Ty sat curled up in his chair, half-watching some mindless reality TV show instead of reading the book that was in his lap for the next day’s English class.

Somehow, he just couldn’t bring himself to care.

His perked up, however, when he heard Mrs. Henderson in the kitchen, talking to someone on the phone.

“Of course, Detective,” she was saying, her voice friendly and high-pitched in that way it always got when she talked to Carl. “I’ll let him know you called.”

The fifteen-year-old sat as she walked into the room, clicking the cordless phone off.

“What’s going on?” he asked. “Was that Carl?”

She nodded slowly, looking slightly confused herself. “Were you planning on going over there tonight?” she asked. “You didn’t say anything about--”

“No,” he replied, blinking in surprise at the question. “I have homework. I wasn’t going to go over until the weekend. Why?”

“Because,” Mrs. Henderson sighed, finally just shaking her head, deciding she would never understand these two. “He wanted me to tell you not to go breaking into his house tonight. He has a lot of work to do, apparently. He’ll be filling out reports all night, and he won’t have time for--”

“Work?” Ty snorted, dropping his feet to the floor, unfolding his lanky form from the curled-up position it had been in previously. “Since when does Carl care if I bug him while he’s working? I just watch TV, anyway.”

“I don’t know,” she threw her hands up in exasperation, heading back into the kitchen. “I just live here. I’m not supposed to understand anything!”

Ty stood up slowly, his forehead wrinkling in confusion.

Sure, Carl told him to go away sometimes…a lot, in fact. But he’d never actually called and told him to stay away before.

Something weird was definitely going on.

Ty made his way to the kitchen slowly, his mind spinning with the possibilities. He paused in the doorway, watching Mrs. Henderson cook dinner. She turned around after a moment, finally feeling his dark eyes on her.

“What?” she asked, knowing that look all too well. “Benji, please tell me you’re not thinking about--”

“I’m not!” Ty assured her instantly, running his fingers through his thick, black hair. “I just remembered that I forgot to get milk after school. Did you need it for the morning?”

Mrs. Henderson sighed knowingly, shaking her head at the grinning teenager in front of her. “Go to the store and come right back,” she told him firmly. “And if I find out you were anywhere near Detective Lassiter’s house--”

“I won’t,” Ty promised insincerely, already on his way out the back door. He didn’t even look over his shoulder once as he let it close loudly behind him.

Carl wasn’t home when he arrived at his front step a few minutes later.

His car wasn’t in the garage, and none of his lights were on. That wasn’t unusual for Carl, as the detective worked long hours, but the front door was locked, too.

That was just plain weird.

Carl never locked his front door.

For a long moment, Ty stood on the front stoop, blinking at the wooden door that for all intents and purposes had just been slammed in his face.

What the hell was going on with Carl?

Since when did he lock his doors?

And since when did he mind having Ty around?

A slow, hollow pit started to form in the center of Ty’s gut.

Was Carl finally sick of him?

He turned around slowly, just in time to see the detective pull into the driveway. He got out of the car, followed closely by a woman, who got out on the passenger’s side.

She was tall and professionally dressed, her long blonde hair reaching close to the center of her back.

Ty froze as they began to approach the front door. Carl was glaring at him, clearly not impressed to see the teenager on his stoop.

“Ty,” he growled when they finally got close enough to talk without shouting, his ears reddening slightly. “What--? I mean, I told Mrs. Henderson--”

Ty’s eyes narrowed at the pair. The woman was standing alongside Carl now, smiling down at him as her fingers gently laced through Carl’s. She looked friendly…and yet, Ty immediately despised her for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on.

“You locked your door, Carl,” he shot back, glaring at the detective as he ignored the woman. “You’re not supposed to lock your door. We had a deal.”

The woman turned her smile to Carl, her eyes dancing playfully as she brushed a few stray strands of hair behind her ears. “You have a deal with a kid?” she laughed, a quizzical eyebrow raising at him.

Carl cleared his throat awkwardly, his eyes darting back and forth between them.

Clearly, he had never told her about Ty.

“He’s not a kid,” Lassiter explained quickly. “I mean, he’s not my kid—”

He winced at the last remark, not having to see Ty’s dark eyes flash to know it was the wrong thing to say.

“I mean...uh…he doesn’t live here! He just sleeps in the closet sometimes--”

This time, the look on her face was enough to stop that particular line of explanation. Lassiter groaned in defeat, giving it one last try. “Uh--” He hesitated for another moment, his eyes locking with the angry teenager’s as he searched for the right thing to say. Neither of them had ever had to define whatever the hell kind of relationship they had before. Now that it was time, there didn’t seem to be any definition at all. “He’s Ty,” he offered finally, summing it up with a sharp slicing gesture and a sigh.

Oddly enough, the woman seemed to accept this answer. She smiled again and turned back to Ty, extending her hand. “It’s nice to meet you,” she greeted, seeming genuine.

Ty scowled, refusing to take the offered hand. He crammed his hands into his pockets, the hollow pit in his stomach starting to grow, though he couldn’t figure out why. “My name’s Benji,” he informed her sharply. “Only Carl gets to call me Ty.”

Her smile wavered for a moment. “I’m sorry,” she responded quietly, glancing back at Lassiter. “Is this a bad time, Carlton? Should we do this another night?”

“No!” Lassiter jumped in, grabbing Ty by the sleeve of his jean jacket and pulling him off the step and into the grass. “He was just leaving.”

“I was not!” Ty shouted as Carlton pulled him through the front lawn towards the street. “You lied! You said you were working tonight!”

 “I am!” Lassiter insisted. “Technically…”

They both stopped at the edge of the lawn when Ty yanked free of his grasp, still glaring.

“Technically?” he snorted, pointing back at the woman, who was trying very hard to look like she wasn’t watching the entire bizarre scene unfold.

Lassiter groaned, running one hand down his face tiredly. “Yes. Technically. Her name is Cecilia, and she’s an instructor at the academy.”

Ty gasped, clapping one hand over his mouth as his eyes grew wide in realization. “Oh my God!” he gasped in horror so loud it made Carl cringe. “You’re on a date!”

“I am not!” Lassiter insisted immediately, dropping his arms by his side again. “It’s not a date. She doesn’t date divorced cops. This is a business meeting.”

Ty crossed his arms over his chest dubiously. “Business?” he snorted. “Carl, don’t try to bullshit a--”

“Watch the language,” Lassiter snapped, cutting him off. “And it is a business meeting.”

“What kind of business meeting ends at your house?” Ty demanded, still skeptical about this.

Lassiter just grinned mischievously. “She teaches shooting. She’s got one hell of an eye. No one’ll ever break her record at the range. Not even me.”

Ty just stared at him expectantly, waiting for this mini-biography to somehow become relevant to the question, but it became obviously pretty quickly that wasn’t going to happen when Lassiter’s goofy grin only grew broader and his eyes drifted off, lost in their own little world for a moment.

“Carl,” Ty sighed finally, snapping the detective back out of his reverie. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Huh?” Lassiter murmured, shaking his head and getting back to reality. “Oh. Right. We were meeting to discuss different training techniques,” he pressed on, pausing again to clear his throat. “Uh…we were supposed to meet next week, but she has to go to a conference, so we decided to do it tonight. We met for dinner, and I happened to mention my collection of pictures of Civil War-era firearms, and she wanted to see them--”

“Firearms?” Ty laughed, unable to control it. “Seriously, Carl? Your best pick-up line is…firearms?”

Lassiter scowled. “It wasn’t a pick-up line!” he insisted stubbornly. “She happens to share my interest in history.”

“Yeah, right,” Ty nodded sarcastically. “I bet she spends her weekends re-enacting battles, too.”

Lassiter rolled his eyes, turning on his heel and starting to walk away. “Look, it’s really none of your business what--”

“Yes, it is!” Ty shouted back, the ferocity of the statement taking even him by surprise.

Lassiter turned around again slowly, his annoyance fading slightly. “What?”

“It’s my business, Carl,” Ty insisted quietly, looking down at the ground now.

“What the hell makes it your business?”

Ty looked back up, his glare now simply a silent plea.  “You locked your door. You said you wouldn’t. You’re…not supposed to lock your door.”

Lassiter sighed, taking a step back towards Ty. “I forgot to leave it unlocked. I was running late--”

Ty nodded slowly, a lump beginning to form in his throat. “Is that how it works?” he asked. “You get one date, and then you just forget about me?”

“I didn’t forget about you.”

“But you will!” Ty’s eyes narrowed, though Lassiter couldn’t tell if it was from anger or fear. “Won’t you? You’ll get married and have your own kid who doesn’t call you Carl and doesn’t break into your house--”

“Good God!” Lassiter snorted, taking another step towards him. “What the hell is the matter with you? It’s one business dinner! I’m sure as hell not going to get married tonight!”

Ty’s shoulders slumped slightly as he kicked at a rock. “I know,” he mumbled. “But you will eventually.”

Lassiter shrugged, glancing back at Cecelia, who had given up trying to appear impassive and was just watching them intently now.

Lassiter just hoped she couldn’t hear them.

“I’m not going to forget you,” he said finally. “If you promise not to show up on my doorstep every time I have a business dinner.”

Ty nodded in agreement. “Okay.”

Lassiter sighed, glancing back once more. “And I’m not getting married anytime soon,” he added. “It usually helps if the woman will actually admit you’re on a date.”

Ty laughed. “That’s true. Of course, who can blame her when all you have to work with is pictures of guns--”

“There’s nothing wrong with guns!”

Ty pat his shoulder sympathetically. “Of course not, Carl. But I don’t think I have anything to worry about yet.”