Andy POV

The call came in at two-thirty a.m.

It's certainly not unusual for my phone to ring at that time of night, so I answered it on autopilot, already getting up to get dressed as I said hello in anticipation of hearing the particulars on the latest crime scene.

"I'm sorry to call you at this time of night, Lieutenant, but I think there's something you'll want to see."

"Dr. Morales?" I questioned, my mind needing to play catch up, since it was the ME instead of my partner, or another member of the squad.

"Yes, I'm sorry," he said again, and I can tell he's flustered. Upset, maybe.

He's not the type to get easily rattled, nor does he often make late night calls, so my radar is up.

"It's fine," I assured him. "What is it?"

"I'd rather let you see for yourself," he answered. "I could be wrong, but…well, we both know that doesn't happen very often."

He chuckled at his own joke, but it felt forced.

Again, atypical.

"I'm guessing you're at the morgue?" I confirmed.

"Yes."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

I hung up and hesitated for a few seconds as I mulled over the odd conversation, but then I forced myself into action, since I'd stalled in my plan, merely standing in the middle of my bedroom while I talked with him. But now I moved quickly to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. An inadvertent glance in the mirror had me sticking my head under the faucet, too, in an effort to control the bed-head.

Once finished, I pulled on a pair of jeans and a button-down, clipped my gun and badge to my belt, and then grabbed my cell and keys and headed for the door.

True to my word, I entered the morgue twenty minutes after the doc's call.

"Kind of creepy in here at night, isn't it?" he greeted me without looking up, which tells me he doesn't really find it creepy at all. Otherwise, he would've visually confirmed that it's me.

I started to make a smartass reply, but then I noticed that the body on the table in front of him was a kid.

There's nothing funny about a kid in the morgue. Ever.

"So, uh...what can I do for you, Doc?"

From across the room, he brought his eyes up to meet mine.

"I need you to take a look at her," he answered.

"Yeah, uh, isn't that your job?" I deflected with no small amount of reluctance, staying put in my spot near the door.

"Lieutenant," he responded, not with a sigh or with an eye roll - both of which would've been expected - but just quiet urging, so I took a deep breath and crossed the room, moving to stand opposite him, with the autopsy table between us.

I held his gaze though, still not looking down, until he finally nodded at me and dropped his eyes to the victim.

"Jane Doe number fifty-one," he stated.

A young girl. Ten. Maybe eleven.

Long brown hair. Olive skin.

I felt a knot hardening in my stomach as it occurred to me why Dr. Morales wanted me to see her.

And yet at the same time, it would be impossible. Right?

"I don't have to ask if she looks familiar to you," he said gravely, my expression having given me away.

"Still," I countered. "We only saw her in one picture."

"I told myself the same thing," he agreed, and then he gently took hold of the girl's shoulders, tilting her towards him so that I could see her back. "And then I saw this."

Cigarette burns. Some recent, some scarred.

The bile began to rise in my throat.

"These aren't that old. Even the healed ones are probably only six months, maybe a year. The fresher ones probably go back about two or three weeks."

"What happened to her?" I mumbled, my eyes fixated on the abuse until he eased her onto her back again, breaking the spell so that I was able to try to think more like a detective. I looked over to the light board where x-ray films were posted as I clarified, "I mean, at the end."

"Hit and run," he answered. "She was brought in a few hours ago. Broken ankle, crushed ribs, cracked skull…"

He trailed off and then pulled the sheet over the girl's head as he let out a heavy sigh.

"And that's not all," he said after a moment. "I also found evidence of rape."

"What?" I asked sharply.

"Not recent," he explained. "But her hymen is broken, and there's evidence of tearing. Scars in various stages of healing. Best guess, I'd say it started around the same time as the burns."

"Oh my God," I said under my breath.

"Traffic has whatever personal effects came in with her. It's their case for now," he informed me, but I was already pulling out my cell.

"For now," I emphasized as I hit speed dial. I glanced at him once more as I said with sincerity, "I appreciate the call."

I whirled around and left the autopsy room, suddenly desperate to get out of there, and as I entered the hall, she answered the phone.

"Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?" she said, her words practiced but her voice still thick with sleep. Normally I would've felt bad for waking her, but not tonight.

"Captain, I feel like I should warn you that I'm about to go piss some people off in Traffic."

"Lieutenant, if you're going to start giving me the courtesy of a preemptive phone call every time you intend to ruffle feathers, then you and I are going to spend a lot of time on the phone."

She's fully awake now, I can tell, and ordinarily her sense of humor would've had me smiling, but I'm too mad. I'm too upset. I'm too…everything.

"I'm at the morgue," I said, getting straight to the point. "The doc just finished an exam on a girl who was killed in a hit and run tonight."

"Hit and run sounds like Traffic," she said, her tone measured. She's still trying to figure out my ire, I can tell.

"It does," I agreed. "Unless it's a girl with obvious signs of sexual abuse. A girl who looks like the one in the photograph with Alice."

There was a full minute of silence as she absorbed my news, and then I heard rustling as she presumably got out of bed, and any other night I might have enjoyed picturing that for a brief moment or two, but tonight I simply paced the hall in the morgue and awaited her response.

"I'll meet you outside Traffic Division in half an hour."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Did you hear what I said? Outside," she stated firmly. "Don't go in without me."

"I got it. Thank you, Captain."

I hung up the phone and leaned against the wall for a minute, hoping to garner some control over my emotions.

I mean, I'll be the first to admit that the Alice mystery has haunted me.

A fifteen year old girl, thoughtlessly tossed into a dumpster, taken out with the trash. A girl we still can't identify, two months after her death.

I've read over her file countless times, hoping to see something new, but all I've accomplished is being able to see the file without even looking at it. I know it word for word.

Finding out her name won't bring her back, I know, but she deserves to have someone care enough about her to make the effort.

And now we have her sister in the morgue.

It's still supposition that this is the girl from the picture, and that the girl from the picture is even her sister, but I know it in my gut.

She must not have had any identifying information on her, since she was sent to the morgue as a Jane Doe, but that doesn't mean there won't be a clue of some sort, in a pants' pocket, or a backpack…

I glanced at my watch and realized that almost ten minutes have passed since I spoke with the captain, so I headed for the elevators.

She might have said thirty minutes, but knowing her, it'll be half that. I have no idea how she can be awakened from a dead sleep and arrive at a crime scene looking so…perfect, but she does.

It's a mystery in and of itself.

I mean, I had to shove my whole head under the bathroom faucet this morning, and I'm pretty sure I still resemble a rooster.

But not the captain.

She's chronically beautiful.

I almost feel guilty for thinking about her inappropriately at a time like this, considering what I've just seen, but maybe it'll be good for me to take my mind off of Alice's sister for a few minutes.

And the most logical topic to achieve that purpose is my obsession with Sharon.

It's one-sided.

That hurts a little.

Not that she hurt me, because she would never do that, but I mean it's tough to realize that something I want, someone I want as much as I want her, it's just never going to happen.

For a while there, I thought it might.

We became friends, good friends.

We still are, actually.

Although I've had to back off a little. Self-preservation on my part, because I did something stupid.

See, it was after the memorial we held for Alice.

"Dinner?" she asked me softly as the others filed out of the room ahead of us.

We were having dinner together four and five times a week at the point. Sometimes with Rusty, sometimes not, but always just as friends.

"I'd like that," I agreed immediately.

At her suggestion, we met at one of my favorite restaurants. She was trying to cheer me up, I could tell. She was much more talkative than usual, and even shared a couple of funny stories from when she was a rookie, offering me laughter at her expense.

I was already long-since in love with her, but that night, I fell in love with her all over again.

And when I walked her to her car, I couldn't help but notice the softness in her eyes, and the way the wind gently lifted her hair, and how her lips curved into a warm smile, and I found myself pleasantly lost in her.

So I kissed her.

I didn't plan it ahead of time - because I would've put a stop to it, I'm sure - but rather just reacted to the moment, sliding my hands into her hair and tipping her head up towards mine, and then brushing my lips over hers, tentative only for a split second and then giving in to my pressing desire for more.

It was passionate and emotional and yet familiar, as if we've been kissing each other all our lives, and I never wanted it to end.

But then she took a step back.

"Andy, I…I can't do this," she said, her voice shaking as much as her hand that raked through her hair.

"I'm sorry," I said immediately.

She opened her mouth to say something, and then closed it again as her eyes turned glassy with unshed tears, and my euphoria from moments ago turned to sheer panic.

But she patted her hand against my chest as she struggled for words, and then she said, "Please don't be sorry. It's my fault for…well, maybe it was inevitable."

Inevitable wasn't the descriptive I hoped for, not when I had words like amazing and incredible and inspiring rolling around in my head.

I guess that told me everything I needed to know.

She's my friend, not my…anything more.

When I didn't respond, she managed a small, sad smile before leaning in to press her lips against my cheek in a lingering kiss, and then she turned and got into her car.

We never talked about the kiss.

The next day at work, I tried to keep a little more distance between us. I tried not to linger behind her during briefings or wait expectantly to join her for interviews.

I just did my job, and she did hers, and after a couple of weeks, she asked me out to dinner again.

"I've missed our meals together," she confided, giving me a meaningful gaze.

How could I say no to her?

Because even though we've never talked about our kiss, I've thought about it every single day.

And I know she was there with me, in the moment. She responded, I'm sure of it.

But for whatever reason, it's off the table, and I'll learn to live with it. I value her friendship too much not to.

But like I said, it still hurts.

"Andy."

I turned from my latest spot, leaning against the wall in the hall outside of Traffic, having arrived just a few minutes ago, and I saw Sharon approaching.

As predicted, she's beautiful.

Black pants, red top, black jacket, black boots…it's her ass-kicking outfit, and I like that she put it on at three in the morning to come have my back with Traffic.

"Are you alright?" she asked, pausing in front of me and putting her hand on my arm.

"I'm not going to quit on this," I said, and for a moment, her mask shifted, and she looked vulnerable and soft and I felt this pull in my gut that had me fighting back the urge to kiss her again.

Not smart to stand so close to her, I chastised myself, although in my defense, I've got my back against the wall. She's the one standing close to me.

"This," she repeated carefully.

"I'm going to find out who killed this little girl," I clarified, and as I said the words, I noticed her professionalism slip back into place. Curious, but I can't think about that right now.

"And who abused her," I continued. "And Alice. And I need both of their names. I have to know it all."

"Okay," she agreed with an understanding nod. "First things first. Let's go make this hit and run a Major Crime."

TBC...