Colleen, to Meara: "Did I ever tell you Henry was the flirtiest partner I ever had – and that includes your father!" (Blue Bloods 4x09. "Bad Blood")

Roll Call, 7:30 am

The six newest recruits stood stiffly in the front row, itchy dress shirts crackling with starch, nervous and full of salt and bravado and undoubtedly wishing for a piss. The two at the end of the row, a pair of short, skinny kids, stood more quietly, not even fidgeting, as Sarge finished talking quietly with Lt. Angus before taking the front of the room.

Henry, from his spot near the back, couldn't see much. He wasn't a particularly tall man himself, though neatly-built and wiry. He suddenly spotted a gleaming blonde bun peeking out from under the duty cap of the shorty at the end of the front row. His first thought was, is that some police-beat lady reporter on an undercover ride-along?

Then the other shorty turned around, and he saw thick auburn curls tamed neatly around as classic a rose-touched Irish face as he'd seen anywhere. Two little gold studs sat in her ears below her cap, an innovation he decided improved the look of the duty cap immensely. The lady cop's eyes were bright blue, curious and lively, and as she caught his eye, she smiled very slightly as if she recognized him from somewhere.

Oh, my.

It was his mother's pet phrase, one that often rose unbidden in his mind when something came along to really knock him sideways. So far, during his career, he'd managed to prevent an Oh, my from leaving his mouth in front of the fellas, but taking a discreet glance around, he saw more than one reflected in a few pairs of eyes around him. He took a second glance at Sanford and Brown, whose Oh, mys had quickly been covered with something harder and suspicious.

Henry was ashamedly glad of a reason to redirect his thoughts.

He decided to keep an eye on those two. They were the type that would not take kindly to ladies in the house. They'd said so on more than one occasion, in language that Henry was ashamed to hear from a cop pledged to protect womenfolk. But that, Henry thought, was the trouble, wasn't it? What were men like Sanford and Brown supposed to do with women who didn't need protecting, couldn't be fucked, weren't there to make the coffee, and had the power of the badge behind them? And what if they did a better job than the men? To men like Sanford and Brown, that couldn't be allowed to happen.

If anyone was going to give the ladies a hard time on the job, especially that fair Irish colleen, Henry decided, they'd have to go through him. Hotheaded bullyboys or not.

Sarge was at the podium now, and Henry watched for any sign that his commander had also seen the change in the weather among the watch. If he had, he didn't show it in so much of an eyelash, but he was a canny bastard and would probably have every one of them under observation for the next while.

"Ten-HUT! First rank, one pace forwahd! Abaht face."

The front row snapped into form, opened ranks and spun about on their left feet. Each new officer nodded once, tightly, as Sarge read off their names. "Genl'men. Please join me in welcoming our new brothahs an' sistahs to the one-six. Blair. Fedorovsky. McCann. O'Malley. Polniaczek. Van Greer." He paused to eyeball the ranks. "Boys," Sarge addressed them, "As you know, the One-Six has long been in need of wimmin workin' alongside us as full members, in order t' best serve ahr citizens. Ah'm therefore glad to welcome Officers Colleen O'Malley and Hedda Van Greer as ahr first fully-fledged, weapons-trained lady officers in ahr house."

Henry smiled to himself. So her name really was Colleen. Her fellow lady cop Hedda was, to be honest, the real looker, a blonde advertising model type if she wasn't all pinned up and buttoned down, but Colleen looked like someone you could talk to.

He was travelling comfortably along in his thoughts when he tuned back into Sarge's shift assignments. It came as a shock to his system to hear Sarge read out the new partners, and to hear that he and Victor McGuire were being split up. Vic would be riding with the new kid McCann, who at least looked observant and well put-together, even if he was swallowing dry spit with nerves every two minutes.

Vic looked over at him with a resigned eyebrow lift of Well, it was good while it lasted. He nodded back. They'd had a good two-year run together and would enjoy swapping new probie stories over drinks after tour.

"Unit One-Six November: Reagan and O'Malley. Car eighteen."

It took him a half-second to process. He'd just been made a training officer again, and his rookie was the auburn Irish Colleen.

Oh, my.

He found himself a few minutes later shaking hands with O'Malley – he must always think of her as O'Malley, he reminded himself – and assuring her he'd do his best to pass on what he could, and maybe she could teach this old dog some new tricks. Same speech as he gave to every one of his rookies.

"Reagan! O'Malley. The office."

She glanced at him, clearly wondering if they were already in trouble. He shrugged and waved her ahead of him to follow Sarge into his cluttered office. Sarge merely pointed at his visitor chairs, though, so they sat with their hats on their laps and waited.

"O'Malley, is that lipstick?"

"No, Sir." She wiped her mouth with a finger and held it up. "No cosmetics while in uniform, Sir. And my earrings are less than one-quarter of an inch in diameter, as per regulations."

Sarge eyed her for a moment, and went onwards. "Well. Okay. O'Malley, this ain't going to be an easy post, but Ah think y'know that. Some of the boys would prefer t' think of women around heah as an experiment, and they don't want that experiment t' succeed. But you ladies are heah for good, and personally Ah do think it's good. More'n that, Ah think it's about damn time."

Henry relaxed a fraction.

"Reagan, Ah'm putting you with O'Malley heah on accoun'na two things. The rookies you've trained have all turned out t' be real credits to the uniform. They've absorbed your charactah along with your experience. Second, you an' Betty have as strong a marriage as Ah've ever seen. Ah know you won't be any trouble t' Miss O'Malley on that front."

"No, Sir, and thank – "

"Sir. It's Officer O'Malley, Sir, with respect."

There was a pause.

"You ah correct, of course, Officer O'Malley. My apologies. Habits die hahd." He cleared his throat. "Ah do not expect t' have you take on all the wimmin's and chil'ren's calls and such, Officer. That said, there are plenny of wimmin gonna be glad t' have you workin' on sensitive cases that concern them. Ah'm sure you and your fellow lady officer will have plenny to teach us as we go along, but it's gonna be an ongoing battle with summa this crew. Ah want you both t' know you can count on me if you encounter a situation in-house that gets beyond you, but Ah do expect you t' deal with it as best you can first."

"We'll do that, Sir." Henry replied.

"Good. Now get outta here. Tell Officers Van Greer and Stapleton I needa see 'em on a similah mattah."

"For now, let's just take a cruise around the precinct. Get you up to speed on some of the hotspots and regular customers."

"Your wife gonna take issue with you ridin' around with a lady cop?" Colleen asked him seriously. "We're kind of an unknown quantity around here, I get that."

"No, no," Henry replied, "Betty's a sensible girl. She knows I'd never do anything to trouble her. Or let myself be put in trouble's way."

Sensible.

Colleen saw it all quite clearly now: a young Irish couple, probably family friends, who had been raised to always do the right thing and make their families proud. Married off before they could think of sowing any wild oats, with the added benefit of heading of any potential problems as regarded finger-counting the months between wedding and babies, murmurings of homosexuality or pickiness above the family station. No doubt they succeeded. Henry was solid, no doubt about that. Little too solid, was his problem. Badly wanted shaking up a bit.

At twenty-four, Colleen O'Malley was all too aware that she had way of shaking things up despite her best intentions. She was determined to live that down, and took the responsibility of being one of the NYPD's first gun-toting women police officers very seriously. Not for her, the Women's Patrol, which only provided a visible presence in public areas, without weapons or car radios. And she was glad she hadn't been posted to the Women's Precinct, which only dealt with female suspects or women's and children's issues. She wanted the whole experience. New York City, 1958, the center of the universe.

"Still, I'd like to meet her, if you think it wise," she said. "Get the sniff-test over with."

"Meet her! Of course you'll meet her. We had Vic McGuire over for dinner every week or more. I hope you'll continue the tradition."

"McGuire. You were his partner till today?"

"Yep. Two years." He looked over at her from the driver's seat. "Don't let that worry you. Partners get switched up all the time. Depends on each partner's skill and experience, what the house needs at the time. Some last for years, some just a few months."

"You wanna lay odds on this one, make it interesting?"

He glanced over again, and this time she caught it. Right in the gut. That blue flash, the grin, the leaping spark that she didn't see when he spoke of his beloved Betty as sensible.

Colleen, you idiot, she told herself, this is not a drop-in game at the YWCA. Cool your jets and behave like a lady.

"Interesting, you say," Henry stroked his pointy Irish chin. "How interesting you figure?"

"I say twenny bucks we go over two years. Even one minute over two years from…right now." She tapped her watch. "Seven forty-two a.m., September thirteen, nineteen fifty eight. One minute past that time and date in nineteen sixty, I get twenny bucks offa you."

"Deal. One minute under two years, I get twenny offa you." He held out his hand. Colleen took it and shook twice, hard.

Henry returned his hand to the wheel before remarking, "You were a shooter way before Academy." It was a statement, not a question. There was no mistaking that grip or those calluses. She was proud of both.

"You bet."

"Your Dad a cop? Army"

"Mom's an army nurse. Hadda watch her back among her own side as well as be prepared to defend the medic tents against hostiles."

Henry nodded, seriously.

"She taught you to shoot?"

"Me, my two sisters and four brothers. Two of the boys are in the Army now. My kid sister Joannie thinks she wants to turn cop too, but she's waiting to see how I make out."

"Busy lady, your Mam. And your Da?"

"Aw, Dad didn't make it through the War. Never got to meet my littlest brother Davy, poor soul. RAF fighter pilot, stationed at Lossiemouth for the duration. Good man, my Da. Never wanted me to touch a gun. Used to say he wasn't having the arse shot off him just to have his cailins have to do the same."

"Aw, he'd be proud of you. You know that, right? You were, what, the second ever troop of fully-trained, equal-status female NYPD recruits?"

"Oh, me Mam's over the effing moon, so she is. Da's likely spinnin' in his grave back in Belfast."

They'd lapsed deeper into their old family brogues as they spoke without even realizing it.

Colleen, you idiot, she told herself again.