John gently set his new puppy, Misha, on the grass of the back yard. He leaned into his crutches as he took deep breaths of spring air. "Go potty." He smiled, letting the pup wander. He turned as the back door opened, a smile reaching his lips when he saw that it was his wonderful wife. "Mom got me a puppy." He smirked, noticing her full-face of make-up and professional looking clothes.

"She's cute." Claire nodded, reaching into a stretch before kicking her shoes off. "What'd you name her?"

"Misha." He grinned, scooping the puppy up to show her. "I was actually thinking of training her to be a service dog."

"Good idea." Claire stepped into the soft spring grass and gently touched John's shoulder. "How do you feel?"

He shrugged, hooking his finger under her chin and lifting her face to his in a sweet kiss. "A little sore… Doc hooked me up with some good meds though so it's not bad."

Claire nodded, combing her fingers through his hair. "Do you think you'll feel good enough to go to a work lunch with me tomorrow?"

"Anything for you, my Sweets."

Claire's eyes trained on John as he limped through the dining room of the restaurant, relief flooding her as she realized she wouldn't be alone after all. "You made it!"

"I'm so sorry Sweets, PT ran longer than I thought." He kissed her gently, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"You lost track of time playing with Raya and Misha, didn't you?"

"Yes..." He blushed as she caught him. "Yes I did." His eyes shifted slightly, flashing gold before he motioned for Claire to lead the way to their table. "Shall we?"

John chuckled at Claire's Boss's joke, leaning back in his chair and lifting his glass to his lips. He let his eyes wander, searching the restaurant for that familiar face. Where are you?

"Mr. Bender?" John's attention snapped back to the table, Claire's Boss.

"Sorry, I'm… my mind tends to wander." He amended, using his best richy voice. He didn't like these people. They were too proper, too prim, too perfect. He may have not been a criminal on the southside of Chicago anymore, but he wasn't a hoity toity rich man either.

"I was asking what it is you do for a profession." Mr. Morres repeated.

"I'm a police officer, Sir." John's eyes flitted to the movement toward the corner of the room.

"Were you wounded on the job?" Mrs. Morres blurted, clearly not minding her words around someone as tattooed and scarred as John.

It can't be… John's heart picked up a pace, his mind racing back to the news of his high school ex-girlfriend Bethany's case. The bits of the case he had heard began lining up, the reason Bethany had been a suspect in the murder when John knew she would never kill a human being. "Yes, Ma'am, but I'm not at liberty to discuss the cases." He returned to the conversation at hand, ignoring the way his hairs tingled when the man looked at him.