I felt inspired to try and write a murder mystery to combine with my continuation of Nick and Jen (from their breakup at the end of last season). This isn't a song fic but it was somewhat inspired by the Thirsty Merc song – Homesick - they used at the end of season 4 episode 22 and Missy Higgins – Where I stood. I've never written crime before so no idea if what I do is going to be any good it might be utter crap.

I'll post the chapters as I finish them. I'll try to do it regularly but it might take me a little while.

So here goes… please review - that is if anyone is actually reading this :D (everyone likes reviews it makes us writers feel good even if you say you don't like it – but please say why otherwise it's not so nice!) and let me know if it's any good.

Disclaimer: I do not own City Homicide or it's characters (unfortunately). And I certainly don't own Homesick by Rai Thistletwayte …I just like the song.

This is pure fiction any likeness to real people or events, strange but purely coincidental.

The Price you have to Pay

"Lotta kids with a homesick view

Deep down I know that I've been homesick too

But something tells me its all right I know I'll be back in your arms tonight"

Homesick by Rai Thistlethwayte

December 2010

The cacophonous horns of early morning Metro trains intruded on the mournful scene below them as they screeched past carrying commuters on their way to work oblivious to the lonely figure lying on the ground. Dark red stains on his shirt betrayed a young life cruelly ended. The chilly morning wind blew across the derelict lot speaking to scraggy clumps of weed grass and Scotch thistles who whispered their secrets to the cracked concrete and waved a mournful elegy to the lost young man they kept hidden from passers by. The vibrant purple and yellow flowers of the weeds clashed against the bright colours of the graffiti sprayed on the concrete where he was slumped; half lying, half sitting against a pile of discarded bricks. Pale hair flopped down over his forehead, obscuring the features on his ashen face. A loyal and loving son whose lips now cold and blue had once uttered words of comfort to his poor mother. Now lonely and carelessly forgotten in death as the place where he lay.

February 1993

"Is he here?"
"I'm sorry. He told me to tell you if you came here that he doesn't want to see you anymore."
"Please," the girl cried, "Please. I really need to see him."

Darkness crept over the well-manicured lawn, scattered with pampered rose bushes and well tended garden beds creating an assault course for her as she ran blindly forwards. The air was fragrant with roses and she'd forever hate the smell of them because of it. The memory of doors being shut before her, shutting her out, cruelly cutting her off from love and her last hope. The colourful flower heads became a mish-mash of greys in the low light as she stumbled hardly seeing back towards the large gates. Even though it was a warm summer night it was pouring with rain that mingled with her tears as she ran. She was terrified. I'll make it on my own. I will. I'll do it without their help. I'll show them. Somehow I will. Don't you worry I'll take care of us.