Disclaimer - ABC own them. No profit is being made.

[Picks up after "Little Good-byes"]

*

Detective Kate McKinnon, former FBI Agent, leaned against the side of her desk filing a hangnail she tore during a collar a few hours ago. Every few seconds, she'd look up at the dark-haired beauty, her new partner.

McKinnon lazily recalled her first few weeks at the 1-5 precinct. She needed a change from D.C. and all of its politics and waited patiently for her transfer to come through. New York was her first choice, and she got it. Her credentials were superb, having spent eight years in FBI Crimes and Punishment and the Victim/Witness Program. Her resume was among a vast group of candidates, but it was Lieutenant Fancy who hand picked her to partner with Diane Russell. It was a good match, both the same age and, more importantly, both having lost their husbands.

"You know, it's Friday night, and I find myself without a date, yet again. What is a back woods girl from the Blue Ridge Mountains supposed to think about this big city? No men, no fun, no life..." Kate watched her closely for a reaction.

Diane lifted her head and stared incredulously at Kate. She was as blue-eyed as those mountains must be, with long, waist-length ringlets of strawberry blonde hair falling down her back. She'd bet her paycheck every male in the department wanted her phone number. "Just when do you sleep, Kate, after midnight?" Diane leaned back, stifled a yawn, and glanced at her partner -- fresh as a daisy. Diane felt as though a herd of cattle just trampled her lower back. What's more, when the hell was the last time she filed a broken nail? She found herself looking at her unmanicured hands.

"Sleep is something I try not to let interfere with my social life." Kate stopped filing and looked at her wristwatch. "If we leave now, we could catch a movie, go skating, or we could just sit and watch them skate with a cup of hot chocolate? "

"You're not giving up, are you?" Diane asked. She hadn't socialized in months; her work was plenty on her plate right now.

Kate nodded. "No."

"Hot chocolate, it is." Diane gave in, smiled, and finished the report Fancy would expect to see on his desk.

They left the precinct, passing the desk sergeant on their way out. "Ladies." Joe DiMarco thought that anyone collared by one of those babes should consider himself lucky.

Kate elbowed Diane, "If he were twenty years younger and twenty pounds lighter, I'd go for it."

"Anything with pants, huh?" Diane teased her.

They walked along the busy streets of the city, already signs of the approaching holidays vividly displayed in each department store window. Silver garland connected one lamppost to another, a corner Santa Claus jingled for change, and a few snowflakes beginning to fall, making Diane feel as though she just stepped into a Rockwell painting. She tugged at the collar of her new red, wool coat, long and heavy, a wise choice for New York winters.

Rockefeller Center was mobbed. They made their way to the glass-enclosed balcony, overlooking the rink. Small sitting areas and restaurants lined one side of the Center so patrons could sit and watch the skaters. The other side overlooked the rink and was open to passers-by. Diane chose a small, open café at the back of the pavilion. Luckily, a table for two was available in a dimly-lit corner.

They removed their coats and gloves, ordered two cups of hot chocolate, and made themselves comfortable. "It's amazing how serene this city can really be. Do you skate?" Diane asked.

"Not much time for that when you're chasing lunatics down in the armpit of the nation's capital." Diane knew her husband was a D.C. policeman, who was gunned down in the line of duty. As if reading her thoughts, Kate went on. "My husband, John, was running security outside the White House, and some whack tourist jumped the barrier and made a run for it. John hollered for him to stop, he did, but not before he pulled a semi-automatic out - right between the eyes. He never had a chance."

During the two months Kate had been at the 1-5, Diane never pried into her personal life. She knew, of course, how her husband died; Fancy made it a point to tell her. And Kate knew, as well, of Bobby's death.

"Hey, speaking of having no fun and no men," Diane remembered Kate's comment earlier, "what was Officer Shannon doing hanging around the squad room late the other night?" Kate batted her lashes and smiled.

"Get this, he comes in asking for Greg - said he needed a name and address from a bust they made two weeks ago - "they" meaning Greg and Baldwin. Well, Greg, who already gave Shannon the name and address, fails to recall this detail, proceeds to relay this information a second time, and in walks Baldwin, who then proceeds to bust Shannon's ass for the hokey excuse….well, I thought Andy would split his gut laughing. Of course, Greg had no clue, and there was poor Mike Shannon.…" Kate started giggling, "I felt so bad for him, all I could do was pick up the phone and pretend I was having a conversation with my mother or someone."

Diane said, "Now there's a guy who is twenty years younger and twenty pounds lighter, and he wears pants. And he's single. And he's well thought of in the department. Interested?"

"Maybe. But let it happen, naturally. He knows where to find me." Kate excused herself to go to the ladies' room.

Diane turned her head back to the rink and, casually glancing over toward the crowd that was gathered in the outdoor section, she noticed a tall, dark figure wearing a long, black overcoat, there was something about him that drew her attention…was that Denby? If it was, he was talking to a small blonde standing next to him, his arm placed around her shoulders. All she could see was his profile, turn this way, damn it, she found herself saying. She was so intent on keeping her eye on him that she didn't hear Kate return to the table.

"What's wrong, Diane?" Kate asked, seeing the startled look on her face.

When she turned back, he was gone. So was the blonde. She was certain it was Denby. "Nothing. I think I just saw…someone from the department, that's all. "

"Someone from the department gets you this flustered from over fifty feet away?" Kate noticed the direction of her gaze, who was it? She wondered if it was that detective who showed up her second day on the job. She was the first to arrive that morning and began reading some open case files, when a handsome man approached her desk. Quietly, he introduced himself as "Detective …..Rigby," or something like that, she hadn't caught the name, and said he wanted to leave a note for Detective Russell. She pointed to Diane's desk, he strode over and jotted something on a pad. He smiled and left. When Diane arrived, she read the note which, Kate learned earlier from snooping, was printed in black letters: "I like it strong, sweet and very hot." Kate recalled how Diane appeared flustered, turned red, then folded the note and put it in her purse.

"Was it that Rugby guy?" Kate asked hesitantly, deliberately mispronouncing his name; she didn't want to sound presumptuous.

Diane took the bait, "Yeah, that rugby guy, who keeps showing up either when I'm not around or when I'm too far away to speak." She searched the crowd again, realizing she just admitted to feeling flustered about a fellow detective, not to mention Denby. Two days after the deli incident, he left that suggestive note, and that was the last she heard of him. She recalled that awful day when she forgot everything, including her senses, and nearly melted watching that stupid drop of juice disappear down his neck. Now, what in the hell was he doing at Rockefeller Plaza, with a blonde, enjoying the show?

"Skating enthusiast?" Kate asked sarcastically.

"Denby? The only thing Denby would be enthusiastic about is an undercover assignment where he gets to screw everybody in the process." Quite literally, she added to herself. Diane rose "Ready?" They put their coats on, paid the bill and left.

*

Ten minutes earlier, on the other side of the plaza, Denby paid for two coffees and walked over to a bench overlooking the rink. "I need to get a day job," Rudy said as he took the coffee, "these night shifts are killing my sex life."

"Yours? Let me start feeling sorry for you right now." Denby paced the area looking for the blonde.

Rudy growled. "My heart bleeds for you, pal. But, as I've said before, take a moment from trying to save the entire human race…." Rudy started.

Denby cut him off, "There she is." He threw his untouched coffee in a garbage can, and walked over to meet her; she looked like hell. If she didn't come with the tape, the deal was off and the assignment would be aborted. Putting his arm around her, he bent and whispered, "It's all right," and she gave him a small, petrified smile.

He couldn't help but feel sorry for her. The boyfriend was using her to make the deliveries. Once a week, after shipment was received at La Guardia, the dirtbag would deliver the stash to a warehouse in New Jersey, then she would show up, baby carriage and all, hide the drugs under a blanket and walk to local buyers and make the sales. She'd get a lighter sentence if she cooperated -- she agreed, wore the recording device, and now it was time to hand the tape over to Denby.

"I think he might be following me. I…I…hopped a few different trains to lose him, but I'm not certain. Please, please just take this…" she began to cry, and put her hand in her coat pocket to pass the tape to Denby.

"Relax. Right now, my partner is going to take you to that café," he pointed to the upper balcony, "to the ladies' room, where you will give him the tape, and you will stay put in a bathroom stall until I come and get you." He spoke calmly and precisely. "I will knock twice, then three times. At that point, you will know it's clear to walk out, slowly, and my partner and I will escort you to a waiting squad car downstairs. Do you understand?" Denby felt as though he was speaking to a child.

She shook her head, never taking her pitiful eyes off of Denby's face; how trusting she was, and he felt like a shit for putting her through this danger. Rudy walked her to the café, disappeared, and gave Denby the chance to scan the crowd for the asshole boyfriend. No matter how many times he nailed scumbags on the street, there was always one victim who crushed his heart. That's when he saw her. What in Christ's name was she doing here?

Diane had realized when she got outside that she was missing a glove. Telling Kate to go ahead without her, she went back and retraced her steps. Not seeing it on the ground, she decided to go back to the café and check with their waiter.

He stepped behind a marble column, she hadn't noticed him. But the red coat she wore was an easy target and, in disbelief, he watched her enter the same café Rudy just took the girl. Shit. He looked around again, quickly, for the boyfriend, he was sure he wasn't in the vicinity. With determined steps, he followed her inside, and overheard her ask the headwaiter for her lost glove. Spotting it on the maitre-d's podium, Denby picked it up before the waiter had a chance to respond.

"Looking for something?" he asked, putting the glove in his pocket. Diane whirled around so quickly she lost her balance. Putting his hand on her upper arm to steady her, she regained her composure and shook off his touch. OK, he thought, she's in no mood to be charmed.

Diane forgot just what she had come back for. "I came to….to, uhm," she stammered, looking and feeling so stupid. "It's none of your business what I'm looking for." She stood tall and readjusted her shoulder pocketbook more firmly to herself. "Why are you here, Denby?"

"Why are you here, Diane?"

"I asked you first." She flippantly said.

He laughed, "And I asked you second."

He looked at her face, her hair, saw the sprinkles of snow beginning to melt into tiny wet drops in her dark curls, falling so delicately against the red coat, the contrast was bewitching.

There's that smile again, he looks like the devil, she thought. "So, as I was saying," Diane turned to the waiter, "I lost a black leather glove in here this evening. If you happen to find it, you can reach me at this number." She gave him a business card. "Now, if you'll excuse me." She tried to move around Denby.

"No." He stood in her way, blocking the door.

She glared at him. What was he doing? He wouldn't dare make a scene, she'd kill him. She took a step to the other side, he blocked her again. She looked around for another way to escape, taking note that there was only one other couple in the café. He took one step toward her, she took one back, neither taking their eyes off of each other. He's enjoying himself, what an asshole.

Denby saw the direction she was heading and let her hit the wall. "Ah, shit!" She grabbed her head. "Look, what is your problem, Denby? Are you trying to intimidate me? It's not working."

"It isn't?" He placed his hand on the wall over her shoulder. She couldn't move. He took one last look towards the entrance, and that's when he saw the boyfriend. Before he knew what was happening, he bent his head and whispered: "Put your arms around me."

"Are you crazy?" She screamed.

He put his index finger to her mouth. "Just do it."

She saw the fierceness in his eyes and did exactly what she was told. She raised her arms, gently placed them on his chest, then slid them around his shoulders, keeping her eyes as far down to the floor as possible. She heard her heart beat faster. And faster still when he brought his mouth to her ear and so quietly whispered:

"The man in the white ski jacket, is he still over by the door?"

She couldn't see over his shoulders. Raising herself on tiptoes, she leveraged her head higher and closer to his neck. Lord, what was he wearing? Snap out of it, Diane, you've smelled men's cologne before. He put his arms around her waist and embraced her closer so she could get a steadier look.

"Yes," she whispered, "he's still there."

He felt her warm breath on his skin, making it unbearable. He leaned one arm against the wall, the other still holding her up. "Tell me what he's doing? Tell me if he makes his way over to the restrooms?"

She continued to watch the stranger, he seemed agitated and angry, as though he was waiting for someone and they didn't show up. "He's leaving, Denby. He's not coming in and he's not going over to the restrooms. Is that what you wanted?" She spoke so quietly.

He reached and took her arms from around his neck, letting them drop by her sides. Her eyes half closed, she felt drugged, she looked drugged, and she sank back against the wall, as if thrown by the passion she knew he felt, too. Afraid to look at him, she dropped her eyes.

"That's what I wanted." He smiled and saw how flushed she was and how she couldn't look at him. How he managed to keep his hands from just holding her, he didn't know.

"Ah, shit, I'll be right back, don't move." He pointed a finger in her face, and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with his partner and the blonde she had seen him with earlier. So that was Denby. He checked for the boyfriend, nowhere in sight. He took the girl's hand, put his other arm around her, and said something in private to her. The girl nodded and looked appealingly up into his face and then just smiled. "Shannon should be out front by now, Rudy. Take her in, and I'll be along later."

She watched him, as if in slow motion. She couldn't take her eyes off of him. She wondered what he'd said to the girl, it was obviously comforting. She watched him still. Her eyes glazed over and the scene became too surreal. She was floating, she couldn't blink.

"Diane?" The voice broke her reverie, she jolted, and leaned lazily against the wall for support. Where was she? She looked up into his face, only inches away, handsome…Oh, my God! Breathe! Breathe now!

She did, and then slid gracefully down the wall, into Denby's arms.

*

She opened her eyes, the room was unfamiliar. And what was that smell? "Great stuff, huh, Diane?" That voice! And what was he doing shoving that stinking shit under her nose. She swung her hand up and the vial went flying across the room, impressive, he thought, she's a feisty one.

"Calm down, Diane. Open your eyes and look at me -- you passed out." He was leaning over her, his one hand cupping her cheek, the other on her shoulder preventing her from getting up; which she instantly tried to do. "No, way. You're not getting up until I'm sure you're all right."

Nervously, she looked around. "Where are we?"

"We never made it out of the café, remember? My partner? The guy in the white ski jacket?" It came back to her. "When did you last eat?"

She couldn't remember. She was getting impatient and felt he was scrutinizing her. "Lunchtime, Denby, OK? I feel fine now, I want to leave."

"I'll get a cab." He took a brown bag from the waiter. "Thanks."

Walking through the pavilion, his arm around one shoulder, they made their way out to the sidewalk. Denby hailed a taxi, opened the door, and followed her into the back seat. "Eat this," he said, as he reached in the bag and brought out a ham sandwich. Predicting a smart-ass response, he quickly put his hand up, as if to say, "Just shut up and eat."

She did.

"So, I owe you, twice now, right Denby? Go on, I know that's what you were thinking." She took a small bite, swallowed, then took another.

He turned, his arm draped along the back of her seat, his face shadowed from the passing streetlights. "No, that's not what I was thinking," he said, his eyes falling to her lips. She stopped chewing. Those goddamn eyes again, she said to herself.

She looked straight ahead, barely swallowed and, out of the corner of her eye, could see him still staring. "Look, I can't eat this now, you're making me very uncomfortable and I'm just not going to eat this, ok? " She sounded like she was trying to reason with herself, and him. She threw the sandwich in the bag, crumbled it up, the noise deafening, and sat as prim and stone-faced as could be with her hands in her lap. "And stop looking at me, Denby."

"But, Diane, a work of beauty should be admired," he whispered, his warm breath on her cheek and in her hair. She was paralyzed, and the louse knew what he was doing. She quickly moved to the other side of the cab, closer to the door; he didn't follow.

She noticed her apartment building and exclaimed to the cab driver, "This is fine, you can leave me here." She went to open the door on her side, but Denby opened his side first, which was closest to the curb. He jumped out, and she had no choice but to follow. "And I have money this time, Denby, so I won't be needing you to rescue me again." She handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill, and told him to take Denby with him.

"Trying to get rid of me, huh?" He smiled, lecherously.

She looked up at him, a shade of crimson spreading over her face. How could one man look so handsome under a Manhattan streetlight, she did not know. She was floating again but quickly shook her head to snap herself out of it. "Good night, Denby."

"Do you like basketball?" He asked suddenly, waiting for her reaction, hoping for a reaction, just something to keep her from leaving him so soon.

Well, that got her attention. She tilted her head slightly, as if not believing what she heard, and smiled. Not just any smile, but a warm and sincere smile of genuine interest. "Basketball?"

"Yeah, you know, dribble the ball, throw it through the hoop, beat the hell out of the other team…" OK, he thought, this is just not going to work if she has to ask what it is.

"I know how it's played." She laughed. "But, it depends on why you're asking?"

"Well, you see, I have tickets…..I can get tickets…to any game….at the Garden. And, if you like basketball, well, would you like to go sometime?" He put his hands inside his pockets, clenching them into fists. He dropped his head down, Diane noticing the way he, this time, could not look at her.

"With you?" She asked.

His head shot up so fast, that she smiled. "No, with this guy here in the cab," he said sarcastically. "Yes, with me. With Denby. The person you despise most on this earth, but who is willing to take it like a man if he's turned down."

He's handsome and charming, she thought.

She said, "OK. But only under one condition."

He couldn't wait to hear this one, she probably wanted to bring Baldwin along in case he screwed up again.

He waited, never taking his eyes off of her.

Finally, she said, "I'm a Celtics fan. I know, they're losers, but I grew up in Massachusetts, and if you can get tickets when they're in town, I'd like to go with you. Good-night, Denby."

He watched her walk into her building. Celtics fan? He thought. Go figure.

He got into the cab, shut the door and told the driver to take him to his precinct.

By now, the girl would be finished giving Rudy her statement.

He reached for his wallet to give the driver another twenty for making him wait, and pulled out her glove.

He put it away for another day.

THE END.