Gunnar started Monday morning with Puff gnawing on his toes through the blanket. Gunnar glanced at his alarm clock. It was just after five in the morning.

Gunnar grabbed the kitten and rubbed him until his purr filled the bedroom. “Where’s Olivia?” he asked the kitten who stared at him with bright green, innocent eyes.

He yawned and closed his eyes, resting the kitten on his chest. An hour later, Olivia was shaking him awake. “Dad! You stole Puff!”

“Puff stole himself,” Gunnar said with a yawn.

The rest of the day wasn’t so pleasant. First was an uncomfortable phone call from his former commander followed by an equally uncomfortable conversation with the commander of his current precinct. Hopefully, within the next couple of days, the press would tire of grilling Gunnar only to hear “no comment” and statements from the department that neither Gunnar nor his previous partner were in any way connected to Dobbs' case. Gunnar wanted to nail the smug, murderous prick to the wall, but he knew it wasn't his place, and more importantly, he knew that if he tried he’d be responsible for leading the bastard to walk again.

So he ignored the news and focused on what he could solve.

A San Diego detective sent over a similar unsolved case from earlier in the spring. Another omega, a server at a diner, missing from work for two days and found strangled in an alley. He'd had a kid, a toddler, who had mercifully been staying with an aunt for the weekend. It was a thin connection. The body hadn't been displayed, and this victim had struggled, as evidenced by the cuts on his knuckles and fingertips. Looking at the victim’s picture though- David Summers, 26-years-old with a slight frame, delicate cheekbones, and honey brown waves- Gunnar knew in his gut the victim had the same killer.

"Was his hair dyed?" Gunnar asked.

"Yes, an odd thing too as the victim was a natural blond."

"Thank you."

With a killer acting across state lines, with multiple victims, the next step was to talk to the chief about calling in the feds. And if the cases had a stronger connection, he might have to. Looking at the two victims side-by-side, Gunnar felt a profound sense of protectiveness. He wasn't supposed to let his personal life affect the job, but he couldn't ignore both victims’ resemblance to Liam.

At three in the afternoon, the mailroom clerk dumped a pile of letters onto his desk. Gunnar gritted his teeth as he glanced at the stack of envelopes.

After Dobbs' acquittal, Gunnar had gotten used to notoriety. It had come in postcards and envelopes, opened and checked before being dumped unceremoniously on his desk. Reporters had shouted at him on the street, trying to bring his pain and guilt to the surface for their own catharsis.

After a while, it had become a sort of atonement. Open the letter, accept the blame, open the next letter, rinse, repeat.

Eventually, the mail had stopped. The press moved on. And Gunnar had moved along as well.

Now, the letters had started again.

"This is your fault.

"Pig cop."

"Resign."

Juanita, seeing his hands tremble as he slipped the letter opener into the flesh of his newest correspondence, quietly placed a cup of coffee on his desk and put a hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"Fine." How else could he be? At least he was alive.

Inside fourth envelope was Charles McCormick’s article. Bold headline: No Justice for Mrs. Dobbs.

Gunnar closed his eyes. He had avoided looking at the papers and news since her body had been found. He'd forbidden Olivia to do the same.

The article was folded through the center of the picture, a blurry shot obviously taken by one of the cameramen from across the street through a telescope lens. Gunnar and Liam were in profile. Someone had taken a ballpoint pen and scribbled out Gunnar’s face until the paper had ripped through and the image, leaving a ragged hole.

"Dios! That's… Do you think Dobbs sent that to you?"

Gunnar looked at the picture again. Liam was in profile, and he stood, one hand on Gunnar's arm and the other fist clenched at his side. In Liam's fist, in the same color ink that had erased Gunnar’s face, someone had drawn a rose.

Gunnar’s guts turned to ice.

Gunnar shook his head. Dobbs was many things: craven, vindictive, violent, but he wasn't cryptic. If Dobbs had wanted to threaten someone, he’d have sent a finger, not a rose.

"Do you see this?" Gunnar asked, pointing to the drawing of the rose. The killer had left a rose petal in the throat of the first victim, and rose petals had been found at the second scene as well. Liam had flipped out at the sight of white roses. Maybe it was a coincidence, but Gunnar didn’t believe in coincidences. People had reasons for their actions. Sometimes those reasons were frivolous or out of their own self-interest, but they had reasons.

Juanita breathed in a sharp breath through her teeth. “Do you think it’s our killer?”

"I don’t know.” Maybe it was the killer. Maybe it was Liam’s ex. Maybe it was just a nut with a grudge against cops. Whoever it was, they’d sent this for a reason. Whoever it was had put a rose in Liam’s hand.

Gunnar grabbed a large zip-lock bag from his desk drawer and put the letter and envelope inside.

"I'm taking this down to CSI. If this is our killer, he's made his first mistake."

That night, after Gunnar had put Olivia to bed, he dialed Liam's number.

Liam picked up, "Hello Detective. I sure hope this is a social call."

Gunnar wished it was. How did you go about pumping your lover for information about his ex? Gunnar said, "It's good to hear your voice."

"You sound serious. What's wrong?"

"Just a case. You always take Lucky with you when you're walking at night, right?"

"Yeah. What kind of case? Someone died, didn't they?"

"I've just been trying to track down details on similar homicides to the one I'm investigating. And I got some hate mail.”

“From who?”

“I don’t know.”

“You sound so calm. Is this normal?”

“I got a lot of letters after Dobbs walked the first time, and now that his wife is dead, it’s started up again.”

“I’m so sorry. I wish I could do something to help.”

“Stay safe. You haven’t heard anything from your ex, have you?”

“No. You think Damon—.” Liam’s voice caught.

Fuck. Gunnar hadn’t wanted to send his lover into a full-scale panic based on almost nothing. A weird drawing. Some flower petals. “No. I just worry. And I know you worry.”

“Sometimes I think I’m going to turn a corner and there he'll be. He used to watch me from across the street from my apartment, or when I was going to the store. He wouldn’t speak. He just stood and watched. And sometimes he’d sent flowers with little cards telling me how sorry he was. The cops thought I was hysterical. They didn’t say it, but they didn’t do anything either, even though he was violating the PFA by sending me gifts.” Liam was breathing rapidly, his breath punching static against the phone receiver. “I’m sorry. I'm hysterical. I haven’t seen or heard a thing from Damon since I left Philly.”

Philadelphia. Gunnar filed that information away. Just in case. “Good.”

“I got off of all social media. I don’t even have email, except through the practice, and that’s a communal account. My name isn’t on it. Damon works in IT. Those photos were online, weren’t they? They didn’t get my name, did they?”

“No. You were barely in profile. It’s mostly your ear and the back of your head.”

Liam sighed. “That’s what it looked like to me too. I was so freaked out, but if Damon were here, he’d have sent me something first. That’s what he always did. He’d send flowers or a love letter. He did his own calligraphy.”

“I didn’t get any hate mail in calligraphy,” Gunnar said, feeling some relief at this new piece of knowledge.

Liam sighed. “That’s good. Damon always said modern printing was disrespectful. I hate being this scared all of the time. You know they put a picture of me in the shelter magazine, and I had a panic attack when I saw it in the mail. That’s the first night you called. Your voice, it was like a life preserver. I just grabbed onto it and tried not to drown.”

What had Gunnar done to earn this level of trust? How could he be worthy of it?

Gunnar said, “No matter what happens, we’ll handle it together. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“I know I sound like I’m blowing things out of proportion. After we broke up, he just followed me. I just—I couldn’t take it.”

“You shouldn’t have had to. If you see him- if you even think you might have seen him, you call me. Understand?”

“I’m fine.”

“Call. I mean it.”

“I will. I miss you. I know we're going to see each other on Friday, but I wanted you to know."

"I miss you too." Every moment they were apart.

The depth of Gunnar's emotion shocked him when he let himself think about it. A part of him always felt a little guilty about how much Liam had begun to mean to him, and so quickly. He promised Adam till death do them part, but when Adam died, it had been too soon. Their promise hadn't even made it a decade. Gunnar's own parents had kept their vows for forty three years. Four decades at least was what that mugger had cost Gunnar.

For over a year, Gunnar had felt like a ghost shadowing the footsteps of his own life. He'd been prepared to mourn at least as long as he and Adam had been together, even as his own mother told him that would be unfair to both himself and Adam's memory.

Now, Liam was dragging Gunnar back into life. With the promise of holding Liam in his arms, Gunnar could also let himself remember Adam without the cutting, crushing guilt of how he had let his husband down. Even if this relationship growing between Gunnar and Liam ultimately amounted to nothing, this was still such a profound gift. "Were you at the shelter tonight?" Gunnar asked, knowing the answer was probably yes.

"Yeah. I ended up subbing for one of the other doctors. Then Lucky dragged me all over to explore and piss on every fire hydrant, just in case the other dogs in the neighborhood missed his markings from yesterday. Pam's birthday is tomorrow, and I'm trying to make my mom's famous pineapple upside down cake to bring to the office. It's more upside down."

Gunnar laughed, "I'm sure it'll be perfect."

"You're just saying that to get me in bed." At least some of the panic had faded from Liam’s voice. Gunnar wanted to invite Liam and his animals to his home just so he could keep them safe, but it was too soon to think about that level of commitment. And Liam would see it as pity and refuse. They hadn’t been together that long, but Gunnar had learned that much about his lover.

"Of course I am." Gunnar yawned. "Could I get you into bed right now?"

"Not if it will make me burn this cake. You sound exhausted. How long have you been up?"

"Five thirty. It's my long shift. I had my mom get Olivia and take her to school."

"And I had you up so late last night. You should have told me."

"I like it when you have me up." As they talked, the tension eased from Gunnar’s shoulders and back. He laid back in his bed and let his hand cup his cock.

Liam's voice, and thinking of what he would do with the omega on Friday night was enough to turn him on. He loved how artless Liam was about sex. What he liked, he liked completely and loudly. He was so responsive and eager to try anything new.

His eyes fell shut as he remembered holding Liam tight as they lay together. Liam had smelled of caramel and tasted of salt.

So good.

Images danced behind his eyelids. Liam’s shoulders. Their hands together over his cock.

"Gunnar? Are you still there?"

“Huh?” Had he fallen asleep? “What?” His voice sounded slurred. He had fallen asleep. “Sorry,” he said. The last thing he wanted was his work to take over their life together. Adam had always resented that, and Gunnar didn't want to repeat the same mistake. "I'm sorry," Gunnar apologized again.

"You should go to bed," Liam said. Gunnar could almost hear the smile in Liam's voice, and it made him smile too.

"I was rude. But I was thinking about you."

"I hope you were thinking about Friday. I have some pineapples left over."

"I can't wait."