Emilie lay in bed and stared up at the sunlight as it flickered across the ceiling according to whatever was moving around it outside. She turned her head and watched Kendall sleep. He was lying on his stomach with his hair in his eyes and hugging a pillow. In the mid-morning light, he looked eighteen. Maybe.

Somewehere off in the distance Emilie could hear the opening stains to "Mrs. Robinson." She ignored them as she stood up from the bed and walked down the hall to the kitchen. Her living room drapes were open, and she was nude, but she wasn't particularly worried about covering herself. If someone had to look twelve floors up to get a cheap, vouyeristic fix, they weren't worth bothering with.

She padded into the kitchen and pulled the bread out of the bread box on the counter. She put two slices into the toaster and shivered as she opened the fridge to find the butter and pull out the milk. She buttered her toast, poured a glass of milke, and took the whole lot back into the bedroom with her.

Kendall was propped up in the bed by his elbows, and he yawned as Emilie came into the room. "What time is it?"

"Little after ten." Emilie sat on the edge of the bed and handed Kendall a piece of toast. She set her milk on the nightstand. "You were asleep a few minutes ago."

"I sleep light."

"Any particular reason?"

"No."

He was lying, but Emilie didn't push. Part of a 'no strings attached' deal was to just accept the fact that some things you didn't get to find out in the post-coital, toast-eating phase. "Are you going to stay here?"

"Do you want me to leave?"

She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. If you want to sleep here, go ahead."

Kendall brushed toast crumbs off the bed. "Just let me know when you want me gone. I can be out as soon as I find my pants."

"Fine." Emilie finished her toast and reached for her milk. She watched as Kendall resituated himself under the covers and closed his eyes again. By the time she had finished her milk, he was asleep. She put the glass on the floor by the bed, got back under the covers, and was asleep soon after.

*

Nickolas woke up and reached out to the other side of the bed. The only thing his hand touched was warm sheets. He cracked open his eyes to confirm his suspicions that Daniel was not in bed. Confirmed. He looked around the room, and then faintly heard typing coming from the back bedroom that was Daniel's office. With a groan, Nickolas sat up in bed and checked the clock. It was only eleven. He was tempted to roll back over and go to sleep again, but the typing from Daniel's office suddenly stopped, followed by a long string of quiet hissed curse words. Nickolas threw off the covers and got out of bed.

He found Daniel sitting at his desk in his pajamas looking rather peeved. "Still blocked?"

"Yeah." Daniel typed what probably amounted to six words, then backspaced over all of them. "I just don't get it. I've done this type of story a thousand times. I've written about the cute little puppy saved by the nice old lady with arthritis. I've done this, and I've done it well, but I can't do it now."

"Maybe you need a break." Nickolas sat on the tatty old couch that was next to Daniel's desk. "You were so blocked earlier you were speaking in fragments. That's usually not a good sign."

"I'm fine." Daniel obviously was not.

"If you're so fine, why are you being churlish?"

Daniel's hands froze just over the home row keys of his keyboard. He turned his head and looked at Nickolas. "Did you just say 'churlish'?"

"Yeah."

Daniel's eyes got an odd glint to them. "What are synonyms for churlish?"

"Tense. Terse. Peeved. Pissed. Pissy." Nickolas grinned. Daniel loved word games, especially ones that came out of nowhere."

"And where did you learn the word 'churlish'?"

"You got me a word a day calendar for work, remember?"

"I didn't think you'd actually *use* it." Daniel was grinning by now, his bad, writer's block induced mood, temporarily forgotten. "What other big words have you learned this year?"

"Androngynous. It's funny, though, because the definition had 'see: Bowie, David, early to mid eighties." Nickolas felt like a champion when Daniel laughed. "Have you eaten yet?" Daniel shook his head. "I'll go cook something." Nickolas stood up and walked to the kitchen, trying to remember if they had actual food in the apartment or not. He opened the fridge. Definitly not. "We need to go food shopping."

Daniel had followed Nickolas down the hall and looked over his shoulder into the fridge. "I am not fighting soccer moms for the last carton of orange juice at the grocery store."

"You have no sense of adventure."

"I also have all my appendages, and I'd like to keep them." Daniel turned away from the fridge and headed towards the bedroom. "We'll go out for breakfast."

"It's eleven thirty."

"Then we'll have lunch."

Nickolas smirked. "What, no brunch?"

Daniel shook his head. "I'm not feeling gay enough for brunch today."

"You know, if some of the Alliance members ever heard what came out of your mouth, they'd revoke your rainbow card."

"And the fact that you just called the membership a 'rainbow card' would probably get you kicked out, too."

Nickolas shrugged. "We're a couple of bums."

*

Patrick opened his eyes and found himself eye-to-nose with Gromit. "Yes?"

The dog panted, gave a small yelp, and licked the end of Patrick's nose.

"You want to go for a walk, don't you?"

Gromit yelped again and started running up and down the bed next to Patrick, yipping the whole way.

Patrick reached out a hand and grabbed the dog, putting pressure on his back until he stopped moving and sat down. "Good boy." He yawned and sat up, propping himself on his headboard. "Give me a minute."

Gromit, seeming to understand he would get his walk soon, jumped down from the bed and trotted out of the bedroom. A few seconds later he was back, carrying a toy in his mouth. It was a small, blue dog with stuffing in its lege and a squeaker in the middle. Gromit loved it and attempted to carry it everywhere, seeing as it was nearly as large as he was. He bit down and made the squeaker squeak, and gave Patrick a puppy smile from around the toy.

"Yes, we can go to the park." Patrick tossed the covers off to one side and put his feet on the floor.

Gromit dropped his toy and ran over to Patrick's feet. He bit Patrick's left toe.

"Stop that!" Patrick curled his toes protectively and pushed the dog away. He stood, keeping an eye on where Gromit was in regards to his feet, and walked to the bathroom. The whole time he was in the shower and shaving, Gromit was outside the door, yapping and demanding attention.

Patrick opened the bathroom door after he shaved and looked down at the dog. "The neighbors are going to complain, again."

Gromit yapped again, then ran back towards Patrick's bedroom. There was the sound of mattress springs squeaking, and another yap.

"Gromit! Off the bed!" More yapping, more squeaking. Patrick walked into his bedroom and glared at the dog. "Get. Off. The. Bed." Gromit's tail was wagging so hard his whole body was shaking. Patrick couldn't help grinning. He threw his towel over Gromit's head and changed into a pair of jeans, a sweater, thick socks, his workboots, and his coat. Gromit raced ahead of him down the hall and stood by the door, jumping up on his back legs. "I'm coming. I'm coming." He grabbed a cup of coffee in a travel mug and met the dog at the door. "Are you ready?"

Gromit barked and jumped up in the air. He took off at top speed to the bedroom and came back a moment later with his toy. He dropped it at Patrick's feet and barked again.

"I should have gotten a cat. They're not nearly as loud." Patrick retrived the toy from by his feet, put it in his pocket, and snapped Gromit's leash on. Gromit waited as paitently as any hyper-active terrier could while Patrick locked up, checked the locks, and got the leash settled on his hand. "Okay. We can go now."

Gromit barked again and led the way to the park.

*

Emilie woke up again a little after two and felt human enough to get out of bed for an extended period of time. Kendall was still asleep when she went into the bathroom and showered and brushed her teeth. When she came out, he was awake, watching her move around the room. "It's creepy that you can do that."

Kendall shrugged. "I'm cool with it." He turned over onto his back and watched as she got dressed. "What are you doing today?"

"Errands." She combed all her hair over one shoulder and started to braid it. "There's food in the fridge, and the coffee is in the cupboard above the cofee maker."

"Ingenious place to put it."

She smiled slightly in the mirror. "I'm known for my planning skills." She tossed her finished braid over her shoulder and turned around to look at him. "I'm leaving in about ten minutes. Stay if you want, if you leave, the spare key is pressed into a loose space in the door jamb. Use it, then put it back."

Kendall nodded. "Okay." He watched her finish getting ready and listened to her leave. ~What the fuck have I done?~ He stood up and looked for his underwear. They were at the end of the bed, and he grabbed them and slipped them on. ~This can't be healthy at all.~ He found his pants and put those on, too. ~I have a death wish.~ He couldn't find his left sock. ~I have a massive death wish.~

The phone rang suddenly, and Kendall paused in his search for his left sock like the phone could see him. ~Dumbass.~ He heard the machine click on.

"You've reached Emilie. I'm away from the phone. Leave a message." There was a beep.

"Emilie, this is Audrey at Doctor Mankin's office again. We're still waiting for you to make an appointment to get checked out for your pnemonia. Please call."

Kendall found his left sock as the perky voice on the phone rattled off the number and made a mental note to check with Nickolas to see if he knew anything about Emilie needing a check-up. He'd joined Homicide after her pnemonia, but he'd seen the aftereffects of it clearly. She'd been pale and painfully thin when he'd first met her and decidely weak on her feet. The woman he realized she was, blunt, hard, and somewhat cold-shouldered, was still enough of a shock to knock Kendall off-balance occasionally.

He had to admit he liked it.

*

There was a place down the block from Nickolas and Daniel's apartment that served a lunch platter with sandwiches, hot dogs, hamburgers, salad, chocolate cake, and a bottomless cup of whatever you wanted to drink for seven dollars. They sat in a booth near the back and each ordered up the platter.

"Did you say something last night about Kendall and Emilie that I should be aware of?" Daniel sipped his water and grimaced. It tasted like liquid lead.

Nickolas stretched. He was still waking up slightly. "You mean when you were off in writer's block kill land?"

Daniel didn't even pretend to be embarassed. He'd told Nickolas a long time ago that he was annoying when he was blocked. "Yeah."

"I saw some interplay that looked decidely unlike them."

"How unlike them?"

"It almost looked like Kendall was asking her out."

Daniel nearly spit his second sip of nearly disgusting water out across the table. "You're kidding."

"I'm not."

"She'll turn him down flat. She doesn't trust him."

"I don't think she did." Nickolas leaned across the table and lowered his voice. While no one in the restaurant knew he and Daniel past a glance, he didn't feel up to feeding the rumor mill that a couple of his detectives were getting friendler than was officially allowed by rules. "I think she said yes."

"I wonder if she thinks Kendall will open up to her if they're dating." Daniel waved away that suggestion immediately. "She knows better." He thought of something else. "What's the official lie through the police station about Angelica?"

"Sudden Infant Death Syndrome. Kendall thinks it's the best way to keep everyone from asking to many questions."

"He's right. I did a story on that, once."

Nickolas gave Daniel a look. "I thought you only did happy fuzzy stories where puppies got rescued from trees."

"Why is it you remember everything I ever complain about but never remember anything of actual importance?"

"I'm a cop. All I listen to is complaints. Except when I'm at home, of course."

If Daniel were less of a gentleman, he would have flipped Nickolas off. He settled for kicking him in the shoe. "Of course."

Nickolas smiled and got them back on subject. "When did you do a story on Sudden Infant Death?"

"It was a long time ago for my college paper. I don't think I even have the article around anymore. It was good." Daniel's tone got a little wistful. "I used to do real stories."

"You still could."

Daniel shook his head. "To do that I'd have to prove to the people that buy from me that I could do it well, and it's been so long since I've done any investigative journalism that required research, that I think I've forgotten it all."

"Bullshit. You don't forget how to dig around for information. You still do it with the stories you have now."

"Getting a woman to tell me how her sweet little doggy lost its legs and getting a woman to tell me how much it hurts since her baby died are two completely different things. It takes a total personality adjustment just to get them to talk."

Nickolas pointed at Daniel. "You remember how to do it if you know that you have to do one differently from the other."

"That's common sense."

"Danny, I spent most of the night hanging up on reporters that were asking about the death of a bright young woman who happened to be a lesbian like they were demanding to know why the price of gas has gone up. I hung up on 28 people to night, and out of those who managed to get in a question, they didn't seem to realize that they needed to be a little less than blood-thirsty to get the story. You know that right now, sitting with me without planning to do any story at all."

Daniel stared at the window over Nickolas's shoulder. "I know I know, but I'm not sure I know in a sense to do it well anymore. Do you understand?"

Nickolas sighed. He had a feeling he and Danny were going to keep going round and round on this topic until a decision was made. "I understand, but I think you're wrong."

"I'll make a note."