There was a time in my life when it was quite commonplace and ordinary to wake and have no clue where I'd been when my brain and consciousness gave out and laid my body down.

 Half a decade at least when half conscious, and realizing the sounds and smells encountered indicated I hadn't made it to whatever place I called home, I would ease myself into some semblance of cautionary wakefulness and grudgingly concede consciousness. 

As I cautiously force one eyeball open and take in my surroundings through the thumping bass beat of a tequila hangover it comes to me that those were most definitely not the 'good ol' days'. 

Through the nauseating swoop of corners and angles I make out sheer white Priscilla curtains to my right; shifting my gaze slightly produces a hideous dip of the large round dressing table mirror on my left. 

And it isn't until the person reflected in it stirs slightly, uncrossing her legs and leaning forward that I realize I'm not in the room alone. 

In some alternate universe H. Cooper Finn leapt catlike from the bed. 

In this one I just fall out in a hysterical and tangled mass of legs and sheets and land sprawling on the floor where I lay moaning pitifully, clutching at my head. 

"Are you going to vomit?" McCafferty asks, not a bit sympathetic as she stands over me, hands on her hips, head tilted to one side. 

I shut one eye and peer up at both of her. 

"Probably," I croak. 

Carefully groomed eyebrows shoot upwards as she lifts one hand to point at an adjoining door. 

"Do it in there," she snaps succinctly and turns too brisk to catch the feeble salute. 

When the door slams painfully shut behind her I wince and lift a shaky third finger before beginning the laborious process of actually standing.

The steam rising from the plate hits my face with an almost physical force and I groan and force my eyes open as McCafferty bumps the edge of it against the elbow I have on her table.

My head wobbles sickeningly and I spread my fingers and grip it at my temples and look up at her imploringly. 

"Don't even," she spits out, turning on her heels and tossing the oven mitt deftly onto the counter top near the sink. 

"I can't," I say weakly, dropping my eyes to the eggs and toast and ham slice whose steam and aroma rises in almost visible waves of nausea to my face.  "Maybe later?" I ask hopefully and then blink at the look I get as she slams her coffee mug onto the table glaring at me. 

I swallow and take a slice of buttered wheat bread up in a shaky hand which eventually makes it more or less to my mouth. 

"How'd I get here?" I ask her, doing something which passes for swallowing the first mouthful.

If the look she'd given me before was scathing, this one reaches an entirely new level of disgust, disapproval and irritation. 

"You don't remember?"

The temptation to stab the fork into my left eye and nail the pain needling there is almost irresistible. I eye it in a stupor of pain where it lies on the horrendously cheerful and bright yellow cloth napkin until McCafferty sighs and leans forward, snatching it and the knife to a safer distance near her.  The sheer speed of the movement leaves me dizzy and when I can focus my eyes I attempt what has to be a rather fuzzy and befuddled frown.

"Oh for fuck's sake," I mutter.  "Give me a break."

"I've given you nothing but," she hisses, leaning back and crossing her arms.  "You want access to my agency's system?  You've got it.  You want free reign to conduct the investigation on your own terms without supervision?  You got it.  You gain access to files and tell me I'm better off not knowing how and what do I do?"  She lifts both hands before dropping them dramatically.  "I turn the other way and give you free reign.  Your investigation, your way, Sgt Finn~~ that's all you've had since you got here."

The noise I make is strangled and pitiful but it only stops her for a second or two.  There's a familiar furrow of disdain and rage between her brows; it's as fascinating to me as it is painful to see. 

"So, you tell me how you got here, Sergeant.  You tell me." 

She's leaning forward, arms lain on the table now and overlapping one another, fingers extended and gripping her elbows.  

"I don't know," I whisper, thinking it's impossible for her to resemble Jase any more than she does  and then she blinks and pulls back slightly, before shaking her head as she leans back and proves me wrong. 

When she speaks her voice is low and controlled and unwavering.

"He's gone, Cooper.  Dead.  If you want to self implode over it that's your business, but don't take my investigator and my division with you." 

I blink through the internal explosion and rather than kindly redirecting her gaze or shifting it in the least she leans forward again pinning me to the chair with the dark brown gaze.

"Look at me," she orders and I struggle to do so, swallowing noisily. 

"Your Sergeant is going to be here in about an hour." 

I drop the toast and shove the plate away, letting my head drop with an audible thump on the table top. 

"Jinny is here now." 

"What?" I hiss and make a feeble attempt to get my head up and my feet beneath me which results in a hideous lurching of McCafferty's face and the ceiling swimming queasily skyward.  "No.  I can't."

"I don't care," McCafferty responds evenly.  "You'll do it anyway." 

"You don't understand."  It comes out small and pitiful and she arches a dark red brow at me and I blush furiously. 

"Not just that," I manage.  "Not just that.  She~~  Sylvie~~" I hear myself almost panting trying to get the words out and I grind my teeth and spit them out through clenched jaws.

"Sylvie had pictures.  Of me.  Of me and Jinny.  She brought them to Weaver's last night." 

I search the cool and composed face across the table from me helplessly, begging it to drop or fall, it's lines to slacken in their resolve.

"Grow up, Cooper," she says instead, voice steely and at my no doubt astonished face she grimaces and waves a hand in dismissal. 

"You're humiliated.  It's terrible.  Deal with it."

"She knew," I say, my voice small.  "Jinny knew."

"Bullshit."  The two syllables are succinct and crisp as she leans forward again, peering at me intently. 

"She~"

"~wasn't surprised," she finishes for me.  "No.  She wasn't.  She was surprised the first set of photos of her that were taken, yes.  But that was so long ago and there has been so much since that nothing Sylvie Chandler could do could surprise her now.  And so what?" she demands.  "What does anything Sylvie did have to do with Jinny?"

"She~"

"~was victimized the same way long before you were.  And she still gets up every day and goes to work knowing a lot of people know, not knowing who all saw the photos.  Every day, Cooper.  For a long time before you ever even heard of Sylvie Chandler."

The look she's giving me is fierce and protective and as much as I loathe being the object of such disdain, there's a bit of me that thrills to know Jinny has this woman to back her. 

"She's been here since around five a.m.  She called requesting the day off to look for you.   I told her that wouldn't be necessary and she was here within ten minutes.  She had to go look at you, make sure you were okay; she wouldn't just take my word for it.  And I was all for waking you up right then but Jinny insisted we let you sleep.  I guarantee you she didn't until she knew where you were and that you were safe."

I squirm uneasily beneath the sharp and unblinking gaze, then gulp audibly when she shoves herself to her feet and makes a move for the swinging door leading from the kitchen area into the front rooms of the house. 

"Where is she?"  I ask and McCafferty pauses, half turning to face me and the smile neatly lifting one corner of her mouth when she sees I'm actually erect and mobile. 

She holds the door open for me, standing aside. 

"Front room on the sofa."

I'm two steps past her in the hallway, sliding a hand along the wall in an effort to stabilize my shaky equilibrium when she speaks, stopping me at the sound of my name. 

"Cooper... "

I clear my throat and put my feet apart to brace myself before looking back at her. 

"Very few people are lucky enough to find someone like Jinny after knowing someone like Jase.  I think you should have that thought foremost in your head when you talk to her." 

Her voice is low and controlled, clear and steadily resolute. 

But I don't miss the shine of light as it dances across the tears in her eyes as she turns, letting the door close in a faint rush of sound and air leaving me there alone in the gloom. 

END OF SIXTY SIX