Disclaimer: I don't own Night Court or its characters, only borrowing them for an afternoon poolside.

Note: I tried to make this as canon as possible, but as it's been years since I've seen the vast majority of the show's nine seasons, so I may have had an oversight. I'll call this an "unintentional alternate universe," just to avoid any offense :) Read on!

Dan Fielding strutted into the courthouse cafeteria. He didn't mean to strut, it's just that he didn't know how to walk any other way. He checked his reflection in the glass doors as he walked through them, satisfied that the mass of grey hair perched atop his head had maintained its buoyancy to the close of the work night. He automatically looked over to the magazine stand, where he had arranged to meet his date for the evening—trying fervently to remember her name—when he discovered the only person at the magazine stand was the blind clerk closing up for the night.

"Hey, Poindexter," Dan called to the man who only tolerated him for fear of legal retribution. He sighed in acknowledgment and resignation of the Assistant D. A.'s presence, of which he thought the acronym was sure to mean Dumb Ass. "Seen a girl around here? Blonde hair, killer blue eyes, five-foot-two-ish—oh wait—," he stopped himself and chuckled, waving a dismissing hand at the man's obvious disability.

"As a matter of fact, I have, and she gave me this note to give to you." He held it out for Dan to take.

Dan furrowed his brow as he read it aloud. "Dear Dan, Had to go, I don't put up with tardiness. See ya around. Sophie." He made an exasperated sound and let the note drop to the dingy linoleum floor. "Aw, c'mon, I was only five minutes late! Serves me right for trying to date a teacher. At least I think that's what she was," he half-wondered, but couldn't bother himself to think about it properly, so gave up on the occupation and bought a pack of gum from the clerk, instead. He did a quick survey of the emptying cafeteria to see if he could salvage a dateless Friday night, though between the bag lady rocking back and forth by chips kiosk and the two elderly women playing canasta at a nearby table, he had almost decided to call it quits when he caught sight of the back of a woman sitting at the table in the far corner, half hidden by the trash receptacle. He began to walk over to her, he had a knack for knowing when women were dateless, and this one screamed "alone". She wore a red, flowing silk blouse which draped nicely on her larger but busty frame, and Dan Fielding wasn't one to discriminate, especially when he was dateless himself.

"Excuse me," he said in the most understatedly suave voice he could conjure, the one reserved for coming on to complete strangers. But he pulled himself up short when he recognized the mismatched earrings and familiar hairstyle, and gasped in shock and almost tripped over himself when the woman actually turned around. "Roz?! Where's your uniform? Geez, you scared the crap out of me." Dan clutched at his chest as he realized the physical danger he had almost put himself in if he had actually tried to pick up on the formidable bailiff.

"Well, apparently I have that effect on all the men tonight," Roz said in her usual subdued sarcasm. "What do you want?"

"A date, but apparently I was tardy," he pinched his face up at the word and then rolled his eyes.

"Aww, poor thing," she said without sympathy. She had no desire to dwell on anyone else's dateless misery that night, when she had her very own to think about. "By all means, have a seat," she said after Dan mistook her jibe as sincere interest. He proceeded to sit down and elaborate on the injustice of it all. She looked at her watch after a minute and interrupted. "Dan, not that this isn't fascinating, but if I'm gonna catch the 11:25 I better get a move on."

"What? Oh," he said as her words finally sunk past his thoughts about himself. "I see you're all dressed up, where are you off to?" he asked with a touch of envy.

Roz sighed and began to get up, not really wanting to talk about it. "Well, home, now. You're not the only one who got stood up."

"Well, join the club, I guess," Dan said sulkily, though perhaps felt a little better now that someone else could relate to his woes.

"Dan, I think you and I belong to two very different clubs when it comes to dating."

He considered that for a second and nodded in ascent. "Fair enough."

"Later." Roz began to walk away but Dan called back at her.

"Hey, you need a lift or something? Now that I don't have anything better to do..." He offered, oblivious to his tactlessness.

Roz turned around and stared at him. "Gee, Dan, I bet that's how you get all the girls."

"Oh, you know what I mean." He stood up and walked toward her, for the first time noticing that she didn't look half bad in her red blouse and black slacks. "Come on, it beats the subway, and it's not too far out of the way, anyway."

"Well, why not. I'm just glad to know it won't be an inconvenience," Roz rolled her eyes. She really did wonder how Dan managed to attract the vast amount of women that he did, and wondered how low he had to scrape the barrel to do so.

"No, no trouble," Dan said, hopelessly clueless. They walked out of the cafeteria together and made their way out of the building to his car. He opened the passenger door for her, not out of courtesy, necessarily, but out of habit. It was one of the few seemingly thoughtful things he did for the ladies that entered his car, though he did it as more of a means to an end. Be nice to the girl, then get the girl. Sometimes he even opened the passenger side even when there was no one else there, out of sheer practice. He always chuckled at himself when he did that and made a mental note to make more dates so that wouldn't happen.

They pulled out of the parking structure and drove through the city, the skyscrapers clustered on either side becoming glowing monoliths at night. Roz looked out of her window at them, vaguely trying to remember what the night sky even looked like, the buildings so effectively blocked it from view. She imagined the glowing windows as large, orderly, square stars, and each building a constellation. Then she laughed to herself at the depressing thought of having to substitute the windows for stars in the first place.

"What?" asked Dan, who noticed she'd found something amusing.

"Nothing," replied Roz, who would just as soon talk about her wandering imagination than listen to him talk about his dating career some more.

Dan shrugged, not particularly caring, anyway. Though now that he thought of his own lack of amusement right about now, he wanted something to distract him and fill the silence. He looked over at Roz again in her non-bailiff attire, noticing she was wearing lipstick, too—red. It sparked his interest enough. "So who was your date, anyway?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Oh, come on, humor me. I'm curious," he pushed. He was actually starting to become curious the more she didn't want to talk about it.

Roz sighed, wishing she had taken the subway instead, but gave up on avoiding the subject. It would come in Dan's right ear and go out his left, anyway, so she wasn't too worried about any lasting embarrassment.

"Remember Eugene Westfall?"

"The name sounds vaguely familiar. Wasn't he an old boyfriend or something?"

"An old husband, more like."

"You were married?!"

Roz gave him a look. "You really were out to lunch with the whole Phil Foundation thing, weren't you?"

"Apparently. So, what happened?"

The last thing she wanted to do was hash up old, dead-end memories, but at least Dan wasn't talking about himself anymore, so she indulged him for the good behavior.

"Well, to make a long story short, we got married on prom night, parted ways six weeks later, and he shows up twenty years later with his fiancee wanting a divorce, so that's what I gave him." What she didn't go into detail about was their almost-fling at Coney Island, Eugene had backed out at the last minute because he felt it would be betraying his bride—his bride-to-be, that is.

"So, then what?"

"So, then he got cold feet with Godzilla—I mean Gilda—and called me up to meet him for tonight. But I guess it turns out he's gonna try and make it work with her after all. At least that's what the note in the flowers said." Roz tried to keep the account as factual and unemotional as possible, but it almost sounded worse without the vehemence.

Dan shook his head. "What a jerk! I mean, what a pathetic loser! Couldn't even tell you to your face. Who does that, anyway? Don't give me that look—I don't count in this conversation. I'm on your side, remember?" he defended himself as she gave him a knowing look. He had done it several times himself, but she chose not to hound him on it, he was doing a pretty good job of being offended on her behalf, which mollified her a little bit.

"Yeah, I know." She looked forward once more as they stopped at a red light.

"So, are you going to forget about him, then?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna forget about him. Think I'll just plain forget about dating, while I'm at it." She really didn't intend to say the last part out loud, but talking about this had gotten her a little miffed, and when she got upset, she had a propensity for saying exactly what was on her mind.

"What? Don't be ridiculous. This what's-his-face—Eugene—he was just one guy. I mean, think of all the other great experiences you've had. Don't let that apple rot the whole barrel."

"You're right. Problem is, he was the whole barrel." Roz said with a shrug.

"Excuse me?" Dan was trying to fit the metaphor to the counterpart reality, but it didn't match up with what he had assumed about Roz's social/dating life, at least when he had ever given it thought. He must have misheard her.

"Eugene was the only guy," she admitted frankly.

"What, that you'd ever slept with?" Dan asked, beside himself.

"That I'd ever dated. And kissed. And, yes, slept with. Not that it's any of your business."

Dan hadn't realized his jaw was hanging open until a car honked behind him, which made him jump, and he snapped it shut. He looked forward and realized the light had turned green and put his foot to the gas pedal again.

"Roz!"

"What?"

Dan was searching for words to express his dumbfoundedness at her practical chasteness, and just reverted to letting his jaw drop down again.

"Would you please shut that before you start attracting flies?" Roz was getting a little annoyed with his reaction, but if she thought about it, she probably wouldn't have expected much different from the most experienced man east of the Mississippi.

"Do you mean to tell me...you haven't—! Nothing—! In twenty years?!"

"Do you need to pull over? You're riding the braille," she pointed out as they were going thumpity-thump on the road reflectors. Dan corrected his steering, still trying to contain himself.

"I mean, you'd almost have to go out of your way to avoid it that long," he was trying make sense of why anyone would put themselves in such misery unless they were going into a convent, and even nuns baffled him—and highly intrigued him—but that was a whole other issue. At any rate, Roz didn't answer him but just looked out of the passenger window again. "Well, c'mon, you can't just leave it like that! Explain yourself!"

"If you keep barking commands at me and letting your eyeballs pop out of their sockets like that, I'll have to explain to a judge why I replaced your front teeth with my knuckles," she answered, nostrils flaring.

"All right, all right, I'm sorry." Dan tried to calm himself, but he resembled a three-year-old struggling to diffuse himself from a tantrum in order to receive an ice cream cone. He looked sober enough at last, but Roz made him sit for a minute extra, a little pain was good for him.

"There's really not a whole lot to explain," she said finally, "After Eugene left, we never properly divorced, so for a while I felt weird about dating other guys—didn't want to cheat on a husband—who wasn't there, of course—but it was still the principle of it. Then I got busy, went back to school while working jobs, graduated, traveled a bit, and worked more jobs, usually at least two at a time. I like to stay busy," she finished simply.

"Yeah, but there's way more fun ways to stay busy! Sorry," he added, when she gave him a warning look to cool the excitement. "But seriously, what's the use of staying so busy that you don't have a...life?" He tried to pose the question calmly so it wouldn't come across as more irritation.

"I dunno. I guess I don't like it when it's quiet," Roz explained, probably to the first person ever, she realized.

Dan, surprisingly, sat silent for a minute, thinking. They continued to drive through the sleepless heart of the city, the traffic at that hour almost as congested as during the day. They paused at another red light as about fifty pedestrians crossed in front of them. "So where were you going out to tonight?" He asked after a minute. The light turned green and he went on promptly this time.

"The Rochester Club," she answered, not sure why he asked other than to fill awkward silence.

He nodded. "Swanky. You need reservations for that place."

"Yeah, two weeks in advance."

"You didn't cancel, did you?"

"I didn't have time, but what difference does that make, anyway? It's not like I'm going."

"Oh, yes you are," Dan corrected her, and at the next light he made a right on Central Ave., going the opposite direction of her apartment.

"Dan, what are you doing? I ain't going to no Rochester Club, so turn this boat around before I make you."

"For once in your life, live a little," Dan said, surprising himself that he had ignored her threat. She rarely made an empty one, he knew from experience.

"I did live a little—on prom night—and look how far it got me. I am done."

"You're anything but done. You're intelligent, strong, capable, and—unbeknownst to me until tonight—attractive," which got him to thinking, "You know, those bailiff uniforms really don't do a lot for the female form-"

"—Dan."

"Hmm?"

"You were talking about me."

"Right, sorry. Anyway, you shouldn't limit yourself because one guy walked away—I know he was the only one," he acknowledged after she let out an exasperated breath, "but that's just because you haven't put yourself out there."

"What, like you?" she asked wryly.

"Well, there's no need to be an over-achiever," he conceded. "Come on, it'll be fun. It beats going straight home on a Friday night. And I hear they have the best jumbo shrimp cocktails in town!"

Roz was tired of arguing the subject. She really could have knocked his teeth out if she wanted to, but he seemed so earnest about her situation, she could have even pegged him for having a real, live beating heart. She threw her hands up in the air in defeat.

"That's the spirit!" He said, giving her a enthusiastic pat on the knee.

"All right, calm down, Fido. But if you're lying about those cocktails..."

Dan and Roz were led by a young man in a white starched shirt, black bow tie and pants, into a sea of candle-lit tables, around them huddled patrons draped in sequins, silk, suits, and elegance. Other club-goers could be found on the spotlit dance floor swaying to the standards played by the live band dressed in white coats and ties. Other than the light emanating from these two sources, the rest of the large hall faded into darkness. When they had reached their table, the man pulled out a chair for Roz while Dan sat in the chair to her left. He gave them menus and suggestions, took their drink order and left them to decide. They sat there, menus unopened, taking it all in as their eyes adjusted to the dim surroundings. This was certainly not what Roz was accustomed to for weekend entertainment, and even Dan, who had a knack for worming his way into ritzy places, was out of his league. Their drinks arrived momentarily: a gin tonic for him and a soda water with extra lime for her, which returned their focus to the table. Dan picked up his glass and Roz did likewise.

"What'll we drink to?" Roz asked.

Dan thought for a moment. "To the apple barrel."

She grimaced and shook her head, but touched her glass to his, anyway, and they sipped their respective beverages. They peered out over the hall again, the whole atmosphere seemed to be transported to a bygone era, which was apparently The Rochester Club's main draw. "I think 'swanky' is an understatement," she said as she looked at the band again. "And I think I under-dressed."

"Nonsense," Dan waved with a dismissive hand, "you look great. I, on the other hand, apparently forgot my top hat."

"I'm surprised they didn't offer you one at the door," remarked Roz. Dan snorted in agreement and they looked at each other, smirking at their shared feeling of displacement. Their waiter came then and took their order (jumbo shrimp cocktails).

"Well, no use just sitting here," Dan said after he downed his tonic. He stood up and held his forearm out in her direction.

"What's that for?"

"Come on, let's cut a rug."

"You expect me to dance with you?"

"Well, I know that I'm a far superior dancer to you, but I'll try to go slow."

"Thanks, but can you even dance?"

"Of course. It was a prerequisite during my male escort days. Can you dance?"

"Of course I can. It's a prerequisite for being black."

"So now you don't have an excuse," and he hung his elbow out again.

She wondered aloud as she stood up. "I cant believe you're talking me into this."

"Don't be too put out. Not many women can resist my power of persuasion."

"And when they snap out of it, not many women can resist slashing your tires."

"Better my tires than me."

Dan trailed just in front of Roz as they made their way to the lit dance floor. She looked at his 6'4" frame from behind and wondered how she had gotten roped into a date, for lack of a better term, with the last man in the world she'd ever go out with. She wondered if he really didn't have some sort of gift for luring women, after all, since he had managed to coax a tough-as-nails, don't-put-up-with-yutzes-like-Dan kinda gal onto the dance floor. Even though Roz was thankful for his friendship—he did save her life a few years ago, after all—he was too much of a slime ball the vast majority of the time for her to tolerate him otherwise. She just shook her head and figured she may as well ride it out, Dan seemed to have gotten over himself notably well in a short period of time which, she had noticed in their years working together, he had done on rare occasions. They had made their way to the edge of the dance floor just as the song was ending. They stepped on, the wood was smooth beneath their feet and the spotlights warmed the air. The band struck up another melody not two seconds after the last one had ended. The tune was quick and lively; a dark-haired woman in a floor-length chiffon cream gown stepped forward from the band to join a man in a tuxedo already at the other microphone. Dan craned his neck at the curvacious brunette and had to force himself to actually start dancing instead of gawking. The man there began to sing as the most unlikely couple on the floor joined hands to shoulder and waist and found their rhythm.

"I've been a roaming romeo

My Juliets have been many

But now my roaming days have gone

Too many irons in the fire

Is worse than not having any

I've had my share and from now on:

I'm putting all my eggs in one basket

I'm betting ev'rything I've got on you"

"Well, Dan, I'm impressed, you really do know how to dance. For a white guy, anyway," Roz remarked as their steps fell in place with the swift jazz standard.

"I'll take that as a compliment," replied Dan, who then gave her a spin, half-hoping she'd lose her timing so he could gloat, but she came right back into step without a mishap. Despite his deviousness, he had to smile at her dexterity. She was no waif, he appraised, but she was light on her feet. He spun her again just for the heck of it. It wasn't every day he could handle the iron-handed bailiff in such a permissive way, so he took advantage of the novelty.

Roz seemed to guess his thoughts. "Having fun?" she asked as they came out of a dip.

"Well, you are a lot easier to dance with than I'd thought you'd be. You're quite the twinkle toes for never going out and having a good time," replied Dan.

"I guess dancing's kinda like riding a bicycle that way," mused Roz as the lady singer began her bit:

"I've been a roaming Juliet

My romeos have been many

But now my roaming days have gone

Too many irons in the fire

Is worse than not having any

I've had my share and from now on:

I'm putting all my eggs in one basket

I'm betting ev'rything I've got on you"

They continued to maneuver across the dance floor, both of them surprised at how well they got on, not only as a dancing pair, but as two friends, who normally didn't go out of their way to be in each others' company if they didn't have to, who were now genuinely enjoying the occupation, and even cracked smiles, to boot, much to one another's amusement: neither maintained such expressions for any extended period of time, let alone induced by the other. It was a pleasant, albeit strange, phenomenon.

The song came to a finish and the hall filled with lively applause. As the clapping died down, a solo trumpet introduced the next piece. It was slower and soulful. Roz made to exit the dance floor, but Dan caught the crook of her elbow which, in itself, was a dangerous thing to do; one didn't physically detain Roz without painful resistance, but he got a little careless after their moment of levity. Roz looked irritatedly at her arm, and then at him, indicating for Dan to explain himself. He let go hastily but his good humor still remained.

"Hey, come on, one more," he smiled. He couldn't remember the last time he genuinely had such fun while in an upright position, and he wanted the sensation to last a little longer.

She looked at him shrewdly for a moment. "All right, just one more. But you used up your dip and spin allotment, so don't expect any more outa me."

"Deal," he said as he drew her back toward himself, this time to a closer proximity than the last energetic dance, as the tempo bid. The lone trumpet was then joined by the rest of the jazz band as they took to a fluid boxstep. They didn't talk for a minute, partly to catch their breath from the last five minutes of exercise. Dan was a little overzealous with the footwork, he admitted to himself, and promised himself he'd go to the gym. Maybe. At the start of the New Year.

Roz, for the first time, and quite unbidden, caught a glimpse of the appeal he rendered from women—when he kept his mouth shut, she amended. Being this close to him, she conceded that he really did have an impressive stature. The way he carried himself lent to a certain gravitas, which was made more apparent as he led them competently around the other couples on the dance floor. It made her feel safe and a little powerless at the same time, as if she was put upon to trust him. Even though Roz knew she could do such a thing when it really came down to it, she never purposely put herself in a situation that would require such an action if she could help it; or with anyone, for that matter. She thought about the anomaly that was Dan for a moment more and then gave up on the strain, looking for something to talk about instead, until he beat her to it.

"I take it back. This really is a dive, after all," remarked Dan after a time. He may have been enjoying himself, but he wasn't one to keep silence too long. Too much thinking usually managed to happen if he didn't interrupt.

"I'm surprised we didn't get mugged on the way to our table," concurred Roz. She looked up at him properly for the first time since the standard began. It was a little hard for her to do so in general as he stood a good head taller than her, let alone standing so close together, for which she had to crane her neck a fair amount. She inspected his face as he looked down at her. "I don't get you, Dan," she said after a moment.

He simply shrugged. "What you see is what you get." He liked the motto, and tried his best to live by it.

"Then how come what I see the vast majority of the time, and what I'm getting now, are two completely different things?"

"What are you getting now?"

"A Dan Fielding that I can tolerate."

"Hey! I'm always tolerable," he defended himself, a little affronted from the back-handed compliment, and hardly a compliment, at that.

"Only because a fear of the law protects you from people who would otherwise beat you to a pulp."

"Well..." Dan tried to defend himself from the logic but came up with nothing.

"Maybe if you weren't such a self-absorbed jerk all the time you might really get along with society at large," Roz suggested.

"Hey, what's with the roast here? It's not even my birthday," he complained.

"I'm just saying, as a friend," she qualified, "that you'd be happier if you spent more time being a nice guy. You know, treating your friends to cocktails and waltzing, than constantly grasping at the next gold ring."

"Geez, you need to stop hanging around Harry, you sound like his groupie," Dan groaned. Roz ignored him.

"I'm serious, you can't go on like this forever. When are you going to settle down?"

"Ha!" he bellowed. A few dancing couples turned their heads toward the direction of the sound. "Dan Fielding doesn't settle down. And besides, who are you to be lecturing me on settling down, Miss 'I'm Done'?" he echoed her words from their car ride.

"I've got friends," Roz answered, not appreciating the flip in the interrogation. She was irked earlier in the evening that Dan only talked about himself, but now she preferred to revert back to that.

"Yeah, I've got friends, too, and I'm pretty sure they're the same ones you got. I call dibs!"

"You can't call dibs on friends!" Roz said, indignant at the absurd direction their conversation was taking.

"Well, you can't use them all," insisted Dan.

"Use them all for what? Shuffleboard tournaments for when I'm retired? Dan, I don't know what your plans are that involve having to hoard all of our friends when you're old and grey, but don't you think you're being a little ridiculous?"

Dan didn't answer right away. He looked like he was weighing things in his mind, and he looked a little self-conscious while doing it. Despite their agitating conversation, they continued to meander about the dance floor as if they were discussing the balmy weather that evening, their feet completely oblivious to the debate happening above. "Ok, fine. maybe I don't want to be alone, either," he blurted out. "There, are you happy now?" He was very put out about being honest, particularly on this subject.

"Not until you tell me what has your panties in a bunch about you getting married or, heck, even sticking to one woman."

"Well, what if I get tired of her? Then I'm stuck," he rationalized.

"You mean, what if she gets tired of you?" Roz read between his logic. He looked like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar, trying feebly to put on an air of innocence.

"Maybe," he shrugged, looking anywhere but at Roz. "So what?"

"So, don't you know any females amongst your harem that would put up with you for the long haul?"

"I don't know, I haven't dated any long enough to find out," admitted Dan.

"Well, what's your ideal woman?"

"If I could only have one?"

"That's the general idea."

"Let's see... Killer legs. Double-jointed. Dangerous in the bedroom. Drop-dead gorgeous," he rattled off.

"Well, now that you've just described every Bond Girl, how about something realistic?"

Dan thought for a minute. It had been a while since he considered things in terms of reality. It turned out to be a taxing exercise. "She should be nice," he finally said.

"Nice, huh? So, flip through your little black book—or is it your big black phone book? Pick the nicest girl and go from there," she advised.

"Well, gee! That sounds easy enough. Thanks for the session, Dr. Laura, I'll get right to it!" he said with as much sarcastic eagerness as he could evoke. He then turned the tables back on her. He'd endured enough touchy-feely crap for a whole year, let alone one night, and he wouldn't be easily deterred from forcing the same pointed questions on her, scary bailiff or not. "So what about you?"

"What about me? We already talked about me," Roz reminded him.

"Yeah, but you completely dismissed my answer, which was the exact same as yours, so now I get to completely dismiss yours."

"No, I'm different. I'm not trying to fill the void with the entire single male population of the eastern seaboard."

"No, you're just trying to kill time with busywork," countered Dan.

"At least I'm not using all my energy to be a selfish leech," she pointed out.

"And at least I'm not using all my energy to be an untouchable spinster," he shot back.

At that point the music was just ending and people were starting to applause, so everyone mistook the yelp Dan uttered as a cheer for the band and not as the expression of pain it really was from Roz stepping hard on his instep. She marched off the dance floor while Dan clutched at his foot while hopping on the other, gritting his teeth and trying not to cry. After a minute, he went limping back to their table, which now had the shrimp waiting for them—but no Roz. He checked the ladies' restroom, calling out her name from the door, then looking under each stall for familiar feet, to no avail, and receiving some curious looks from the women in the bathroom. He went outside into the warm night air and scanned the surroundings, but there was no sign of her. Dan went back inside and waited around for about fifteen minutes, hoping she just needed to blow off some steam before returning. He picked at the plate of fancy crustaceans but discovered that he didn't really have an appetite for them, after all.

This is what he got for trying to be a friend, he thought dejectedly. Well, a friend, until he called Roz an untouchable spinster: that probably deserved a foot-smashing. But the lawyer in him wouldn't take the whole "selfish leech" comment without a counter-argument, even if the description were true. He just wished it came from one of the meaningless women he dated instead of from a friend, however unconventional that friendship was. He looked morosely around the hall from where he slouched in his chair, noticing the great time everyone was having but him. He looked at the dance floor where the couples continued to dance to the old jazz.

Since there was nothing to be done, Dan listened to the music. The trumpet replied to every stanza the lady at the silver microphone sang while the jazz orchestra accompanied them.

"Give me a kiss to build a dream on

And my imagination will thrive upon that kiss

Sweetheart, I ask no more than this

A kiss to build a dream on.

Give me a kiss before you leave me

And my imagination will feed my hungry heart

Leave me one thing before we part

A kiss to build a dream on."

The singer let the calls of the trumpet take center stage before the male singer stepped forward to sing his part. Dan sat still, his thoughts far off. "You have got to be an idiot..." he mumbled to himself right before he stood up, glanced at the bill (and gasped at the amount), put a wad of cash down on the table, and exited The Rochester Club.

Buzzzzzz. Buzzz, Buzzz, Buzzzzzzz. The intercom sounded loudly as Dan hunched over it, pressing the button to get an answer from apartment 41C.

"Who is it?" Came the sound of Roz's voice, threatening more than asking the question.

"Roz, it's me, Dan—"

"Get the hell outa here—" interrupted Roz.

"I just wanted to come up and apologize, all right?" interrupted Dan.

"Apology not accepted. Good night."

"Roz, wait! Please? You know I suffer from foot-in-mouth disease," he pleaded through the lamp-lit intercom by the gated entrance of the apartment complex. For an instant, he felt like he was trying to win back an offended date as he stood there in the act of begging. He let out a breath, exasperated at himself for having to do it again, to win back a friend this time.

"Then go see a doctor. Good night," she repeated.

"Roz, please? You're one of the few friends I've got, I just don't wanna...," he didn't want to finish the sentence. There was no sound on the other end of the intercom, but he knew he had to say what he came to say if he was going to salvage the wreck he had created. "...lose you," he finally said, quietly. But the only reply was silence. "And I'm not leaving 'til you buzz me up," he added, though his confidence was a little forced. Still no response. Still no open gate. He let go of the intercom button and stood up. He looked down at his watch that read 1:15 am. He rubbed his tired face with his hands and paced a few steps. He rolled up his business blue shirtsleeves and wondered how long he would have to wait there, when he suddenly realized, with a sinking feeling, she would probably make him wait there all night. He wondered if he shouldn't just leave right then and there. It wasn't the safest neighborhood, after all, he thought after seeing a couple guys walk by who looked like they had nothing better to do than get into trouble. He shrunk back a little and tried not to make eye contact. He paced around some more and looked up at the apartment building windows, wondering which one was hers. After a few minutes, he decided to sit down on the concrete steps that led up to the gate. He looked up at the sky and was at least grateful to be having this filibuster of sorts in the summer, so at least the weather would be amenable to long waits outside.

Over the course of the next hour he watched late night stragglers pass by, including a bum who asked him for spare change, and another bum who offered him spare change. Dan didn't want to think about how pathetic he must have looked to have solicited the compassion of one whom he regarded as being so far below his dignity. But he still pocketed the money. Shortly after that he heard a sound that made him jump, but quickly realized it was the buzzer that sounded for an open gate. Dan quickly stood up, clamored to the gate, and pushed through it. A minute later he found the door that belonged to Roz's apartment. He knocked softly. When it opened he found Roz dressed in green camouflage sweats and fluffy white bunny slippers, looking grumpy and expectant. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame.

"Thanks for not making me wait all night. There were some creeps out there, for sure."

"You being one of them."

"All right. I really am sorry to have said that back there. I didn't even mean to say it, it's just that you started railing on me and it just came out," explained Dan, trying to reason out his idiocy while still attempting to convey remorse.

"Just because you didn't mean to say it doesn't mean you don't think it's really true," replied Roz. "So is that what you really think?"

"Roz, I've already told you what I think—not the whole spinster thing—but in the car earlier, about how you'd be throwing it all away if you keep doing what you're doing, which is a whole lotta nothing."

"Dan, I am in no mood to hear more of your advice. I'm done and that's that," said Roz, who was just starting to push off the door frame in order to close the door, when Dan stopped her.

"Alright... I don't know how else to put it. We've always been friends, right?" asked Dan, who looked a little impatient and purposeful, like a man about to do something rash.

"I guess you could call it that," responded Roz, begrudgingly.

"Nothing more, nothing less? Always have been, always will be?" he continued on for more reassurance.

Roz shook her head at his insecurity in their friendship, and was too tired to argue a point she knew would probably be water under the bridge after a while, anyway. Goodness knows she had put up with worse. "Dan, if you want forgiveness, fine. I should have expected as much from an insensitive blockhead like you."

"That's great, but I'm not looking for forgiveness," he explained, which made her respond with a look of irritation and confusion. "Look, don't take this the wrong way, but—" and he hesitated for a split second before he lunged at her.

Roz closed her door after she said good night to Dan. She turned around, intending to go straight to bed, but stood there, instead, wondering if that had really just happened. She shrugged her shoulders and noticed the movement in the oval mirror she had inherited from her grandmother on the wall by the door. She took a step over to it and looked at her reflection full on, noticing something different about her face after their chat. Well, at least a "chat" was what she would call it, if she ever had the inclination to think of it, let alone talk about it. But the word seemed to fit, though the majority of the conversation didn't involve words. She wasn't smiling, but she didn't have the usual cool look in her eyes, either. She reached up unconsciously and touched her lips as she took notice of them. What little red lipstick remained when she got home was now gone. She moved her hand to brush off some moisture from the side of her cheek that Dan had missed. She shook her head at the woman in the mirror, but wasn't irritated by the soft expression that gazed back at her. It made her look a little approachable and, for the first time, she didn't mind it. She wondered at Dan, how he had managed it without evoking a response from her in the form of a karate chop to the Adam's apple, but maybe the element of surprise bought him just enough time, so that by the time she was able to gather her wits she realized what was going on. And what she realized was that the most dubious bachelor in New York, the most selfish, scheming, coward of a man she had ever met, was just trying to get it through that fortress she had built up around herself over the years, that she mattered; that the risk she'd be taking was worth it, just like the risk he took in telling her so.

She moved away from the mirror and began turning out the few lights that remained on in her apartment. He could lord this over her for the rest of her life, she thought; the night Dan Fielding got under Roz Russell's skin. But she remembered the solemnity in his eyes and the quiet shake of his head when she implored him not to tell anyone. It was enough for her to believe him. This changed things, however. It couldn't not change things. Her neatly planned itinerary for the rest of her life was void by one little unguarded moment. She had forgotten what it felt like to be the center of someone's universe. But he reminded her. "Dammit," Roz muttered. She stood before the window, now being pelted with rain, which looked blearily out onto street where his car was parked under the glow of a streetlamp. She watched it for a moment before she drew the curtains closed. "Good luck, you fool. You're gonna need it."

Dan sat in his parked car with the air vent turned on in an attempt to dry off a little. After all of his years living in New York, he could never quite get used to the unpredictable weather. He ran his fingers back through his wet hair. He sat still for a minute and took stock of the evening, thinking how different it would have been if his original date hadn't cancelled on him. He probably would have slept with her by now and planning his escape, just like all the others. He thought of his little black book (which really was a big black phone book) and all the women it contained waiting for a call. But they weren't nice. They were all like him; all of them with their goal in life to receive instead of give. If they did give, it was a means to an end, just like his compulsion to open the car door for his dates. And he was perfectly happy with that, until tonight. Happy, until he gave for the sake of someone else. He berated himself for doing such a stupid thing, because he wanted to do it again. He didn't wonder long before he realized why the comparatively bland moment not five minutes past was so far and above the best times he could summon to his memory, even if it was with the last person he would ever entertain such notions of. Simply put, it had meant something. He sought to gain nothing, and yet the effort he put forth came back on him ten-fold. He'd never been a user, but he imagined this was what it felt like to have drugs pumping through one's veins. Roz was out of the question, of course, all physical threats aside. They had their moment, but it served its purpose and they each had to find their own path. He vowed to give again. To someone nice. And he was confident he would find her. He was nothing if not stubborn, and was determined on his course, even if it cost him his job. He put his hand on the wheel, turned on the wipers, and shifted into drive. He pulled away from the curb and drove undaunted into the storm.

The End

(Lyrics credits: "I'm Putting All My Eggs In One Basket" by Irving Berlin. "A Kiss To Build A Dream On" by Bert Kalmar, Harry Ruby, and Oscar Hammerstein II)

Author's Note:

I know this wasn't a typical Night Court fan fiction—sorry if I made anyone squirm! But I wanted to explore some character development with Dan because I absolutely love the battle of good and evil within him played out over the life of the show, and wanted to highlight that a little here. Roz seemed like the most unlikely person to get paired up with him, and as I'm a big fan of the unlikely, I thought I'd give it a go to see if it would be believable under the circumstances.

This actually took me twice as long to write than my other Night Court fic, The Bet, though it's less than half the length. I reworked the poop out of it, and it actually started out as a first-person journal entry by Roz. It was an interesting exercise in point-of-view, but didn't quite go where the omniscient third-person writer could :) I also rewrote their "moment" at the end, which was originally straightforward in narrative details. I debated whether or not to keep it, but decided to go with this leave-it-to-the-imagination approach for a few reasons, however fun it was to write the first draft :) I wanted to emphasize the intimacy of the moment yet still give them their "privacy", if you will. It seemed to fit Roz's character to do this, and give a nod to Dan's decency, however evasive. I also wanted to avoid schmaltzy. Not sure if I completely did that, but I tried! Lastly, I love those authors and directors who take the "implied" approach. I feel like they give me permission to use my imagination and intelligence, instead of serving me all the nitty-gritty details on a big, white Denny's buffet plate, as if I'm too dense to figure it out. Now, don't get me wrong, I beam and giggle and squeal as much as the next girl when it comes to gushy scenes—I love writing them, and I soak them in! But every once in a while it's a nice change to know just enough to wonder :) For those that are curious what I think happened between them, I will be happy to message you the original. And, who knows, maybe you'd think it works better than the above?

I'm really curious to know what you, the reader (maybe even readers?), thought about this piece of fic, especially those familiar with the Night Court characters. I share my writing here in hopes of making someone smile, and it'd be nice to know if I did that :) Thanks for reading!

~Anne