Archive of Our Own ^beta

This was supposed to be a normal day. You know, get up, have a nice coffee, go to work, write up some speeders and maybe a nice little fist fight with a dealer or something. Just your average day with the Los Santos Police. But no, of course not. It had to be on a Friday, the thirteenth no less. The station was flooded with piss-stenched addicts, crack whores vomiting all over the place and even a lunatic pulling a knife on the receptionist. And I wasn't even out of the building yet.

Finally, about an hour later, me and my partner, were out, patrolling on the busy streets. I was just starting to relax, but of course, that couldn't last. Just the time when I thought the day would improve. Should teach me a lesson. At first, it was nothing special. My partner Will and I were called to a pile-up. Three cars supposedly shoved together by a fourth. The caller said there had been a shootout of sorts before the crash. I already started to have a bad feeling about this. The address might have been a hint, but, that day, that didn't click. So, with the lights flashing and sirens blaring, we made our way to Milton Road, Vinewood Hills.

Getting closer to where the incident had occurred, we could already see that a few of our colleagues' cars had arrived before us. Most of them, four that I could see, were swarming the more damaged cars further into the intersection. The rest were redirecting traffic. Two cars were shoved into each other, side to side. A third car with a broken rear bumper in front of them and the fourth, a purple Cognoscenti I knew all too well, with scrapes along its entire left side. That was when I realized the day would end as bad as it had started, without a doubt, but a lot of headache. "Oh hell no." I muttered.

Will, with whom I'd been running patrol for nearly three years now, agreed with the deepest sigh I've heard from him in...Thinking about it, in all of those years, really. "Guess this time we'll have to book her for a while, huh?"

"Yeah." I sighed myself. And would that be fun. Stopping near the other patrol cars, we got out into the waning, still hot sunlight of the summer season. We were let through to the scene and immediately, I thought it was too quiet. Well, with the gawkers holding up traffic on the single lane left open, there was lots of honking and abusive language thrown every which way. Dismissing that for the moment, we got updated on the situation by the sergeant coordinating the scene. Apparently, as I thought, the driver of the scratched Cognoscenti was at fault.

Looking over to the vehicle, I wasn't surprised to see a blond woman standing there. But I was still missing a high-pitched voice that would irritate even the calmest of souls – which I was not. Now I found myself irritated about not being irritated. What the hell? Nevertheless, the mop of blond hair under a panama hat made me think that, perhaps, the woman standing next to the demolished luxury car was just taking a breath to start or continue her tirade. The moment passed and the woman still wasn't shouting at anyone. Must be a deep breath. Drugs? Then again, the officer near her was focused entirely on the other two cars.

Sooner or later I had to anyway, so I walked up to the woman. I did notice that Will was staying behind. Thanks for the support. I hoped, for him, that the sergeant had given him another task. I didn't have to wonder why the woman was still standing there, though, instead of sitting inside an ambulance. Right then, she turned around and leaned into the car again. Her oh so important purse. That item had been a pain in the backside the last time, when we had to search through it. Well, she had been a pain, because she didn't want to let go.

Finding what she was looking for, the woman stood back up. And I found myself surprised. That's not Lacey Jonas. There was no shortage of blondes in Los Santos, naturally, but who else would I have expected in that car? Especially in that color. On closer inspection, the license plate didn't match. Unsure if I should feel as relieved as I did, considering the accident, I walked over to the stranger.

"Ma'am." First things first, regardless of who it was and how they were still on the scene, I wanted to get her away from the cars. Danger to the person, with all the traffic around, messing with evidence, heck, the simple fact that there shouldn't be anyone but the police on the scene of this magnitude, when they have already arrived and everything else was cleared out.

A number of reasons for me to pull out my handcuffs while I walked around the wreckage. "Put your hands on the hood." I told her, as soon as she turned around at my calling. "If you can't keep away by yourself, I'll have to remove you from the scene." Granted, my mood wasn't the best, especially with what I had initially expected, but I knew I shouldn't take it out on her. Nevertheless, she was where she wasn't supposed to be.

She was sizing me up. No, from the saucy grin and the look she sent over those aviator sunglasses, she was checking me out. I was taken aback for a mere moment, just a tiny falter, but that seemed to be enough for her to become even more brazen. The way she leaned forward, to put her hands on the hood as instructed, gave me the urge to look around, to make sure that we weren't being watched. A habit out of necessity. "Yes officer." Her voice lascivious as can be, I felt myself take a deep breath to have a good shout at her insolence. And that itself annoyed me greatly.

Despite the dropping mood and attention to her behavior, I didn't miss how she'd slipped something into the pocket of her tiny denim miniskirt, nor the slight wince during her leaning forward. The former was way too small for any sort of weapon, so I didn't think much of it. It would turn up sooner, rather than later. The injury, I thought, served her right. But I wasn't one to exploit something like that, so I patted her down gentler than I usually did. In hindsight, that might not have been a good idea. That revelation came when the woman chuckled quietly, the same quality to her voice as moments before. Shit. Now I just had to be a little rougher with putting the cuffs on, which didn't deter her from smirking at me. "All right, let's get you out of here." I said.

"So forward." the woman whispered, an audible grin to her words. My mood sunk further. I reached the back pocket of her skirt for her ID. The sergeant had been more worried about the others involved in the accident, since this one was up and running seemingly fine. After a moment of searching without result, the woman turned her head around to me, grinning wide. "The card would break in there, don't you think?" Even though she was looking at me, I couldn't keep myself from looking down to where my hand was. It's goddamn normal procedure! I chastised myself, finding that I had admired the backside, even for a moment. Get your shit together! "It's in the bag." the woman supplied.

Yet another irritating fact. This one quite a bit more severe, though. I hadn't noticed, neither earlier nor until now, the rather large purse on the hood right in front of us. Mentions of a shootout came back to my memory. Since none of my colleagues on the scene had shown any sings of reacting such a thing, I hadn't payed much attention to that little claim. Maybe I should've gone home. The possibility of firearms being involved put the injury the woman had in a different light. But her nonchalance and lack of any sings of blood or damage to her ruled out that cause. The accident was big enough.

The muscles around my mouth started to hurt from scowling. Wordlessly, I closed the other cuff, held the chain in the middle and reached into the bag with the free hand. There were, indeed, bullet holes in the car's hood. That got me to focus on the work I needed to do. But the cuffed woman cleared her throat- right next to my ear. It was then that I realized I had leaned over her barely clad back. She might as well have worn just the purple bikini top. The shirt..thing was so see through, it might as well not have been there. Jesus! I wasn't thrilled to find myself noticing so much detail.

What is wrong with you today? I couldn't help myself from muttering a quiet "Sorry." and then reposition, looking anywhere, but at her. A little less awkward, I found her wallet and flipped it open. "Jane Smith." Looking back up at her, I refrained from asking the obvious. The woman just smirked. I resisted the urge to question her why she was still on the scene and just hauled her to the ambulance standing next to the police cars. Well, maybe still mindful of her not so obvious injury. Cursed be good upbringing.

"Where'd she come from?" One of the officers asked me, his eyes wide.

I glared at him. Now there was someone I could take it out on. "Gee, maybe you guys should've put someone on watch for the people involved in the accident." The officer shrank back and the sergeant looked over to us. I guess my voice was rather loud. Not that it mattered in that moment. "Who knows what she's been messing with in the mean time!"

"Other than you? Not much." Both the officer and myself gaped at the woman. Her grin from before was back. And, in that instant, so was my mood.

"All right, that's it." Nudging her, not so gently, forward, I was beginning to get fed up with her antics. The heat in my cheeks didn't contribute in her favor. "Get going." First I pointed to the ambulance, then turned back to the officer "And you! Keep your eyes open." Not that I had rank over him to pull, since the sergeant was on the scene, but it felt good. It also felt good to see him jolt by my words. Sometimes that's allowed, isn't it?

"Feisty." the blonde smirked at me. Before I could respond, the woman turned serious. "I don't need medical attention." I noticed that she waited for us to be out of earshot of the other officers to say that.

"Well, you're getting it anyway." Shoving her forward rather unceremoniously, I was surprised that she didn't say any more. Throwing her into the back of a patrol car, locking the door and make her someone else's problem was a tempting thought. But, now that I was seemingly the only one not involved in a task, 'someone else' wasn't available. Besides, if she didn't want help, she'd have to tell the medic and sign his forms, not mine. As it turned out, that's exactly what she did, when she repeated her request to the paramedic, who then gave her the form. He seemed used to it.

All fine by me, I didn't care either. I told her as much. For some reason, I felt like a little girl, picking on another, when she smirked. We were standing in front of a police car, in which I'd wanted to plant her now, when she turned around to me and smiled patronizingly. "Officer, ma'am, you have not read me my rights." So, after a moment of self-loathing, I began to list her rights. Which she waved off with a laugh. As best she could, being cuffed. I sighed.

After informing the sergeant of the fact and reasons why I was going to take 'Jane Smith' to the station, I walked over to Will to get him. He was just finishing up with a witness interview and he was glad to be able to get out of any more of that. We work to help people, but witnesses do tend to make our lives much more complicated than necessary. I guess both sides had their egos to stroke.

Miss – I assumed, for lack of contradicting evidence – Smith kept thankfully silent all the way to the station. Though I was surprised she didn't even comment on anything I said, when I told Will the same I'd told the sergeant before. Guess she won't be talking. It made sense, then, for her to ignore the Miranda. Arriving at the station, I hoped she hadn't noticed my watching her in the mirror during the drive, which I only realized after the fact. She'd given nothing away, so maybe...

Will headed directly to his desk, wanting to process the witnesses' statements. That left me, again, to deal with the blonde. Between the two of us, I would've had to anyway. Claims no one wanted were quickly made if a male, even though police, handled a female. Putting her on a chair at my own desk, I asked her to empty her pockets, after which I'd be taking her personal information. That included her purse, but I was a lot more interested in what she had slipped into her pocket. "Let's see what you've got in those pants." I asked thus. For the life of me, and I'd remember that one for quite a while, I couldn't think of why I phrased it like that.

But I had to live with the consequences. "Officer! We didn't even have a first date." Ruined by the wide grin on her lips, she was mock pretending to be appalled. I could only stare at her, wide eyed. The pen slipped from my fingers. It seemed I was so far out of my game that day, I shouldn't even have gotten up in the first place. And the coffee had been so good...

I needed to get out of this. Running away would've been a lot worse, though. There were other things to consider, too. I looked around if anyone heard us. Had she been loud just to my ears? Dammit. Gloss over. Yes, that seemed like a good idea. Just forget it and proceed as normal. "You hid something in your pa-your pocket earlier." Oh yes, this was going well. "Let's see it."

The woman seemed surprised that I had apparently noticed that, but she obeyed my request. Getting up, so she could even get a hand into the pocket in the first place, the blonde pulled out a tiny black plastic thing. Which she reached out for me to grab. Which, in turn, took a moment for me to realize. Leaning forward on one hand on my desk, she made it a point to show as much of her cleavage as she could. It didn't matter that she didn't have that much to show. Previous...events had me gaping at it nonetheless. I kind of felt like I needed a shower now. A cold shower.

My irritation rose. Not even over her behavior, but mine. I'd sprung every trap she'd set, consciously or not. The worst of it was that my ego didn't allow me to back down now. And I didn't even fully realize that, outside of knowing this would only get worse. Still, somehow I managed to get through cataloging her present possessions – which wasn't much. Aside from all the gaudy decoration she'd thrown onto herself. Though I did like the hat – on her. One more thought that shouldn't be. Her purse only held a bottle of sunscreen, a brush, mobile phone and the wallet I had put back earlier. Oversized, tacky, ugly. But that was just my opinion, which, so I've been told, doesn't count in these matters.

Much more interesting was the small memory card from her pocket. If this was some kind of movie, she'd be a spy with government-incriminating evidence on that thing, right? I had to fight down the silly grin I felt coming on. Bet it was pictures of some fashion thing she'd spotted in a shop or herself in such fashion. Maybe her boyfriend... I did not acknowledge any ensuing thoughts I couldn't prevent. "All right, please look through this and sign it, if it's in order." I pushed the form over my desk. She eyed the memory card for a second, then looked up, somewhat startled to realize that I would have had to notice her doing that. The saucy grin slipped back on her lips and I was suddenly very sure I didn't want to know what was on that card. Someone else would have to look through it, should that come to pass. For now, she hadn't done anything to warrant that much scrutiny.

With the form signed, I wrote down what little personal information I could get from her. She still claimed to be Jane Smith. I still didn't believe it and made that obvious. To which she just grinned at me. "Right." after a moment of a staring contest between us, I shook my head and proceeded. "Fingerprints." It may have been a subconscious thing, but after a while, I did notice I'd used less words to converse with her. Less traps. I was annoyed, by myself, yet again. That done, her cuffed again, a photograph taken, which she'd made nearly impossible again, posing, flirting with the camera – me –, I was glad to finally be able to get rid of her.

As I was guiding her down the hallways to a cell, I realized that she hadn't protested about her detention at all. I didn't have it in me to try and coerce something out of her with small talk. That probably wouldn't have ended well – for me, this time. I also noticed that, despite the rush in the office and what had happened that morning, the few bullpens we had in the station were empty. She'd noticed as well. "Oh, finally getting some alone time?" Of course she would, in the literal sense, but hell if I didn't know what she was getting at. "So straight forward. I'm already cuffed, shouldn't that be foreplay?" See, it was hard to miss.

Me, on the other hand, I missed my step. And got angry. It's not like I was known for having fits or anything, but sometimes my dear mama's temper shone through. Spinning 'Jane' around, right into the cell, I pushed her up against the wall. "Will you stop toying with me!" Luckily I managed not to shout, instead I growled. Her ever present grin was distorted by a flash of pained strain, but I couldn't stop myself. "I've had it with your antics. You'll stay the full forty-eight hours, I'll make sure of that, you hear me?" Despite that I was half a head shorter than her, we were now nose to nose. "Now shut it and cool yourself o-" Perhaps she heard my requests as a command? I would never know. My brain went totally blank when she suddenly did shut it. My mouth, of all things, with hers.

There was any number of things I could have done in that situation. Punch her and shout some more, slap her and scream like a girl, tap dance – anything, really. What I didn't think I could've done was reciprocating. After the moment of wide-eyed shock, I found myself kissing back. Oh dear god! This wasn't something my mama would've done in any sort of fit. Her loss. Those thoughts made absolutely no sense, but what else did when you were – slowly, but surely passionately – kissing with an apprehended suspect, right in their cell. Right in your workplace. Right in the middle of the day, with everyone present.

I would never know how much time had passed. It seemed like a really, really long time. Time well spent, but, oh, so goddamn wrong. But all I did was gently, lingeringly pull my mouth from hers. Looking up into icy blue eyes that weren't cold by any means, I stared. "Oh shit..." It escaped me before I could help myself. And that was when all realization slammed back into my head. Usually I was calm and rational, but with the events of the day and now this, in hindsight, I wasn't really surprised to feel panic creeping up on me. Jumping me.

Yet again she managed to break that spell "That's just rude." She was still – again? – smirking, but now with full, thoroughly kissed lips. Thoroughly kissable lips. Oh boy. Still pinning her to the wall she was awkwardly leaning against with the cuffs behind her back, I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, to steady myself. Instead I was inhaling her very slightly perfumed scent. A heady thing to do, in that situation, but it managed to quell the onset of panic entirely. Slowly I let go of her, taking my time to gather my thoughts. Teasing from suspects was something I could easily ignore. For some reason it'd been harder, turning impossible with her. But I had never imagined anything like what had happened then.

First things first, I wanted to rake my hand through my hair. A gesture unconsciously intended to somehow calm myself down, consciously to react to my confusion and somehow smooth my appearance. Which, I'd bet money on it, was askew. But that right hand stopped mid-air when I looked at it. Blood. A simple enough discovery. Which entailed way too many questions that all suddenly wanted answers inside of my head. There was more red on my uniform's sleeve, all the way down to a big spot on my shirt. I looked up to the other woman, still leaning against the wall. She was looking slightly dazed herself. On the side of her flimsy shirt, I could see a huge red stain marring its pristine whiteness. "Jesus..fuck!"

"Cursing really doesn't become you." Still smiling, there was no mistaking the strain to her voice.

When it became obvious that she was struggling to keep herself on her feet, my head finally jump started again. "That still a no for the ambulance?" It wasn't so much a question as a statement. The silent, crooked smirk was answer enough, as I tried to get a good hold on her. For the moment, there was no need to question where the blood was actually coming from. Getting her to a patrol car was now my priority. We were stopped by my sergeant in the squad room and, while he was rightfully pissed at the scene, I reasoned that the woman had declined medical help earlier. Now, though, we, as the police, had to cover our backs and get her fixed. Sticking with the truth, "She's torn something open with her antics. I'll be faster than an ambulance." I rushed past him.

Gently, but as quick as possible, I stuffed 'Jane' into a patrol car. It wasn't until we were on the road that I calmed down enough to look over to her. She had her eyes closed, leaning her head against the window. "Still alive?"

A moment of silence, in which her eyes slowly opened and found mine, stretched. "I'm..fine.." she wheezed. That made me snort. At least she was still pressing the towel I'd given her onto the wound. It'd be a pain to get the car clean.

With her awake again, I noticed she was looking at every reflective surface she could find. Certainly not to take a look at herself, though. "Expecting company?" I joked. As soon as I said it, I wished I hadn't. The day was still long.

Thankfully nothing happened on the way to the hospital, nor all the way until she'd been fixed up and put in a room – not that I had expected anything to happen, or looked into the mirrors myself. At last, after about an hour, 'Jane' was taken to some doctor's office or another. I stayed in the lobby until she got stitched up. Had to make sure I'd cleaned up my mess, after all. The mess in my head only got worse as soon as I was left behind. Sitting and waiting, alone, my thoughts ran circles, relay racing with increasing amounts of participants. I asked a nurse for an aspirin. However many minutes later, I still hadn't untangled any thoughts, never mind come to a useful conclusion – other than having to admit that what had happened was a real turn on. Which wasn't useful, nor appropriate. Repetition of those ridiculously long few minutes in my head, like a movie on repeat, wasn't contributing. So much for calming down.

Somewhere along the line I made sure that I was informed of the type of her injury. Considering the scene of the accident, – what felt like months earlier – there were few possibilities. My suspicions were confirmed when I'd been given a small plastic container with a bullet in it. I didn't really know what to do with the worry I started to feel. It was there when she'd started bleeding, but with this evidence in hand...

Thinking about it, I could've left. She'd be in the hospital, safe and sound, some other officer could've come here later in the day, taken statements and all that jazz. I could go and give the bullet to forensics. They'd match it to the others from the car. I'd have something to occupy my time with, to forget the worry. Yes, that was a sensible thing to do, really. It would save me – us both – from any awkwardness that surely would ensue. Just get up and leave. I stared at the deformed piece of metal in the little plastic jar. Exit's right there. Staring at the sliding doors, I was already thinking of viable excuses as to why I couldn't take the statement from the woman. You've done your part. Now do your job. The sliding doors opened and closed several times until, finally, I got up.

All hot and bothered, none the wiser, but with a good, fresh coffee – thanks, nurse – in hand, I followed the nurse's directions to the floor with Jane's room. In front of which I was standing, looking left and right. Why? To make sure of what? Who knew. Who cared. I knocked. "Yes?" She sounded perky enough, not at all drugged. Maybe that'd kick in later? I still had no idea of how much time passed and didn't think of looking at a clock. Entering, I was greeted with a smile. Not drugged at all, it seemed, but I didn't find anything to laugh about at that moment.

There was a lone chair in the corner of the room. Business first. Sitting down without so much as a word, I pulled the plastic jar from my pocket and held it up for her to see. Her smile turned wry. "You move fast." I looked at her, inquiring. "Proposing already?"

"I'm going to attribute that to blood loss." But she obviously knew, judging by her apologizing look, that that was a bad one. Sighing, I looked directly at her eyes. I wanted her to stop joking. "What happened?"

"I guess I do owe you one, huh?" Damn right she did. And I wasn't, at all, thinking that I'd already received plenty. "The chip. Remember?" nodding again, she took a moment and sighed heavily. "I...acquired some documents." Seeing that I didn't exactly follow, she concluded "Of the incriminating kind?"

That explained quite a few things. Los Santos didn't live up to its name, after all. She had my undivided attention. "What about?"

"Who, rather than what." Now it was her turn to take a deep breath and let it out as a drawn out sigh. "Jack Sykes."

Somehow the name rang a bell, but I needed a second to remember who it was. As realization set in who she was talking about, I must've looked comically surprised. Jane was laughing self-deprecatingly. "Wow." That one really did need a moment to settle. "You sure know how to pick 'em." Jack Sykes, son to Earnest Leavitt, one of the most well know, most notorious businessmen in the city. And – allegedly – due to replace his daddy. Rich as they come, his fingers in anything he could get at – we certainly didn't know everything – suspected of trafficking of almost anything, extortion and bribery, murder, etc, etc...Los Santos' mob-version of the high-society busybody – thankfully dead – Devin Weston.

Sykes' dad had been in the shady business for nearly thirty-five years now and the only time he'd been booked for anything was for a stupid little thing he stole at some supermarket years back. Now he was nearly seventy and still making the streets unclean with his presence, letting only very few people close to him and thus, of course, his son. Which, of course, begged the question how this here Missy...Who the hell was she anyway? "Who the hell are you anyway, Jane?" I heard myself ask. I put an emphasis on it to make sure she knew I didn't believe it for a second.

"Just a girl who sought revenge." There was that wry, rather disarming smile again. Damn her for it. "My name's..." We were interrupted when the door opened. Of course, this being a hospital, someone was bound to look in on...Goddammit, now I still didn't know her name. Nevertheless, at most, I expected a doctor to show up. So I was a little surprised when a fat guy in a brown tweed jacket and matching hat stepped into the room. Well, even that might not have been anything suspicious, thanks to a large bouquet of flowers the man carried in.

Might've been a relative she'd called earlier, flowers and all. With what she told me just then, that was out of the question, though. The most prominent evidence against any such theory was the large knife the guy was slipping from the flowers that scattered onto the floor. "Well shit, not so subtle." It was somewhat comical, he was standing there, knife at the ready, and suddenly he noticed me. Had I spoken out? Had I said that? Oh damn...At least there went his plan, right? I hoped. Behind the guy, the door fell shut with a deafeningly loud bang.

Suddenly, the room was very quiet. Nobody moved, maybe not even breathed. Remaining seated, my hand slowly crawled to my service weapon. "Come on, make my day." I said, just as I unlatched the holster and firmly put my hand on the grip. The supposed killer stared at me. His expression was changing, as if he wanted to try and off me first. So he wasn't stupid. Leave the crippled for later. "Do it." What? I was as surprised as the other two when I said that. But I felt like I was working on some kind of automatic mode. "Just do it. I'd be rid of you when I shoot you and of her goddamn antics when you stab her." Pointing at Jane, I got what my instinct wanted me to do. I wanted for him to turn around, all confused and then I would jump him.

Despite that idea, I wasn't disappointed when he slowly backed to the door, not letting me out of his sights. His clearly angry sights, when he opened it. And, as soon as he arrived, he was gone. Ready to jump, I'd been half standing. At best, I'd have tried to whack his head with the gun, thinking it a very bad idea to discharge it with just a slim plaster wall or wooden door behind him. I slumped back into the chair, leaning my head against the wall behind it, exhaling loudly. "That was..." I didn't know what it was, aside from nicely supporting...Jane's claims. What an odd timing the guy had, though.

She wasn't so unsure of describing what just happened, though. "That was kinda brave. Kinda insulting." she smiled again – or still? I tried to catch up with my thoughts. There hadn't been many armed people I'd stared down in my career – yet. Not enough to get used to it, so I was a little shaken. "And incredibly fucking stupid." she added, sighing as well.

"Cursing really doesn't become you." I said after a moment. We looked at each other and burst out laughing.

Calming down, I leaned back against the wall to take a sobering breath. "Why didn't you chase him?" Jane looked at the door that had fallen shut again. I opened a heavy eyelid and glanced at her.

Thankfully my brain had worked that out while the guy was...leaving. "Through a huge building full of easy potential hostages?" Somehow I felt the need to justify myself. "The room's way too small and he didn't catch on to my bait. Outside of this room, there is way too much potential danger to someone who, apparently, lacks conscience. I mean, he was a killer, right?" An odd question, but one I'd really wanted an answer to. Just to be safe, that really happened what I saw. "Right?" Was that another onset of a panic attack, like earlier? A bit different, but I couldn't tell the difference.

Jane was, yet again, a lot calmer than me. Well, she had dealt with Sykes. Who knew what she'd witnessed and survived. Was that jealousy I felt rising? About missing out on her life? As ridiculous as that was, it made me even more agitated. "Calm down." So I even looked the part? Maybe she should do my job... "C'mere." I did. Standing next to her bed, I stared down into the incredibly blue eyes again. Jane patted a spot next to her legs. "Sit." I did. She reached out and placed her warm palm on my cheek. "You just saved my life, you know." I did? Huh, I did. "Thank you for sticking around." she said, reached behind my head and pulled me down.

Screw procedure and regulations. This just felt too good. And it made me forget the jealous streak. I kissed back, urged her on to deepen it. When we separated to take a short breath, I looked into her eyes again, darkened by desire. My hand, the one I wasn't leaning on over her, slowly slid up her arm, caressing her cheek, and, very slowly, down again, over small, but perky breasts, to her taut stomach. All thought lost in the renewed kisses. Until she winced. "Oh shit!" I jerked away, realizing I had put pressure on her wound. "I'm sorry!" Now standing next to her bed again, I looked at my hands, as if they were at fault, and back to Jane.

"It's all right." Who smiled. Thank goodness. "Just a sting." She didn't look like it was nothing, so I reached for the buzzer to call a nurse. But her hand stopped mine. "Really, there's no need." Jane tried to pull me back to her, but I used the pause to clear my head again. There were still questions left to be asked. I looked at her sternly and resisted her pull. She pouted. "Aw, playtime's over?" Damn her.

"F-for now." I hadn't realized how flushed and woozy I still felt, but to say that? I touched my lips, as much in surprise of saying it as in memory of the softness they'd just received. Well, if proceedings proceeded as they had all day, continuation wasn't out of the question, right? But damned if...what, really? Didn't do my job? That was already the case, wasn't it? Back to reality, somehow, I forced myself to take a deep breath and go back to the chair. Sitting down, I took another deep breath and focused on the eyes that had followed my every movement. The mouth, that incredibly kissable mouth, wearing the trademark smirk. I growled in frustration and, shaking my head, forced myself to focus on the fact that I still didn't even know who I was kissing.

Jane was a sharp one, though, and she seemed to realize she wasn't getting out of answering more questions. "Valerie." she supplied. Vague memories of where we'd left off before the interruption – interruptions – threaded together what she was getting at. Well now, didn't Jane have a nice name. "Valerie Lindon." She seemed to expect a reaction from me, but I could only raise an eyebrow. "Of course you wouldn't..." she mumbled. Somehow, I felt I disappointed her in some way. What the hell? I suppose the emotional rollercoaster wouldn't stop for me to catch a breath that day.

"Long story short, Sykes robbed my grandma of her possessions." Jane...Valerie looked away, out of the window. "There are plenty of reasons why this mattered – and still does matter a lot to me." About to ask what, exactly, he did, about her personal history and why she didn't go to the police, Valerie beat me to it, "At first, like you'd expect, I tried the police." Okay, so she did. I wasn't privy to all goings on in the precinct, obviously, but that didn't stop me from feeling like I should know this one. "Your people couldn't help me, so I went to a few lawyers. Just to get things rolling, you know." She looked back to me. "You might imagine, no one wanted anything to do with that. So, finally, I confronted him directly."

My eyebrow rose quickly, and I became angry. "Now that was stupid. Are you suicidal?" As soon as I said it, I regretted it. Here she was, telling me the police – us...me – couldn't help her and I insulted her for it. And I didn't even know her reasons for taking such measures. "I'm sorry." Somehow, though, I took it personal.

Valerie smiled, though. "You worry about me. How sweet." And I was, worrying, feeling – not as Officer Vasquez – the need to protect this woman. That in itself was kind of startling, annoying, troubling. She distracted me from it, thankfully, "Yeah, that was kinda stupid. But I didn't know what else to do. His...manner in brushing me off gave me an idea, though." I dreaded what that implied. "So I blonded and bimbo'd up and he was dumb – or horny – enough to forget I had existed before and bit the bait." I bristled. To my dismay, I found I was feeling jealousy sick. This time a worse kind. It must've shown on my face. Valerie laughed out loud. "I didn't sleep with him, if that's what you're thinking."

Looking at her indignantly, I shouted, "I wasn't!" As far as denials go, that was the worst I'd given to her yet. Somewhat demurely, actually, for reasons I shouldn't have, feeling a little triumphant, I asked, "But why?"

Her snickering quickly died to make way for a sobered, serious expression. "That kind of guy gives as long as you tease. Freely and a lot. Especially when they think you don't have much of a mind of your own. Once they've got what they wanted, though, they'll look for a new toy."

That was a surprise. I wouldn't know these things, but I kind of doubted, yet not really, that applied – at least not a lot. "Are you speaking from experience?"

"Sort of." Valerie hesitated. Sadness showed, crystal clear, in her eyes, even though her body, her posture clearly didn't want for anyone to acknowledge that. Was it my police training that let me read her eyes like that? "My mother."

"I see." And I did. Valerie didn't look like the sort that wanted any pity, so I was glad to note that strong feelings of protectiveness returned. Who cared if that was appropriate.

"It's why I turn to women." she smirked.

I hadn't really thought about that. Being confronted with it, I found that, even after everything that happened, I thought that she'd just do anything to get out of dealing with the police. Or just to mess with me, but that'd just be selfish, right? Nevertheless, "Still the wrong ones, though." I told her, smirking myself now.

"Oh?" All right, her seductive smirk was much more effective. "You certainly didn't seem to indicate you're straight."

We laughed again together. "No, I mean you should've wooed a higher rank." When she still looked at me questioningly, I had to scratch the back of my head, looking sheepishly back at her. "I'm just a Corporal."

As if that explained everything, Valerie just shook her head. "It's not like I planned this. You just took the bait so well and...well, here we are." she gestured between us and put her hand where I'd touched her.

That said a lot more than it should have. Or was I interpreting it wrong? Despite wanting to hear more, I was glad she hadn't said more than she did. Everything was still very, very inappropriate. "Yeah, here we are." I felt my face flush hot. Despite wanting more, I had one thing I could offer her. Already my mind was working on how to lay it out to the Marshals Service, to make it work.

A moment of silence drew out between us. At some point, Valerie concluded her story "So, anyway, it took a while, but I got into his home. Stringing him along a little more, one day he left on some trip or another and I raided his computer." She chuckled. "Imagine that, it wasn't protected at all. Daddy won't be pleased when he finds out."

Which only served as a reminder that the one attempt at murder that happened today won't be the last. Those guys were known to go to considerable lengths for revenge. And to be duped like that, by a woman whom they thought some... I didn't want to call her that, even in my thoughts. "Actually," I said, after another pause in the conversation. "I do have one idea we could do..." She seemed to notice my reluctance to get it out. Hell, I noticed my reluctance to say it. I wasn't pleased by the reason, while appreciating it all the same. Goddammit.

A few months passed me by, as if I was in a daze all the time. I didn't pay much attention to just about anything, always lost in thoughts that didn't want to clarify themselves. Of course, the answer to the question of what they were would've been answered easily. But it would've made things all the more difficult to endure.

Every single day, I would ask myself what a ridiculous idiot I was. I only knew her for a single day, the second and third being drowned in paperwork and dealing with the Marshals. Along with everything that ensued about my behavior on that day – staying away from work for as long as I did, which I hadn't even realized until I was called out on it, injuring an apprehended suspect...all the things that eventually got to my supervisor.

One day, Will, who'd backed me up all the time, and I were just returning from patrol. A fellow officer came to me at my desk and handed me a newspaper page. I raised an eyebrow at him, but he just turned and left. The simple, big lettered headline let me know how easily these things spread throughout the precinct. No one else seemed to have a need to show me anything else from the paper. Then again, it had been months, so they were tactfully quiet about it until now. 'Mob-Son Sykes convicted. Sentenced for life.' I'll be damned. Must have been some real thoroughly documenting documents. Somehow I felt pride for Valerie's persistence. I wondered if she got anything back from it, but, knowing how those things go, that kind of hope was moot.

It put me in a bad mood again.

On the evening of the Saturday of that same week, I was enjoying my down time with a lazy day on the couch, underneath a blanket, wrapped in nothing but an extra long shirt, a book and some disgustingly sweet soda to keep my mind from falling asleep. Exactly the kind of unwinding I'd needed. Especially after the morning's visit from my mother. I was just flipping a page, using the opportunity to yawn long and thoroughly, when the doorbell rang. I frowned and looked at the that time of day, it could really only be my mother, who'd returned to bring the left over foods, as she'd threatened. Goddammit, I said I don't need them. I really, really didn't want to get up, but leaving my mother at the door was even worse. I loved my mother. And her food. So I unwrapped myself from the blanket and put on the pair of boxers haphazardly thrown somewhere near – it was my mother after all. I padded over to the door, barefoot, a smile on my face in anticipation of delicious goods.