Major Crime, early afternoon

"Eight-six-seven-five-three-oh-nin-eee-ine." Humming the rest of the song and then repeating the phone number when he felt like it, Blair entered Major Crime and headed towards his desk. He'd returned just in time to hear Rafe and Brown lightly arguing over exactly what they'd seen or maybe it was heard, he wasn't exactly sure-- and it appeared that neither were they-- at the case they'd been called to right after lunch. Their conversation seemed to be the same one that the two always had every time they investigated something weird.

"You going to call Jenny, Chief?"

"Huh? No. The song was playing on the radio in the evidence room. What are they," Blair pointed to L.T. and Henri, "arguing about?"

"Oh, seems someone wrote on the side of the Shaw and Ladd Buildings."

"And?" prompted his partner.

Jim paused. He was having fun dragging out the story, watching his partner waiting for him to drop the 'punch line' of the crime.

"And? Come on, Jim. Get on with it." Jim smiled; his partner didn't disappoint him with his reaction.

"Alright, Chief. It seems that someone wrote 'K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, will you marry me Irene?' in some kind of chalk-like paint. A nice pinkish color paint, I might add. At least from what I've eavesdropped so far."

"Where's the person who painted it?"

"No one knows, and no one saw anything," answered Rafe.

"Typical."

Ignoring his partner, Rafe continued the story where Jim had left off. "It's a water-based chalk paint, so the first rain should take care of it."

"It was sweet," commented Megan. "A crime, but still sweet."

"At least the rest of it hadn't been written on the building."

"The rest of it's not that bad," Simon commented with a smile.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Henri.

"Just that sometimes the rest of the rhyme can bring you good news," answered Simon as he walked back into his office.

"Simon, you can't just say that and walk away," spoke up Joel.

Simon looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Yes, I can. I'm the captain."

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G, first comes love then comes marriage, then comes Simon with the," sang the detectives of Major Crime.

"Oh alright," interrupted Simon. "I'll tell you just to get you to stop singing."

Simon leaned against a desk, trying to find a relaxed half-standing, half-sitting position. "It was February 14, 1981, and I was stuck in a traffic jam at the wrong time..."

...Glaring through the snow-glazed windshield at the cars surrounding his own, Simon sighed at the complete unfairness of life. Here he was, married less than a year to the woman of his dreams, the love of his life, and today was that all-encompassing day for lovers. A day for which he'd been eager--Valentine's Day.

And here he was, stuck in two lanes of still cars during a snowstorm while someone scraped up the truckload of road salt that had dumped all over the intersection of Spring Street and Danvers Avenue. The major intersection had ground to a halt because some idiot driving the salt truck took the corner too fast and spun out on the ice, fishtailing before finally tipping over with a crash that shook the street, spraying ice, snow, and salt everywhere.

Ordinarily, the salt wouldn't have been a problem, Simon told himself. After all, this was Cascade. This city eats salt for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, not to mention in-between snacks on the sly. The salt truck, however, was full and ready to be spread on the asphalt, to protect innocent travelers.

Simon was left sitting behind the wheel of his car, listening to the radio, allowing the soft jazz strains he preferred to wash over his mind while he wished his wife could be in his arms. "Jesus, I could've walked there by now!" he grumbled. At least the walk and the crisp cold weather would have cleared his head from the day's depressing end.

So far, the special day he had planned didn't seem to be progressing too well. Everything had been great about his shift; he and Joe LaCasse, his partner, got along just as well as always. Mister Watch-The-Moths-Fly-Out-Of-My- Wallet-Whenever-I-Open-It had even sprung for the coffee and danishes that morning. Simon had been sufficiently shocked as to feign a heart attack, anticipating the light smack to his arm.

They'd had a relatively quiet day on patrol, riding their beat in their blues, both glad they didn't have a walking beat like the foot patrol. The criminal element of the city apparently had taken the day off; surprising, considering the holiday. Maybe the thieves had gotten their "shopping" done early.

The first mistake was answering the domestic call that had come in right before the end of their shift-- normally the call would be given to officers just beginning their shift. But several things prevented that from happening. First, the address given was right around the corner from their current location. Second, it was a domestic, and those could get ugly real fast if help didn't arrive soon enough. Third, a seven-year-old girl, crying that her uncle was beating her mommy, had made the call.

Simon wondered how people could do that in front of their own children, or anyone's children. If only I knew the answer to that, he thought.

Simon clenched his teeth. He wasn't going to think about that now. He was going to go to pick up Joan, and then they were going to go out and have a lovely time. He wasn't going to think about the coke-crazed addict in Holding right now, the once-lovely woman in the morgue, or the bruised little girl in the white and pink dress.

He had to focus, instead, on the evening, on what he needed to prove, what he needed to show. While he had courted Joan, he had been a rookie, fresh from the academy, and she had been a newly-minted attorney in the D.A.'s office. He had won her with stories, poems, and songs that expressed his love to her. She had read and listened to his words and blushed.

Now, it was Valentine's Day. Simon knew he had to prove that just because they were now a married couple that all the love had not left them. True, they no longer qualified as newlyweds, but they had a busy and a happy life together. He'd arranged everything for today: flowers to her office in the morning, a gift of a teddy bear in the afternoon, and reservations at Renee's-- one of the nicest seafood restaurants in Cascade-- for the evening. All of this would be accompanied with soft words, sweet poetry and lovely music, and wherever that all led was, well, good.

His lateness was never factored into the equation. Uncanny how many things could go wrong when you're in a hurry, he thought. Four desperate cops, three missing pages from the other responding officers' reports, two jammed typewriters, and one dead typewriter ribbon made for an unhappy cop. A very unhappy, very late cop.

Shaking himself out of his musings, Simon saw that traffic was, finally, beginning to move. Slowly, but it was moving and that beat staying still. "It's about time," he snorted as he put his car into drive. Passing slowly through the cluttered intersection, the officer spotted the overturned dump truck and couldn't stop the low half-whistle that escaped from his mouth at the massive pile of salt spread all over the road. Using shovels, gloved hands, and brute strength, city maintenance had forced a path through the white grains, allowing traffic to resume. In spite of the mess he was in, he couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor hapless shmuck sitting dazed on the sidewalk.

Once the traffic was moving, it didn't take very long to get to the law firm where Joan now worked. She had left the D.A.'s office after about two years, saying that although the work was challenging and fast-paced, it didn't offer her much chance of advancement.

Sleek in a trim green suit and as beautiful as ever, Joan was waiting on the sidewalk when he pulled up to the curb. She didn't look upset, but you could never tell with women. "Hey, you beautiful thing, you. Want a ride someplace?"

"I'll go anywhere with you, baby." Hopping in and closing the car door, she chuckled at his levity before giving in and asking. "What took so long? I've been waiting for you forever." Warmth shining from her eyes, Joan reached over and lightly stroked the knuckles of his hand. "I was starting to worry."

"Sorry, sweetheart. I tried to call your office, but couldn't get through." He risked the traffic for a brief moment and leaned to kiss her on the cheek. "We took a domestic call at the end of our shift." Simon paused for a moment, willing his voice to control. "It was a bad one."

"Tender, I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"

The simple use of her pet name for him had a calming effect, showing him how much she loved and supported him. "Not right now, but maybe later." He reached over and took her hand, "Right now is just for us. I made reservations at Renee's."

"Simon!"

"And it should still be there for us, since I called to tell them we'd be late. I even requested a secluded table." His leering grin was answered by a sweet smile, the same smile that had stolen his heart two years before.

Unfortunately, it held no power over anyone else, as Simon discovered, clearing a path for his lady through the throng of people waiting for tables. His initial smugness at having the foresight to arrange reservations faded quickly after seeing the host's seating chart. The unique two-tiered dining room simply couldn't have held more people if they'd tried. Even the bar area was filled with diners. "Banks, party of two. We have a reservation for seven p.m., but I phoned two hours ago to say that we'd be late. They haven't lost us, have they?"

The young man adjusted his red jacket, and carefully examined both the seating chart and a second list filled with names before nodding vigorously. "We received your notification just fine, Mister Banks, but as you can see," he nodded at the filled-to-capacity dining area, "we have quite a line. What we've had to do is create a waiting list by order of priority. Those with reservations are seated first, by order of arrival, while those without reservations have to take their chances. You are listed as fourth in line right now."

Simon slowly released the breath he hadn't been aware he was holding until that moment. "How long of a wait are we looking at?"

The young man's shrug did nothing to ease his fears. "The average wait has been thirty minutes, but it all depends on how long the other people take."

Simon got the impression that the young man had already heard this question and repeated the same answer several dozen times this evening, and it was still relatively early. Looking out over the sea of happy eating people on one side and a sea of impatient people on the other, Simon could empathize with his feelings of being trapped. "Thanks for your help."

Simon retreated back to the corner bench where his precious wife sat waiting for him. "We're fourth in line. They're not saying, but looks like someone overbooked for Valentine's Day." He settled next to her, taking her hand in his own in a possessive gesture, taking every opportunity to show everyone within view that this lovely woman was with him and how much he loved her.

Thirty minutes passed before the host found them a table. Unfortunately, it was placed too near the kitchen doors for Simon's tastes. But at this hour what could he expect? Renee's did have the best seafood in town, after all. As soon as they were seated, the waitress took their drink orders and left them to peruse the menu in peace. Ten minutes later, she returned with their drinks and took their dinner order.

Time passed in soft discussion about their work, their friends and the latest local news. In between such banalities of life, Simon recited gentle sonnets of love and devotion, poems of the masters and some of his own creations, running the gamut from delicate beauty to bawdy delight. He held her hands in his own, massaging her fingers gently from tip to knuckle, loving the soft sounds she made.

Somewhere in all of this, realization began to set in that their food had not arrived. Deciding it would be a poor move to simply drop Joan's hand and ask about their food, Simon continued his soft words while raising her hand to his mouth and nuzzling it gently in a series of small kisses. With a soft smile to her, he motioned as unobtrusively as possible to a passing waiter.

"Could you please check on our food? It's been quite a while since we ordered."

Maybe fifteen minutes passed before the waiter, embarrassment written in clear lines all over his face, approached their table with some trepidation. "I don't know how this happened," he paused to swallow hard, "but it appears that when your waitress finished her shift, she failed to turn your orders in to the chef before she left."

"What?!" Simon couldn't believe it, and he knew Joan was equally shocked.

Another large swallow from the waiter. "Believe me, we will do everything possible to make this up to you, I'm sure the inconvenience must be great."

"You've got that right!" He wasn't yelling, he controlled his anger rather admirably, but still used the force and intensity of his voice to his own advantage, making it seem more powerful, more forceful than normal.

And right now Simon rained fire and brimstone in equal measures down on the hapless waiter. True, he wasn't at fault, but honestly! How could such a thing have happened?

"The chef has been instructed to see to your dinners personally and at speed. They should be out shortly." Ending his speech, the waiter hurried back into the safety of the kitchen.

True to his word, their meals arrived within twenty minutes, accompanied by profuse apologies and offers of extra sides to enhance the flavor. In spite of all the problems the French Onion soup and scallops excelled every expectation. The bill they were presented with also met the expectations of a fancy restaurant, but with a nice discount to make up for the earlier problems.

As they approached the car, his police instincts kicked in and warned him that something was coming. Joan's body language didn't sit right. Could something be wrong? "Honeybun," he began cautiously, allowing his concern to seep between the cracks in his tone, "is something wrong? I can't help but think you've been miles away tonight."

To his surprise, she blushed, the warmth rolling up her skin in waves. "No, I don't think so... I think everything is fine." Suddenly a smile bloomed on her face, and everything was alright again.

Simon gently touched her cheek and ran one finger to her beautiful mouth. "You are my summer rose whenever you smile. Passionate and rare, so hard to escape."

"You'd want to escape?"

"Never, my love." He kissed her once, under the parking-lot light, for all to bear witness. "I will never leave your walls, poor I, a prisoner of love, a captive of your unfolding bloom."

"That is so tacky, Simon."

He chuckled, knowing the mood was destroyed but willing to allow it to fade somewhat. All the better it would be for the mood to be recreated later; a little soft music, soft lights, and true feelings made for a good romance. Who said romance is dead? "So I take it the flowers went over well this morning?"

At that, she paused and went silent, only speaking with her eyes. Instantly, Simon knew. "The flowers never made it, did they?"

"No, Simon, I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry, Joan, but someone else will be, that's for sure!" He ran his hand over his head in frustration. "Damn it all, it's February the fourteenth, not Friday the thirteenth."

She started laughing then, and couldn't seem to stop. Her laugh was contagious and he gave up on his anger and started to laugh along with her. "Come on, I'll show you what flowers I had planned for you to receive at work today. You won't be able to take them home, but at least you can see what I had in mind, what I always want you to know."

A short walk in the moonlight led them to the indoor winter home of the Cascade Botanical Gardens. As they walked around the beds, holding hands, Simon told her the meanings of all the flowers. "Together, red and white signify unity, the unity of us, of you and me."

Joan seemed about to say something but was interrupted by a popping and hissing sound. Right on time, the sprinklers kicked in. Too bad someone had accidentally shifted the direction of the water flow away from the gardens and into the walkways.

Tracking mud in their wake, they left the Gardens. Simon was drenched head to toe and squishing as he walked. He wanted this Not-So-Sweetest-Day to be over with as soon as possible. This most recent disaster however, gave him the perfect excuse to get undressed and seek the warming comfort of Joan's arms as soon as they got home. If her laughter was any indication, he knew that at least she was having a good time. The drive home was punctuated by spurts of Joan's giggles and a dripping certain to haunt his dreams.

On West Street, a flash in the rearview-mirror caught his eye. Simon groaned. Why is this happening to me?

Weaving in and out between the broken yellow lines, an obviously intoxicated driver had clearly decided to test his skill in public. There was no doubt this man was a menace, an accident waiting to happen. What if he tried his next trick on the highway? But that didn't happen, as the driver ended up on the sidewalk and parked on top of what had been a bus stop bench.

Pulling his car over with ease, Simon smiled briefly as he indicated that Joan should stay in the car. He hoped this wouldn't take long. A unit was already on its way and the drunk would be someone else's problem for the rest of the night.

The black and white rounded the corner and things were once again looking up. For the intoxicated driver, however, things weren't. Loudly protesting his innocence and staggering around the area, barely able to stand, let alone walk the required sobriety tests, the drunk didn't notice the police car that he almost walked into. Of course, to him, it seemed as if the cops had just run him down and he screamed, "You dirty cops, you killed me! I'm dead and you killed me! My leg, my leg!!"

He wheeled around and tried to make a break for it, stumbling and lurching in his effort to run from the police.

Having dealt with drunks in the past, Simon had expected this and had been waiting less than two steps away from their perpetrator. He stopped the man's flight with ease and lowered him to the ground, ready to be taken down to the station and booked. The drunk managed to get in the last word, retaliating by divesting himself of his dinner: six bourbons on the rocks, and three rum & Cokes. Simon's pants leg the target.

Ignoring the smirks on the officers' faces, Simon let his annoyance show only briefly before he made his statement. He had no doubt that the tale would be told to all shifts within the next two hours, if it even took that long. "Nelson, McCoy, I'll come in early tomorrow and write up the report." He couldn't hide the disgust in his voice.

"No problem, Banks. It's pretty clear that the guy's smashed," McCoy indicated the remains of the bus bench. "Go on home."

Shaking his leg vigorously with each step, Simon made as dignified a retreat as he could manage. With some effort and reminding himself that he loved her dearly, he endured an encore of tiny giggles interspersed with genuine commiseration.

Home had never looked so good to Simon Banks. The normally ten-minute drive home took five instead, and only a quick check that the lights were off and the doors locked separated him from a shower and time alone with his wife.

Joan plucked a note off the door and read it quickly. "Mrs. Desjardins signed for a delivery for us, and she used her key to put it on the dining room table. I wonder what it could be?"

The surprise was clear as soon as they peered into the dining room. The flower shop had delivered the blossoms to his home. While it hadn't been what he ordered, at least they had arrived in time for the holiday. It was worth it to see the look of pleasure on her face... and something else too. The something else he saw worried him. He knew he couldn't smother her, and that he wouldn't ever stop loving her. It made him want to share whatever this secret she seemed to be keeping was.

He hoped the minor error in the flower order was not a precursor to whatever it was Joan was keeping a secret. A single yellow rose-- symbolic of sorrow and jealousy-- hid amongst the other red and white roses. Hurrying into the bathroom, Simon unfastened his pants and mentally ran through all the possibilities. The nice silk tie followed the pants into the clothes hamper, and he had gotten the shirt unbuttoned before he asked through the opened door, "Peachcakes, what is the matter? Whatever it is, you can tell me."

Joan entered, her heels clicking on the blue tile floor, and smiled softly at him. Her voice rose in a light clear alto, a caress of love in single notes. "Simon and Joan, sitting in a tree."

Simon was puzzled. Why on God's green earth should Joan be singing a children's rhyme?

"K-I-S-S-I-N-G."

No, it couldn't be.

"First comes love, then comes marriage."

Holy Mary, Mother of God!

"And here comes Simon with a baby carriage!"

Before the line was finished, he had scooped her up into his arms and swung her around, before setting her back on her feet. He traced her stomach with his fingers, as he listened to her speak. "I suspected it for a couple weeks but I wasn't certain until the doctor confirmed it this morning. An early to-mid September baby, she thinks." She turned within his protecting arms to face him before going any further with her story. "Are you hoping for a girl or a boy?"

Simon smiled and kissed her, now he was sure. "Doesn't matter, as long as they're healthy, a little bit me and a little bit you."

"That's the corniest thing I've ever heard you say, and I love you for it."

"I love you, too."

A persistent ringing at the door interrupted the moment. Without thinking, Simon rushed to answer it, aware of little more than his wife's love and their news. Only a voice he knew and respected penetrated his state of shock and brought him into the world again.

The tall man had a wry expression on his dark face, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I especially like the underwear, Banks." Captain Albert commented with a straight face. "Don't know too many men who can carry off white hearts on a red background." He chuckled briefly before getting down to business. "I just wanted you to know that your drunk driver tonight has warrants out on him from Massachusetts and Connecticut for DUI. He's not going anywhere."

"That's good, Sir."

"Damn right it's good. You were in the right place at the right time, for the first time tonight, according to your statement at the scene." Anderson shook his head. "Everything bad happened to you tonight, didn't it, but at least you stopped this moron. Must have had a dark cloud following you around tonight, son."

Son. The word and its implications reverberated around in his head.

Simon took a deep breath. There it was, the reason for all this bad stuff on today of all days. "Don't forget the silver lining, Captain."

The Captain chuckled as Simon closed the door behind him. Leaning back against the door he held his arms open for Joan to join him. "A son Joanie, I want a son...."

...Simon glanced around at his detectives, their expressions held a slight mischievous appearance. "What, what is it?"

"What?"

"Nothing."

"I don't like the way..." Simon was interrupted before he could finish his thought about the way his detectives were looking at him.

"Hi Dad."

The detectives started laughing as soon as the speaker's voice registered in Simon's mind. Plus, he turned around so fast that he had to stop himself by grabbing a hold of the desk beside him. "How long?"

"Long enough," Daryl smiled.

"What...are you doing here?" Simon asked his son.

Bending down, Daryl retrieved his backpack from the floor. He'd dropped it there when he realized his father was telling his detectives about the Valentine date where his mom had told his dad she was pregnant. He'd never heard his dad's version of the story. His dad's was a little more hectic than his mom's, but still on the romantic side. I don't think I'll ever understand my parents, he thought.

"I'm here to interview Captain Taggart for my research paper. I know I mentioned it to you," Daryl answered.

"That's today?"

"Yes, dad, it's today."

Taggart looked between father and son, and decided to rescue both from the other. "Come on Daryl, we can do the interview in the breakroom." Daryl smiled at his dad, but quickly followed Joel into the breakroom.

"Why is Daryl interviewing Captain Taggart?" inquired Megan.

"It's an assignment for one of his introductory criminal justice courses," answered Simon, who was still watching his son and Joel.

"Why didn't he interview you?"

"Bias," Simon replied. "And Taggart is another captain. I guess Daryl thinks that will go over well with his professor."

"Probably," Blair and L.T. answered in unison.

Jim held up a folder to his partner. "If you think you and Rafe are finished being a stereo, do you think you could sign this and give it to Rhonda?"

"Funny man," Blair said, accepting the folder.

Blair finished with the report and headed to Rhonda's desk at the same time as the civil aide from earlier in the day returned with another package for Rhonda. "Must be your lucky day, Ms. Cameron," commented the aide as he handed her the clipboard to sign and laid a long, thin package on her desk. Once again Rhonda thanked the aide before opening the box.

"What's in the box?" asked Blair.

"A ring?" Henri added.

"Nah, the box is too long," Megan answered.

"There are worse ways of getting an engagement ring," commented Simon.

Ignoring his captain's comment, Rafe added that it was the wrong type of box and that an engagement ring was meant to be given in person.

Jim had noticed Rafe's reaction to Simon's comment, and couldn't pass up asking about it. Rafe said nothing and for a minute or so, as Rhonda opened the box, everything seemed to be forgotten. At least Rafe hoped so.

Rhonda pulled out the piece of paper that was folded inside the box. Inside the paper was a note telling her about the dinner reservations to a very nice restaurant near the Wilkes Theatre and that they had seats for that night's event.

Jim smiled at Rhonda and mouthed "very nice." She blushed. Jim decided that Rhonda would love the attention to be on someone else and away from her desk. "So Rafe, what did the captain mean about other ways to get a ring that caused you to try and ignore him?" he asked.

"He was talking about... well, not exactly. I mean, the ring wasn't mine or anything. It was more about the first time I met him. That was when I finally decided I wanted to be a cop."

"Uh-huh."

"Come on partner," prompted Henri. "Tell us about this meeting."

"Okay." Rafe paused, getting his thoughts into order. "It was mid-September 1993, and I was playing basketball when my friend Molly appeared in my driveway..."

"...He shoots, he scores." Rafe mumbled without much enthusiasm as the basketball spun lazily around the rim of the basket, only to fall off and bounce sluggishly down the driveway and into the street. Rafe watched it, hoping a car would come by and put the ball out of his misery.

Wiping his face with the hem of his shirt, he sagged against the garage door, staring off into space. No place to go. Nothing to do. No prospects in sight. What a rotten year this had been. What a rotten rest of the year this was going to be.

His pessimistic introspection was cut short when the basketball bounced energetically back up the driveway, rebounded softly against his chest, and landed in his lap.

"She shoots, she scores!"

Rafe knew that voice. Rafe loved that voice. He looked up at the young woman who was standing before him, hands on her hips, grinning.

"Molly!" She was grabbed, hugged, swung around in a wide circle, and kissed enthusiastically on the cheek. "Molly! Damn. What on earth are you doing here?"

"What do you mean what am I doing here?" She straightened out her shirt and tucked it back into her jeans, looking a bit dazed from being spun around. "I told you I was starting at Rainier this fall. Going back to school for my Masters, remember?"

"Well, yeah," Rafe said, picking up the basketball and tucking it under his arm. He felt a bit goofy because he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. "But I figured, you know, new friends, new life, we haven't seen each other in a couple of years."

"Give me a break, Rafey." Molly rolled her eyes dramatically. "You think I was going to come all the way out west to go to Rainier and then ignore you? What a jerk!" She swatted him good naturedly in the arm. "Got any water? It's quite a hike from the bus stop and I am dying of thirst."

"Bus stop?" Rafe blinked. "You walked from the bus stop?"

"Well sure." Molly opened the side door to the garage and shoved Rafe through. He absently dropped the basketball into a cardboard box as they made their way past a brand new Chevy Citation, up a small flight of steps, and into the kitchen. "I don't drive, remember?"

"Still? I thought you were going to take lessons the summer after we graduated?"

"I was, but... I don't know, I just didn't get around to it. Public transportation is highly underrated, you know."

"Chicken." He knew quite well that on her first--and last--driving lesson she backed up over her brother's bicycle, her mother's anniversary rosebush, and almost took out her father as well.

"Chicken!" Molly tried to sound indignant, but ended up smiling sheepishly. "Yeah, okay, I'm still chicken. Some things just stay with you."

Rafe grabbed a couple of glasses from a cabinet and some bottled water from the refrigerator. He paused while the door was still open, taking inventory. "Do you just want water, or something a little more interesting like Coke, Orange Crush, orange juice, iced tea, or milk?"

"Just water. So where's your BMW?"

Sighing, Rafe just shook his head sadly. His beautiful '72 BMW bit the dust just a couple of days ago. The latest event in his summer from hell.

"Gone? Oh Rafe, you loved that car. Wait, please tell me that Citation isn't yours?"

He shook his head vehemently as he filled two glasses, handing one to her. "God no. It's belongs to my buddy's folks. They're up visiting and off somewhere now with Charlie, lunch probably."

She seemed relieved. "So what's going on with you, besides the car, I mean?" she asked after draining half her glass. "How's Helene?"

Helene. Rafe cringed. That was the start of the summer from hell.

Molly looked crestfallen. "Oh no. No, Rafe."

"Yeah," he said. "We broke up in July." Six years down the drain, he thought.

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too."

Molly drank some more of her water, more slowly this time, almost pensively. Suddenly, she brightened. "Well, you got the job at that research center, right?"

Rafe shook his head and stared out the kitchen window. "I'm currently unemployed... again."

"Oh, man." Molly frowned. "I can't believe they didn't give you that job after all they..."

"Hey, I never said they didn't give it to me."

"What? Oh. Oh! You turned them down?" Molly looked incredulous, and that look soon morphed into smugness. "I knew it! You still want to be a cop, don't you?"

"I don't know what I want to do." That sounded petulant, even to him.

Rafe suddenly set his glass in the sink with a loud thunk and swiped an arm across his face. "Okay, enough of this mood crushing conversation. I'll go grab a quick shower, and then I say we go out to dinner and then to a movie. Charlie's dad said I could use their car tonight if I needed it."

"Great!" Molly beamed again, and immediately began searching through the newspaper still sitting on the kitchen table from breakfast.

The shower felt good. Steam dragged away the cobwebs that had taken over his body. The pinpoints of water woke his atrophied muscles, sore and achy from the lack of activity over the past few months. God, it was so great to see Molly again. She'd been in the room next to his in the freshman coed dorm at Dartmouth, where he'd gone on scholarship. They'd hit it off instantly. Both chemistry majors at first, Molly had eventually switched to psychology. And, in his junior year, Rafe had switched to business administration. Molly was horrified, but really, he'd just been being practical-- not much to do with just a BS in chemistry these days, and he'd really had no desire to go on to graduate school. Not that he'd done much with his BS in business admin so far, but who was counting?

"'Joy Luck'?" asked a female voice from the door of the bathroom. Rafe was so startled that the soap squirted out of his hands and smacked him in the face before falling onto the black hole of the shower floor.

"I beg your pardon?" he finally managed, glancing self-consciously towards his crotch. When he looked up he could see Molly's blobbish outline through the almost opaque shower curtain. She seemed to be staring at the newspaper in her hand, and not in his direction.

"The 'Joy Luck Club' is playing at the cinema. You know, the one about Chinese women and daughters? It's suppose to be really touching."

"Chick flick. I don't think so." Rafe found the soap and continued his lathering.

"Good." Paper crinkled. "How about 'Loaded Weapon One'? It's suppose to be really funny."

"Think I'll pass."

"Okay, well, there's something called 'Ronquilla' that I've never heard of. And I see that 'The Fugitive' is still playing."

Rafe sighed.

"Oh. I bet you already saw that with Helene, huh?"

Damn, thought Rafe. How does she do that?

"We need something fun." More crinkling. "Something funny. Hey, I know!" The newspaper went flying into the air and scattered all over the small bathroom. The classifieds floated into the shower stall with Rafe and soon newsprint mixed in with the suds as they spiraled down the drain.

"'Airplane' is playing on campus tonight, sponsored by the Film Society. And Slater Hall is located right near that new Italian restaurant in Cascade. The movie's at 6, so we'll have to eat soon and fast. Have you seen 'Airplane'?"

"No. What is it? Some documentary?" It sounded boring as hell.

"A documentary," Molly smirked. "Oh yeah, this is going to be fun."

And it was. They had a great dinner and half a carafe of wine, reliving all those exciting college moments that always seem to get funnier and more outlandish as time goes by. And the movie was nothing like Rafe expected. It was ridiculous, corny, punny, incredibly silly, full of parody, satire, and every bad joke ever written. Whether it was the wine, the company, or just the mood he was in, he couldn't tell, but he hadn't laughed that hard in ages.

He was still feeling a bit silly as they walked back to Main Street and he unlocked the car. Barely past 8 p.m., it was just starting to get dark.

"I knew you'd like it! It was just what you needed."

"No, you were just what I needed. Thanks." Rafe smiled and patted her hand as they settled into their respective seats. Yeah, it was just fine having a girl as a best friend, even if they hadn't seen each other in two years. He started the car and looked around the dashboard. "Okay, now where's the knob to turn on the lights?" He tried one and was successful. "All right, now to turn off the high beams." This was trickier. He tried pulling a small lever near the light switch and the steering wheel suddenly changed position.

"Whoa!" Rafe jumped back and Molly laughed.

"Ha ha." He tried another switch and the windshield wipers went on. Molly laughed harder. Ordinarily, he'd have been annoyed and swearing at this point, but between the movie and Molly, he felt a little giddy himself.

"Maybe this is it." Molly leaned over and pressed a button on the side of the steering column. The hazards started blinking. Rafe and Molly just looked at each other and practically fell over themselves laughing.

"Turn them off!" sputtered Rafe, beginning to feel embarrassed. Sitting in a car with the hazards blinking, the high beams on and the windshield wipers whooshing back and forth on a perfectly clear evening was not cool.

Molly choked, pushing and pulling the little knob. "I can't."

Suddenly, someone rapped loudly on the driver's side window. It was a man. A very big man, tall and dark-skinned, whose expression said that he never, ever smiled. He had a gold detective's shield pressed against the car window. Rafe and Molly laughed harder.

"Yes, sir?" Rafe gasped as he rolled down the window.

"Having some trouble there, son?" The detective's voice was deep and rumbling, and he stared suspiciously at the occupants.

"No. Well, yes..." Rafe couldn't make his mind work to explain.

"May I please see your license and registration?"

Clearing his throat, Rafe decided the best thing to do was just nod. He handed the man his license and then tried to figure out where Mr. Summers would keep the registration. Molly searched the glove compartment while he checked behind the visors. The man's suspicious look became more suspicious.

"Is this your car, mister, " he glanced at the license, "Rafe?"

"Yes. Well, no... I mean..."

"Got it!" Molly's eyes were shining as she handed Rafe the registration.

"And you are?" The officer was looking at Molly as Rafe passed the registration off to him.

"Molly Webster. Um, sir," she explained earnestly. "I'm a graduate student in child psychology here at Rainier and I work as a clown part-time. You know, birthday parties and stuff." Rafe glanced at the policeman, but he didn't even bat an eye, as if clowns hitching rides with car thieves were a common phenomenon. Molly had been doing the clown thing for as long as Rafe had known her; and she practically glowed when she was around children.

The officer nodded, but was looking back and forth between the registration and Rafe's driver's license. Then he looked back down at Rafe.

"Could you please step out of the car?"

"What?" Oh man. He just realized that the registration had a different last name and state of residence than his license. This didn't look good.

"Surely you're not going to arrest him!" Molly gasped. Without thinking, she had quoted one of the running gag lines from the movie.

"Quit calling him Shirley!" Rafe blurted out before he could stop himself.

That set them both off again, even as Rafe obediently stepped out of the car. "Honestly, officer," he explained, trying to get the laughter under control. "It's my friend's father's car and he knows I have it. It's brand new and I drove a '72 BMW for eight years, but it died a few days ago."

"Just be quiet for a moment, son, and stand here. And it's Captain, if you don't mind." The man pulled out a cell phone and kept an eye on Rafe and Molly. A small crowd was gathered, mostly college kids who were enjoying the show. Rafe smiled politely at them and tried not to look like a car thief.

"Thief!"

Both the captain and Rafe jerked to attention at that. A woman ran out of the jewelry store a few doors down and pointed at a man running towards them.

"Police! He took a ring, a fifteen hundred dollar engagement ring, from the store!"

The policeman had already moved to intercept the thief as he ran through the small crowd and past a young blonde woman. Molly had gotten out of her side of the car to watch, her eyes large and full of excitement.

A skinny young man, kid really, was brought over and told to 'assume the position' against a Sedan parked two spaces down. Rafe now realized that the captain must have stopped for a bite to eat and had noticed the strange goings on in the Citation. So it hadn't been an official 'stop.'

"I'm sorry, ma'am," the captain was saying to the jewelry store clerk. "There is no ring on him."

"He took that ring!" the woman insisted.

Rafe relaxed a little and leaned against the parking meter. "That woman's got it," he said, calmly pointing to the pretty young blonde the thief had passed in the crowd. The officer looked at Rafe, then at the blonde, who acted like she was trying to melt into the brick wall behind her. When all the attention became too focused on her, she tried running. Rafe moved in quickly and grabbed her wrist.

"How did you know?" the captain asked.

"She wasn't wearing a ring a few minutes ago," Rafe explained. "She is now." He held her left wrist up for the cop to see. A beautiful gold band with a healthy single diamond practically glowed from her third finger. The young woman tried to pull her hand away, but Rafe hung on. "He must have slipped it to her as he ran through the crowd."

"We just wanted an engagement ring," she whined as tears welled up in her eyes. "We're gettin' married, and Joey couldn't afford no ring for me."

The captain got confirmation from the jewelry store clerk that it was the same ring, and started to handle the attempted theft according to proper police procedure. When both would-be thieves were placed in the back of a newly-arrived patrol car, arguing heatedly, the captain returned his attention to Rafe and Molly.

"I'll need you to come down to the station."

Molly interrupted the captain. "After what he just did for you? That stinks! This really is his friend's car, you know!" Molly was absolutely indignant.

"Molly! For Pete's sake. He wants me to come down as a witness. Right?" Rafe suddenly wasn't so sure. "You do want me to come down as just a witness?"

For the first time, the captain's mouth looked like it might possibly smile. Maybe he did have a sense of humor after all. "Yes, son. I believe you about the car. Nobody who's obviously as smart as you could be that stupid."

"But you're going to call Mr. Summers, anyway, aren't you?"

"Damn straight." The officer raised his eyebrows. "You ever think about going into law enforcement, Mr. Rafe?"

"Well..."

"Yes!" Molly jumped up away from the car and joined them on the sidewalk. "Yes, he has. He's just not sure. But he can come down and talk to you sometime, right Captain?"

"Molly!"

"I know it's what he really wants to do, even if he doesn't. He'd just be so good at it! "

"Yes, he would." The captain looked Rafe up and down, then nodded approvingly.

"Yes!" Molly punched into the air and looked extremely satisfied.

"And you." The captain turned to glare at Molly. Molly immediately stopped her end-zone dance and looked up, startled.

"Yes?"

"Do you, as a clown, really do children's birthday parties?"

"Yes." She relaxed and smiled winningly at the policeman.

"Good. My niece Casey's turning 5 in a couple of weeks, and I'd like to have you come to her party. Here's my card." He handed a card to both Molly and Rafe and then returned to his car.

"Thank you, Captain Banks!" Molly called after him. "What a sweetie."

Rafe wasn't so sure about the 'sweetie' part, but he seemed like a decent man. He tucked the card carefully into his breast pocket and felt his future click neatly into place. "Me a cop," he muttered. "What am I going to do with all those spiffy suits I've been buying for my big career in business?"

"Easy. Just save them till you're a detective. Armani goes nice with gold shields!" Molly hugged him sincerely before jumping off the curb and back into the car. "Now get me home. I have my first test tomorrow!"

Rafe sat back in the driver's seat and looked at the dashboard. Captain Banks had stopped the wipers, the blinking hazards, the high beams, and even returned the steering wheel to its original position, giving him strict orders to drive the car to Charlie's house and get lessons before taking it out again.

"And Rafey dear, just what were you doing looking at the ring finger on that woman's hand?"

Rafe just grinned and pulled out of the parking place. Maybe this year wouldn't be so bad after all....

"...So Rafey," started Megan. And with that, Rafe knew he should never have called Megan Megs earlier. "Is Molly still around?"

"Yes."

"You dated a clown?" questioned his partner.

"No. Molly's like my best friend. We never dated. And yes, she still does her clowning act a couple times a year for the local children's hospital."

"Rafey."

"Megs."

"If the name-calling is over with, can you get back to work?" Was all Simon barked as he re- entered his office.

"So, you glad Molly talked you into this?"

"Only when I'm not doing paperwork," joked Rafe. "But yeah, I like it."

"Good, because here's the files on the two cases we have to go to court for this week."

Rafe glared at his partner, then at the files that now sat on his desk. I think I need to call Molly, he thought. Yes, if he had to do paperwork all day, she was going to get a call tonight. Rafe smiled to himself as he picked up the first file to review. Maybe they could even get together later in the week, especially since the cold front was supposed to break, do something outdoors- like.