I really like Windscryer's 100 Themes Challenge. I've been enjoying the responses I've been reading, and, well, I decided to take a stab at it. My writing is still a little rusty so I'm sure my style will change drastically as these go on. Also, they won't all be all... wordy... like these first few. I plan on actually lightening up, as the show is actually a comedy. Yay!

Title: Happenstance
Author: Papergirl
Category: Response to Windscryer's 100 Themes Challenge. I suppose they will be alternately angsty, funny, etc.
Rating: Overall it might get darker. I'll put any new ratings or warnings at the beginning of each ficlet if needed.
Disclaimer: Obviously the characters don't belong to me.
Author's Notes: Just really quickly - I have no idea how police-witness interviews go (thank God I have no personal experience there). So it's going to be creative license, I suppose.

Anyway, I've always wondered about Miami. In the pilot we learn Henry was living there, and later on we learn Juliet transferred to Santa Barbara from there. And so, though I'm sure the timelines don't match up, my brain couldn't help but wonder if maybe Henry met Juliet before anyone else did. Here's what came of it.

HAPPENSTANCE

Chapter 1 – "Introduction"

Juliet O'Hara ran her hands over the back of her head, collecting as many wayward strands of blonde hair as possible as she fixed her ponytail. She could feel the droplets of sweat beading on her neck and dripping down her collar.

It was torture, absolute sheer torture, to be standing next to a glistening swimming pool in the Miami heat without any hope of plunging into its cool, refreshing depths. For a moment, she seriously considered jumping in, fully-clothed, but decided against it. Even though the gray suit she was wearing was by no means a favorite, she still felt that it probably wasn't the best way to win the respect of her fellow detectives. After all, she had only been a detective for a handful of months, and had only managed to convince her superiors to let her actually tag along to crime scenes, well, that morning.

Juliet hastily finished the ponytail, her attention focused on Detective Stephens as he spoke with one of the witnesses.

Detective Stephens was the one asking the questions. Detective Rodriguez was the one nodding and diligently taking notes. Juliet was the one standing awkwardly behind and beside them, casting longing looks at the pool. Sure, their homicide victim was still floating face down in it, the blood swirling and mixing with the chlorine as Forensics set up, but the part over in the deep end looked serene and blood-free.

Juliet shook her head slightly and briefly turned her attention to the dozen or so neighbors loitering around where the cops stood guard at the victim's gate. Older folks, mostly. A young Puerto Rican mother holding a sleeping infant. A skinny guy in a stained wifebeater. As she scanned the crowd, Juliet caught the eye of a balding gentleman with a sun-reddened face. He was leaning sideways on the fence, arms crossed over a garishly loud Hawaiian shirt. He was watching the police with a look of almost... Juliet struggled to define it - condescension? No. Bemusement, perhaps.

Juliet turned to face her fellow detectives. They were still mid-interview and mid-ignoring her. She'd expected it to be difficult. She'd expected the teasing and the nicknames. It wasn't anything she couldn't handle - she did have brothers, after all. She had even become rather fond of being the new "Grasshopper." She just hadn't anticipated the calculated manner by which her fellow law officers managed to exclude her from casework. She knew it was going to be difficult, but really? It was getting ridiculous. There were more than enough crimes in Miami for all of them and yet she still felt like she was constantly stepping on someone's toes merely by receiving a paycheck.

Something glittering in her periphery caught her eye. Juliet nonchalantly wandered over to the source of the glitter, an eye on Stephens and Rodriguez. She half-expected them to snap for her to return to their side, even though they didn't even trust her with note-taking. Their attention remained on the witness.

Juliet bent down to get a closer look at the shining object. It was a small, silver key. Too small for a house or a car, but big enough for a substantial lock. Instinctively, she turned and surveyed the yard: pool, patio, garden, and yes, over in the far corner, a shed with a large padlock.

A man whistled, low and appreciative, and Juliet tensed. She could feel the anger bubbling up. She stood and spun on her heels to face the catcaller but was surprised to find the Hawaiian shirt man grinning, not leering, at her. Covering her surprise, she marched over to the gate.

"Excuse me," she barked in her hoity-toitiest voice. The man nodded toward the location of the key.

"Good eye, kid," he raised his eyebrows. "I doubt they would've noticed."

Juliet turned to follow his gaze and found herself staring at Stephens and Rodriguez. She turned back to the man.

"I'm sorry?" she said it like a statement, and an accusatory one at that.

"Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm sure they're good cops," the man spoke genially. "They're just not very observant." He paused and looked at Juliet. "I've been trying to get their attention for ten minutes."

Juliet met his gaze and felt a little unnerved. She patted her pockets and pulled out her notebook and pen.

"Can I ask your name?" Her voice tried to walk the line between annoyed and intrigued.

The man smiled, more at her pen poised diligently over paper than at her question.

"Detective Henry Spencer, Santa Barbara Police Department," He sniffed slightly. "Retired."

He uncrossed his arms long enough to offer her a hand. Juliet shook it, pen still in her palm. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Spencer with a 'c' or an 's'?"

Henry grinned. "C. Do you want my badge number, too? Shoe size? Mother's maiden name?"

His tone was lighthearted enough, but Juliet didn't take kindly to being made fun of by strangers, and she'd had her fill of it by male cops, too.

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Mr. Spencer," she replied curtly. "Did you know the victim?"

"We're neighbors." He pointed over her shoulder to the small ranch to the left of them.

"I see..." Juliet drew out the word to buy time as she scribbled notes.

"Listen," Henry said, shifting his weight. "Jack Olsen was a decent man, but he was into something. I used to see him from my kitchen. He'd go into that shed five, ten times a day. Always with a duffel bag. I figured drugs. I even called in an anonymous tip once, but he must have known because it was empty by the time your colleagues over there got around to organizing a raid."

Juliet nodded, writing furiously as she digested the man's words. "You think he was targeted by a fellow drug runner?"

"Probably. I was just coming home from fishing so I didn't witness anything today, but I'd bet he knew his attacker. I'd also bet that he threw away the key during the confrontation, maybe just before. But the neighbors called the cops before the killer had time to find it in the tall grass."

Juliet nodded again, still writing.

"Jack never could manage to mow on a regular basis."

Juliet smiled despite herself. She looked down at her notes, now comprising several pages in the book that had previously only held doodles. She looked back up at Henry.

"Santa Barbara were fools to let you go, sir."

Henry's eyes darkened but only momentarily. "Thanks, but it was my idea."

"Oh," Juliet was surprised. Surely an astute man with such impressive insights couldn't give up so easily. She hadn't been at it long yet but she knew being a detective was in her blood. It couldn't be fought.

Juliet snapped her notebook shut and slipped it back in her pocket.

"Will you be around later if we have further questions?"

"Yeah. I'm not going anywhere."

Juliet couldn't help herself from mumbling, "I know the feeling," under her breath. She hoped he hadn't heard her.

She slid a hand into her other pocket and pulled out an evidence baggie. Then she extended her free hand to Henry. "It was nice to meet you, Mr. Spencer."

"Henry."

"Henry. Thanks for the assistance."

He shook her hand. "Good luck to you, Detective..."

"O'Hara. Juliet O'Hara."

"Good luck to you, Detective O'Hara," Henry repeated. They broke apart, and Juliet made a beeline for the key on the ground.

"You know," Henry called after her. "They were always pretty good to us in Santa Barbara."

Juliet turned and squinted at him in the sunlight. She smiled wryly. "I'll keep that in mind."

She bent to retrieve the key and call over Stephens and Rodriguez. By the time she looked up again, Henry was gone.

His words, however, remained. And a short while later, when Juliet could no longer stand it in Miami, she couldn't help but look west.

The End

More Author's Notes: I made Henry a little too Shawn-like in this, but I blame it on early retirement and Miami's heat. His badge number line smacked of Shawn, but I think a loosened-up Henry might joke like that. Also, the "Grasshopper" nickname came from watching "The First 48" where the rookie in the Miami homicide unit is deemed "Grasshopper." That's about as much "research" as I did on this one. :-) Hope you enjoyed it.