[in which we find that the author can't quite manage to work in the phrase "something under the bed is drooling". Dammit.]

Chris' couch was damned uncomfortable. Joe had spent the better part of two hours trying to get to sleep on it, but he just couldn't. It was so old the lumps had lumps, and the ones that didn't had springs sticking through them. He had no idea how Chris had managed to lay on the thing, drunk or not.

Joe's anger had died down as the evening passed. He was still annoyed, but the cleaning had given him time to think. Chris wasn't his parents. He'd remembered what Steve had said, about Chris' divorce, and about what happened to cops that didn't have any support. It didn't excuse what he'd done, but it did explain it some.

It was going on midnight, though, and he was still awake. Not that he had any place to be on Sunday, but it had been an active day and a crap night. He wanted to sleep, and he didn't want to be asleep when Chris got up in the morning.

On top of everything else, he had a headache.

Joe hoped there were aspirin in the bathroom upstairs. He didn't want to be going through all of Chris' cabinets, definitely not at midnight.

He made his way upstairs, trying to walk as softly as he could. The floors creaked a little under his feet, in ways he'd forgotten that houses did. It brought back memories of sneaking into his own room, back before he'd left, before they'd stopped trying to make his life hell. He'd forgotten but his feet hadn't. He kept close to the walls and kept the floors quiet.

It was quiet enough that he could hear faint whimpers coming from Toby's room. Joe thought that the boy was having a nightmare, and cursed himself for not leaving a light on or something. While it didn't hold any terrors for him any more, he understood being afraid of the dark all too well. He didn't want to turn the lights on and lose what night vision he had, so he pulled the door to the bathroom nearly closed and flipped the light on. A beam of light was cast against the hallway wall, enough to see by but not enough to blind.

"Toby?" he said softly as he entered the room. "It's Joe. Are you okay, Toby?"

In the faint light he could see that Toby was on his bed, huddled up in his blankets, pressed into the corner. He didn't say anything, but Joe could see him shake his head.

He walked slowly over to the bed. It was bright enough for Joe to see he was scared of something. Joe sat down next to him. "I'm here, Toby," he said. Joe reached out to stroke Toby's hair, trying to reassure the boy.

That touch was enough. Toby lunged over and grabbed hold of Joe as if his life depended on it. He could feel the boy trembling. Joe pulled him into a hug and stroked his back, humming a soft tune.

When Toby's shakes stopped, Joe let go a little. "Did you have a nightmare?" he asked.

"Yeah," Toby mumbled into him.

"You going to be okay?"

Toby just shook his head no.

Joe was at a loss. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Monster."

That he understood well enough. Every kid had a monster somewhere, in their closet or in the attic.

"Well, good thing I'm here," Joe said. He tried to sound as cheerful as he could. "I get to handle monsters all the time at work." Which was sort of true, Joe thought. Some of the people he had to deal with could certainly pull night duty hiding in closets and scaring little kids. "I'll just tell it we don't need it and it can have the night off. So, where's the monster?"

Toby looked up at him. He was clearly torn, part of him wanting to believe Joe, the other part not at all sure.

"Under the bed," he finally said.

"Oh, monster," Joe said as he slid off the bed. "This is Joe. There's been a mixup with the paperwork, and we don't need a monster here any