The delightful smell of the rain would've been blessing enough, but the day's downpours brought a much-needed break from the August heat. 

It also killed business for the day, but Tommy didn't object. He sat for some minutes on a bench next to his cart, the umbrella and overhanging trees proving some scant cover until there was a lull in the showers. When it came, he reached down for a shoe and turned to wringing it out, pondering recent events as he did.

It had been more than a week since his meeting with Lester Savoy and his encounter with the Chinese agent, and he was still getting back into the swing of things in New York. Much of his time had been spent repairing the damage to their home. Rhonda had insisted on returning to their Murray Hill flat the moment he got back from Washington, and he had relented without protest. It was their home, and no one was going to drive them out of it.

He also had exchanged several phone calls with Maxine during that time but had resisted offers to meet again with Savoy or to rub elbows with any other cabinet members. It was clear that insuring their safety would require him to sacrifice much of his quiet and secluded life, but he had no intention of throwing it all to the wind. He already had promised more of his time and cooperation to Maxine and the defense secretary than he wanted.

Most important, he had no intention of letting any Washington bigwigs, law enforcement officers, or intelligence officials learn his face. He had a good feeling from his chat with the former general, and he hoped the man might be a useful ally against other potential threats. But there was always the possibility that nothing would come of Savoy's efforts, and some sort of strife or conflict with the U.S. government might still be in their future.

He and his friends would take things as they came.

Looking up, he saw an NYPD patrol car stop in front of his stand. He recognized neither officer in the front seat, but the huge smile that took up most of the back window was well known to him. The moment the vehicle came to a halt, Camille emerged, thanked the officers for the lift, and gave the vehicle a tap on the hood as she stepped away.

"You look like something the cat left out in the rain," was her greeting.

Things had been so busy that it was his first time seeing Camille since his return. As she moved over, he wordlessly snatched up a semi-dry towel and cleared the bench beside him from the worst of the accumulated moisture before allowing her to sit. As she did, curling up close to him, he reached out with his right foot and toed the cart and its umbrella a bit closer to ensure her shelter from the occasional droplet. The umbrella wasn't water resistant, but it would keep off the worst should the showers return.

"I work for a living, detective," he said with false modesty. "You, on the other hand, look especially lovely today ... and dry."

"Court," she said. "A girl's gotta make a good impression."

"And Eric?"

"He still has to testify ... and I've been aching to come and see you." She paused a moment. "How's home?"

He gave a short nod. "Home is great. Rhonda and I have both seen blood before, so cleaning really wasn't so traumatic. But I'll tell you, it's been nice having Kenny around the place. I see Rhonda prairie-dogging every once in a while, to see if she's still there ... and that she's okay. She'll need that reassurance for a while."

He gave Camille a short squeeze as he chuckled. He always was affectionate with his friends, but having his arm around the young detective had come to mean something special to him.

"You people," she whispered.

"What do you mean 'you people?'" he asked in mock indignation.

She smacked his thigh. "You know what I mean. Your friend is already up and around?"

"Kenny's fine. We're quick healers.

"Oh, my heavens." She shook her head.

"I'm more worried about you," he said, giving the detective another gentle squeeze. "How have things shaken out with you and the boss? I know you've had to take some flak for knowing me. If there's anything ...."

It was Camille's turn to shush him.

"Don't worry about it," she said. "The second you and I went looking for Rhonda, Eric shot back to the precinct and spilled all to the lieutenant." She gave him a short look. "I'm sorry about that. I know you love your privacy, but the LT was going to find out about you from the FBI either way."

Tommy smiled and shrugged. Another squeeze and a forehead kiss followed. "But what was the fallout for you?"

"The feds about blew a gasket, but Silva took it a lot better than either Eric or I ever imagined he would. Technically, we're supposed to register all confidential informants with the department, but that's because most are either taking money for their information or are providing info to avoid prosecution. Since we've assured the LT from the beginning that neither of those applied to you, he never made a fuss about registering you."

"It couldn't have been that easy," Tommy replied.

"Well, he was mildly pissy, but Eric took him through every case you've ever helped us with and pointed out, line by line, how you helped us make it." She looked up at him. "He was sold."

"But?"

"How do you do that?" she said, pulling away slightly and looking him in the eye.

"It's not a Gift, Camille. I've just been around a lot of people, and there's ... I dunno. I can just tell when there's something else coming."

"Well, yes," she said sheepishly, "there is a 'but.' The lieutenant wants to meet you."

Tommy laughed. The rain was returning, but ever so slightly. It was still a wonderful New York day. "I'd be happy to see him again."

"Again?" she said, giving him another surprised look.

"I've checked out almost everyone in your precinct, including those three shitbags I pointed out to you. The rest are good people, including your lieutenant. I've chatted with him half a dozen times over the last year just to get a sense."

"How is ...?" She stopped. "Ahh ... that little trick you've got," she said knowingly.

"That little trick I've got," Tommy admitted. "He won't remember me the next time he and I meet, and maybe we could just keep it that way?"

"You'd rather he didn't get to know your face," she admitted. "I understand."

"Just let him know that I'll drop by sometime."

"I will. But you changed the subject a few minutes back. Are you and Rhonda going to be okay? Do Eric and I need to get shotguns and walk a beat outside your place?"

"I think we're okay," he said honestly. "I got a pretty good vibe from this Savoy fellow, and he's looking to build a consensus among the senior cabinet officials to stop the insanity that Chaney started. It's ... well, it's infected every corner of government. But everyone in DC with two braincells to rub together knows it has to stop, even those people who are skeptical of or frightened by folks like me."

"How's he going to do that without the president being onboard?" she asked hesitantly. "Didn't you say that idiot from Hollirich was tied to him at the hip?"

"The SecDef is a lot craftier than Maxine lets on. All he really needs to do is convince the Director of National Intelligence and the Attorney General to sign on. The DNI is a conservative old Midwesterner and has a good reputation for honesty and integrity, but the AG ... meh. He has ... well. He's sort of an old-style, law-and-order cracker. I'm not holding out much hope."

"So, what's the crafty part?" she challenged.

"The crafty part, my dear Watson, is that even if he can't get the Justice Department onboard, Savoy is going to establish a military tribunal to try Gifted folk accused of serious crimes. It'll be held in secret but will otherwise follow the rule of law. And that's not the best part."

Camille perked up and looked at him with opened mouth. "What's that?"

"The SecDef ordered an investigation and audit of every Hollirich contract with the DoD going back 20 years. The story broke just this morning."

The young woman pulled out her phone and began scrolling the news. "Damn, everything is about India and Pakistan, lately. Okay ... here it is." She read, sighed, and mumbled before continuing. "What's this all mean? Won't the president or Brannon just shut it down?"

"A president who ran on a platform of government accountability and fighting financial waste? I don't think so. And even if that goblin on his shoulder whispers something in his ear, what will it be? Brannon doesn't want a witless chief executive to know what he and Hollirich have been up to. The best part is the Hollirich contracts won't withstand an audit. When Chaney was around ... easily. But Brannon doesn't have a fraction of her connections and influence. Either directly or indirectly, 40 percent or more of Hollirich's government contracts over the last two decades have been in support of Chaney's project. That might be as much as a trillion taxpayer dollars, all told ...."

Camille sat up straight and finished his thought. "... and Hollirich will either have to admit to providing some bizarre and far-fetched services for 20 years or stipulate that they've been providing no service at all." She gave a naughty grin. "It's delicious."

"And the president will jump right on it ...," Tommy began.

"... because it will smear his last two predecessors for having pissed away a trillion bucks."

"It'll be an enormous scandal," Tommy nodded. "Secretary Savoy is a smart guy, and, if I'm any judge at all, an honest one."

"But you have doubts?" she asked.

"What ... are you reading me now?" he asked. "Okay ... yeah, I have some doubts. Even if this all works out, Chaney and her crowd left a horrible scar on the government. It could take a generation to wring all the worst actors from public life." He shook his head. "I don't know."

"Well, if things go south," said Camille philosophically, "you know where I keep my spare key."

"Please don't joke that way," he grimaced. "Sam said almost the exact thing to me yesterday."

"Ugh," she said. "How's Sam doing?"

"You guys have a falling out?"

"No ...." She seemed at a loss for words. "I was really short with him last time we talked."

"Camille, it was my idea to cut the Summerall people some slack," he said firmly. "Sam went along with it because, well, that's how he is. We had to argue to get Philly and Christy on our side. I should have brought you in on that vote, too. I'm sorry."

Camille said nothing but reached over and patted his chest several times. Tommy could tell she wasn't angry as much as conflicted.

"If it helps at all, only three of them took us up on the offer, and Sam debriefed each one of them with Celia in the next room. We're pretty confident none of those three were deeply involved in the criminal end of the scheme. Most of that group's money came from moving Hollirich equipment out of the country. The guns, drugs, and slavery were Summerall's idea to—get this phrase—'to fully monetize the network.'"

His words seemed to placate Camille somewhat, and his friend sat up again and looked at him with a twisted bottom lip.

"I want there to be equal justice for everybody," he continued. "But these folks are victims, too, in their own way, all part of that lawlessness Mallory Chaney and her people brought to our society. Summerall and half a dozen others are still on the run, but even then, it likely will be years before Savoy's tribunal is up and running ... if that ever happens. Helping those few who want to get out is the best outcome."

"I get that," she said, leaning affectionately back against him. "I still feel bad for scolding Sam. He is such a good guy ... and he always does what he thinks is right."

"You can apologize to him when he gets here."

There was a sudden and audible inhale, and she sat up yet again. "He's coming here?"

"Yup. Max and Savoy strong-armed me into going to Morocco later this month to check out a Hollirich facility there. The only way I could sell it with the boss is if Sam brings the girls out while I'm gone ... really brings them out this time. Our last two plans have fallen through. The way things have been recently, I wouldn't have it any other way."

His friend leaned back into his arm with a mild coo.

"I'll call Sam tonight," she hummed. She reached over and gave him another loving pat. "Don't worry, things will be fine while you're gone."

As Camille nestled a tad closer and pressed the length of her body against his, Tommy felt like he might coo as well. He liked the feel of her and the sweet calm of the rainy day.

Stretching out, he extended his left arm an inch or two more and pulled his friend even closer. The rain abruptly returned in earnest, but the canopy above kept them dry, and the slight coolness of the day disappeared under the warmth of his companion, who lazily had crossed one leg over his. As a gentle breeze caught his still damp shirt and gave him a pleasant shiver, she rested her head lightly on his shoulder.

They sat there a time, arm in arm, and then a time more, watching the rain gently bathe their city and saying nothing to one another in particular, their tranquility only disturbed ages later when Camille retrieved the buzzing phone from her pocket.

"Eric will be another hour," she said contentedly.

"I've got nowhere else to be till then."

The End