Joe stood on the sidewalk of his apartment complex and waved at Toby as Mary pulled away. It hurt, watching them go. It was the last time he was going to see Toby. He had a lump in his throat he couldn't get rid of, and it was all he could do to keep from crying. It was better this way, though.

He'd been honest when he told Chris he wasn't going to hide. But Chris had been honest with him, too, at the hospital. He wasn't Joe's boyfriend. And that had hurt. It was a really shitty day when the most pleasant thing that happened was getting stabbed.

Shaking his head, he turned and walked up to his building. He hoped the psycho that had jumped him earlier was gone. It didn't seem likely that he'd be hanging around. Joe just needed to pack, then he could get the hell out of there. Find a hotel for a while, find a job somewhere else, and go.

The thought of leaving hurt worse than anything. There wasn't any other option, though. If he stayed with Chris he'd end up hating the man. If he stayed but left them alone, Toby would be hurt. He felt like he ought to be pissed at Chris. It was all his fault Joe was in this situation. Caught by a lover he couldn't keep, and tossed out by one he couldn't have. He couldn't manage any anger. Just sadness.

Joe was preoccupied enough that he didn't pay much attention to the fact that his door was unlocked.

"Excuse me, who are you?"

The question brought Joe back to reality. Standing in his living room was a cop. He was young and nervous looking.

Joe frowned. It was his apartment and he didn't feel like explaining himself to anyone. "Listen, it's been a really crappy day, and I don't need this right now."

"I'm sorry, sir, but this is a crime scene. You can't come in here."

"I'm not walking into a crime scene, I'm walking into my apartment. Now who the hell are you and what are you doing in my living room?"

The cop looked a little uncomfortable.

"Um, could I see some ID? Please?"

That was the last straw.

"ID? Are you f**king joking? You're in my apartment, standing next to a puddle of my goddamn blood, and you have the gall to ask me for identification? Who the f**K do you think you are? No, never mind, I don't care. Just get out."

The cop had gone from uncomfortable to embarrassed. "You must be Mister Hennesy. Detective Russell said you might be back."

"Figures. What does he want?"

"He told me there was a stalker and I should make sure you were okay."

Joe sighed. "I'm as fine as I'm going to be. You have to hang around or anything?"

"He said I should gather some evidence if I had to."

Joe snickered a little. "You're new at this, aren't you?"

"How did you know?"

"Just a guess," Joe said. "Nevermind. Listen, can you take a statement or whatever it is you guys need? I'm supposed to go down to the station tomorrow, but if I don't have to that's fine."

"Uh, sure, I think. If, um, you have any paper?"

"Oh, brother," Joe said. "Yeah, let me get some. I need to grab the boxes anyway."

"Boxes?" the cop asked, as Joe walked into his study. "Are you packing?"

"Yeah," Joe said. "I was getting ready to leave. Here," he said, handing the cop a legal pad and a pen, "you want to start writing while I throw things in boxes?"

Joe opened the boxes up in the living room. The pile of charms and pictures had been knocked down when he'd been attacked, so he started there, carefully packing them in. He gave the cop a quick rundown of the attack as he worked.

"