Standard Disclaimer: Houston Knights belongs to Jay Bernstein and Michael Butler and Columbia Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended. This is fan fiction, written out of love for the shows. I am making no money off this. I have no money so please don't sue me. Any original characters who may appear in these stories are the property of the author.

Despair / Houston's Hero
By Starwinder

LaFiamma closed the door of his apartment behind him and leaned back against it.

It had been one of the worst days since he had come to Houston. He'd spent most of it, the better part of ten hours, sitting in a parked car with a man he told himself that he could barely tolerate..... a man he now knew wanted him gone, wanted him as far from him as he could get.

He could still hear the conversation, "Reckon he's mad at me?" He'd asked Lundy referring to the crack dealer whose house they were watching.

"I know I am." Lundy had responded.

"For a change, huh?" He tried to brush off the fact that Lundy was always mad at him.

"I really don't like sitting here all day looking at a doorknob. It's a big waste of time."

"There's a million two out there somewhere. You got any better ideas, Hotdog?"

"Money's gone. Darnell hid it then got himself killed."

"Don't fly." He'd said

"Wish you would," Lundy had said it half under his breath not really meaning for him to hear it but he had heard it and had inferred the rest of it, 'and never come back.'

The words kept echoing in his mind, reminding him that he didn't belong here, that he wasn't wanted here, that the only person he had to anchor him in this new place, his partner, wanted him gone.

It hurt. As much as he hated to admit it, hated to admit that he cared what his new partner thought of him or even cared what the man thought about anything, he did care... cared a lot in fact and it did hurt.

He pushed off from the door and walked into the living room, picking up the phone. He needed to hear a friendly voice, neededto connect to someone... someone who cared about him.

He dialed his Uncle Mikey's home number from memory. Waited, impatiently, for it to ring, then when it did he knew instantly that there was no one there. The ring had that funny hollow sound. The one that almost sounded like a mocking whisper saying, 'There's no one here. No one wants to talk to you.'

He let it ring, five times, ten times, fifteen, twenty. Suddenly he was sitting on the floor, tears running down his face, not knowing how he got there. He dropped the receiver.

Nobody home. Nobody to talk to. Nobody to care. Despair washed over him, black and bleak. He could no longer fight it, no longer see through the darkness. Hopelessness washed over him and he felt himself sinking into it, drowning and not even caring that he was.

It was as if he were standing outside his body watching himself, dispassionate and uncaring, as unmoved by his tears as the strangers he walked among. He felt so alone in this crowded city, unloved, unwanted, like a parish, despised and isolated.

Of it's own accord his hand reached for his gun.

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Lundy had been sitting in the Jimmy across the street for nearly five minutes, debating whether to go in and try to smooth things over with the man for what he'd said. He hadn't meant to say it, not out loud anyway, but he had a feeling that LaFiamma knew, that at least at the moment he had said it, he had meant the words. So, apologizing wouldn't be easy.[Hell, he probably won't accept it no how.]

He frowned coming to the unwelcome conclusion that no matter how hard he tried to rationalize this, it just wasn't going to work. As much as he wanted LaFiamma to be wrong about John, he'd started getting this dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach; a feeling that said that his new partner might, just might, be on to something.

He glanced up at LaFiamma's window and the frown turned into a scowl. The light hadn't been turned on. He glanced at his watch. The man'd had more than enough time to get in the apartment. It was a little thing, but he'd gotten into the habit of waiting till he saw that light go on before driving off when he brought LaFiamma home.

His stomach suddenly churned with irrational fear. The hit was supposed to be off... but was it? Really? A scene flashed though his mind, clear as day. For just a second he saw LaFiamma lying on the floor of his apartment, dead, his gun clutched in his hand, unfired. He hadn't heard a shot...[Hit men use silencers.]

He was out of the Jimmy and half way up the sidewalk before he even realized that he was moving. He took the stairs two at a time and hit his partner's door at a dead run, twisting the knob and practically flying through it... and stopped in shock. This wasn't what he'd expected.

LaFiamma was sitting on the floor of the living room, as if his legs had simply given out on him. The phone receiver lay on the floor beside him. One of his automatics was in his hand, the barrel in his mouth, his finger on the trigger.

Time seemed to freeze, slow down to a crawl as Lundy saw that finger tighten. He wanted to scream, to beg LaFiamma not to do it, to cry and say that he was sorry for everything, for anything, for whatever had pushed his partner over the edge, whether it had been something that he had said or done or not, but nothing would come out. Nothing, not a sound.

He moved toward LaFiamma, feeling like he was walking through quicksand, his mouth open in a silent cry, hands outstretched in a mute plea, trying to reach his partner, knowing that he was too late.

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LaFiamma's finger tightened on the trigger... and suddenly he was back in Chicago walking up the sidewalk toward Anderson's house. He crossed the porch to knock on the door, his footsteps echoed with the hollow sound footfalls make in an empty house. The sun seemed to have grown dim, bathing the scene in an eerie pale light. He walked along the porch to the window, peered inside and saw his partner... no, it wasn't his partner any more... his partner's body on the couch, saw the back off his head missing. It all came back, the shock, the horror and the guilt. Especially the guilt, as raw and unrelenting as it had been the day it had happened.

Guilt... His finger slackened on the trigger. It was the memory of the guilt that did it. That and a sure and certain knowledge that came in a flash.

Lundy would be the one to find him, like Joe had been the one to find Anderson, and Lundy couldn't take the guilt... not on top of his guilt over his wife's death, a wound recently reopened and raw.

He slumped, pulling the gun out of his mouth, letting it slip out of now nerveless fingers to lie before him on the floor. He couldn't do it. He couldn't hurt Lundy like that, like he'd been hurt, wounded in his very soul.

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Lundy's eyes widened when he saw LaFiamma pull the gun out of his mouth. Seconds later he fell to his knees beside his partner, reaching out to gather him into his arms. He didn't know why the man had changed his mind, and didn't care. The only thing that mattered was that LaFiamma *had* changed his mind.

LaFiamma shifted, clinging to him.

Lundy tightened his grip, trying to convey with touch the words he still couldn't form.[I'm here. I've got you. I won't let you go. I'll take care of you. I'll be the best partner you ever had. The best friend...]

LaFiamma buried his face against Lundy's chest and let the tears flow. He wept silently, the tears flowed freely without sobbing or moaning as he finally let go. The the words came next -- tear slurred, broken phrases about always trying to be strong, of making his own way while always being the one who was there for everybody else. First born son, big brother, man of the house, the best partner, the best friend... but not to Szabo. He'd let Szabo down. Let everybody down, wasn't strong enough, not anymore. Finally the words slowed, then stopped and he clung to Lundy in silence.

For a long time Lundy just held him, clinging to LaFiamma as desperately as the man clung to him. Finally in the silence that surrounded them a sound penetrated Lundy's awareness. It took a moment for him to realize what it was. He'd lost count of the times he'd heard it in the last years of his marriage, of the times that he'd called home only to hear the phone ring on endlessly, making that empty, hollow sound a phone makes when no one is going to answer it.

He pried one hand loose from his partner, picked up the telephone receiver and reaching over, dropped it onto the base, cutting off the sound.

He began to rock slowly, making soft comforting sounds, not trying to talk. He understood now what had happened. LaFiamma had been upset, desperate for sympathy and understanding. He'd called home, reaching out for his lifeline... and when he had found that there was no one on the other end he'd started sinking, drowning in despair. Until something had stopped him, given him the strength to go on. Lundy prayed that whatever it was enough to keep him going.

LaFiamma stirred, pulled back easing himself out of Lundy's arms. For an instant, not quite knowing why, Lundy resisted letting him go, then reluctantly he released him and watched as LaFiamma put his barriers back in place. It was uncanny. He could literally see them going up.

LaFiamma coughed then swallowed, clearing the mucus from his throat. He blinked away the last of the tears. His back straightened. His shoulders squared. His head came up, pride and arrogance reasserted themselves in his expression, as if he'd never lain in Lundy's arms, clinging and weeping. He rose from the floor with the graceful ease of a dancer.

He walked away form Lundy, heading for the kitchen. He stopped at the counter and turned to look back at his partner as Lundy got to his feet. His voice was dead calm, completely normal as he said, "You want a beer, Lundy?"

All Lundy could do was stare at him.

LaFiamma stared right back. The look in his eyes was plain.[It never happened.]

After a long moment Lundy dropped his gaze away.[It never happened.] Aloud he said. "Sure, if it ain't too much trouble."

"No trouble, Lundy. No trouble at all." LaFiamma turned away, but not before Lundy saw the triumph in his eyes.

[It never happened...] Lundy moved to the bar and sat on one of the stools watching his partner, opening the fridge, getting out the beers, opening them, coming to the bar, handing one across to him, smiling.[...but what if it happens again? And I'm not here.]

The End