved problem long ago. As I was telling you at the Christmas Banquet, you can say ‘horse’, you can say ‘hoss’, ‘hauss’, even ‘hurse’, but you can’t say...”

“Hearse. I remember.” Maria smiled politely.

“Right, because a hearse is a totally different word.”

“Fascinating.” Maria looked around desperately for Jonathan and Isabel to come save her.

“So I had a nice discussion with your Detective.” That got Maria’s attention.

“Michael? You talked to Michael?”

“Indeed. It appears one of our graduate students was murdered.” The man leaned in and spoke into Maria’s ear. “It was ghastly. Just ghastly.”

“Especially for her, I’m sure.” Maria looked at him closely. “She wasn’t the student that you had...No. Nevermind. So you knew the young lady...Janet?”

“Janet Seers. She was an excellent student. Very meticulous and proper, maybe a tad hard on her students, but a real perfectionist. I kept counseling her on how to teach and train these students in the proper path in their education. You’ve got to be strong in your grip and precise in your requirements.”

“Absolutely. I’m sure Professor, you were a shining example of student-professor relationships for her.” Maria tried not to roll her eyes. Pompous bastard. No doubt his idea of a firm grip of control was holding a coed's head in the proper position while she blew him. He hadn’t been caught since last year, but Maria had heard rumors from other students that the nickname implied that a good amount of head could fix the worst of grades. His indiscretions finally cost him his play for the Department Chair just recently.

“So,” Maria tried to control the wave of disgust as Gerald Tiny grabbed her arm and led her away from the buffet with his lecherous eyes gleaming, “what can you tell me about the investigation? Any leads?”

Jonathan made sure that he got to dine with Isabel and Maria. It took a little time, but Isabel began talking to other people at the table and enjoying herself.

“So, my little friend, what is it you want from me?” Jonathan asked as Maria stopped stabbing at her chicken.

“Food would be nice. Why do they always bring out these prefabricated birds, breaded and stuffed with butter? They don’t taste like anything.” Maria moaned. “I’d give my life for something chocolate and with peanuts, or anything resembling food right now.”

“Maria.” Jonathan gestured his head towards Isabel. “How can I help?”

“Second chance, Jonathan. Why don’t you let her tell you her story, and see what you can do?”

Jonathan thought about it for a moment. Taking out his cell phone he called his secretary and had her rearrange his afternoon schedule, and book him a seating at the Roswell Arms Tea Room for two.

“This will cost you, Professor.”

“Really? Name the price.” Maria thought he was joking.

“Max Evans’ phone number.”