This is a repost of my 'first Impressions' story. I kept rereading and rereading and just found myself getting really really really annoyed with it, so I changed things up a bit and boom, here we go. I'm adding a bit more depth and changing a few things. That's all. Oh, and my series has officially been renamed 'Warmness on the Soul' after an Avenged Sevenfold song that I absolutely adore. Maybe swing by youtube and take a listen...

"Sinclair," he answered the phone with a tired brusqueness that would normally be associated with a New York cop who always seemed to have too much on his plate. Not that he was a cop any more. Although, he'd much rather have that position rather than be chief of detectives. When he'd gotten the promotion, it sounded like a good deal. But now, he realized belatedly, all he pretty much did was fill out paperwork and deal with politics and media. Real fun stuff.

Not to mention that more than half of this paperwork had to do with the explosion two weeks ago. One of his best first-grades had nearly been blown to pieces, and the man barely held on. Sinclair was relieved when he learned that Flack would be discharged within the week. To add insult to injury, another first grade was out on maternity leave, another was in Indonesia, and the caseload was backed up so much, that many of his detectives were pulling triple, even quadruple shifts. He wanted to just order them to go home, but they needed the manpower.

"Howdee-doo, Brigs. Miss me?" The voice of old friend Chief Matthew O'Malley met his ears over the telephone. He knew Matt from when the were young studs at the police academy in New York City. After graduation, however, the Tennessee-born redhead was offered a job with the New Jersey PD, and he'd taken it. The friends had tried to keep up over the years, but the distance had taken a toll on their friendship.

"Hey, Matt. What're you up to lately?"

"Eh, not much. The usual. Makin' the world go aroun' by means of paperwork." Matt's distinct, heavy Tennessee accent had faded somewhat, but it was still evident in his voice.

"I hear you."

"So listen, as happy as I am to chitchat wit' ya, I have an actual reason I called."

"Oh really? Since when does Matt O'Malley ever have a purpose?" asked Sinclair with a laugh.

"Hm. Ya know, I ain't real sure." He paused for a beat before Matt spoke again. "I have this officer, and well, I need a place fo' her to go."

Sinclair noted the weird, drawn out way he said 'her'. "You don't think she's competent?"

He paused, choosing his words carefully. "She a damn fine uni, that's fo' sure. But since she been aroun', a lot of my guys have... taken their eyes off the prize and put em' on a different one, if you catch my drift."

Sinclair rubbed his forehead. "What's her name?" His question sounded a little hesitant. Not that he was against women on the force, he just was not in the mood for this conversation at the time. Sign us. He could almost hear the paperwork whispering to him. He ignored the state of his mental health for the time being.

"Officer Jessica Angell."

Sinclair's ears perked at the name. Angell. "No relation to Cliff Angell?"

"Daughter. None of his four sons wanted to be a cop, so his daughter gets to uphold the legacy," he answered in a voice that screamed subtext. Yeah right. "What are the odds? He goes an' has four boys an' none of em' wanna catch bad guys."

"Mmm hmm," Sinclair answered mindlessly. After shoving aside a few mountains of unfilled out paperwork, Sinclair put his phone on speaker and quickly looked up this officer on the computer sitting on his desk. Her record popped up, as well as a service picture. Matt was right about one thing. She was extremely attractive. Even in the service picture, which could reduce many gorgeous women to looking like 90 year old grandmothers. Her skin was lightly tanned, and her brown eyes were warm. Her lips were quirked into an amused, almost knowing smile. Her brunette locks fell in soft waves past her shoulders.

"See what I mean?" Matt said, his voice having a mocking undertone.

"Yeah. But... You basically want to transfer her to New York because the guys on your force can't focus."

"When you say it like that, I soun' like a douchebag. But that ain't the only reason. The city is cuttin' back fundin' for the department. I've had to fire a lot of our uni's these past months. She's just..." He paused, sighing quietly. "I'm pretty good friends with her dad, and he'd throw a hissy fit if I fired her. I heard about that bomb too. How's Flack doin'?"

"We're not really sure yet. Doctors say he's stable, but it's still pretty touch and go. They're gonna release him this week."

"Well, better that than dead, right?" Sinclair shuddered at the brusque way Matt could brush off the possibility of Flack's death. " Anyway, I thought maybe she could take on Flack's caseload while he's down. She's logged more overtime hours than anybody, workin' for that promotion the good ol' fashion' way an' pullin' no favors."

Sinclair leaned back in his chair, covering his eyes with his hands. He kept trying to tell himself that he had no obligation. He could refuse and tell Matt he couldn't do it. He could tell him no, go on with his life, and never think about this Angell girl ever again. But he gazed at his computer screen. She looked so hopeful. With bloodlines like hers, she'd probably be one hell of a detective... Not only that, but the ranks of his department were shaking like an unstable Jenga tower missing a vital piece. The bomb had caused a ruckus, not only with talk of terrorists, but with the blowing up of one of the best NYPD detectives they'd had. Don Flack was still convalescent in the ICU, and doctors were 'cautiously optimistic' as they'd put it. Logically, Sinclair knew that he would have to find a replacement, at least temporary, for the downed detective. He didn't even want to consider finding a permanent replacement.

He began to talk while a whirl of thoughts about the explosion and the injured Flack scrambled his brains. "She can tail Detective Nick Benton for a while, after that, she can leave her uni behind and become a detective. I'll have to check with a few higher ups, but other than that..."

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It was hot that day. Officer Angell was literally melting in the heat. Her black uniform clung to her skin, feeling like wool and sticking with the salty perspiration. She sat at her desk, cursing the city for cutting funding, and the cheap-ass chief turning off the air conditioning to save money. Outside was at least one hundred degrees, so that meant that inside, it felt like two hundred. Jessica would've given almost anything to drag herself to the locker rooms to take a shower, but, being the only woman currently in the unit, it would be disastrous. The members of the male gender seemed to like using the 'falling from heaven' line, and ogling her body whenever she wasn't looking. Curse the mixed locker room.

She pulled her long, dark hair back into a messy ponytail, using an elastic that she always kept around her wrist. Her hair felt damp and stringy with perspiration. "Angell,"

She turned to the voice of her boss, Chief Matthew O'Malley. O'Malley was a good chief. Fair, treated everyone with respect, and wasn't afraid to stick up for his officer when something was questioned. For the men, anyway. Years of being a desk jockey had taken their toll on the once muscular detective. He'd developed a slight beer-belly, and his arms were a little bit on the flabby side. His red hair was combed and slicked back, indicating his inability to let go of trends from years past, and his mustache perfectly groomed- as always. He looked every bit a stereotypical police chief would. The only thing he needed now was one of those comically large pipes. He stood at the door to his office, waving her over. She heaved herself up, and walked over to his office, her combat boots thudding heavily on the tile floors.

"Come in."

She followed him, sitting in a leather chair across from his desk. A fan blew, making her damp hair rustle softly, cooling her steamy skin for an instant. She had a wickedly terrible feeling in the pit of her stomach that she wouldn't like the news that she was about to hear. She wasn't an idiot, and she saw the numbers falling. She knew the city and state were making spending cuts. She was a lowly street cop- no real pull with authority figures. She was expendable, and she knew it. Each day, more and more desks that had been inhabited one day were were vacant the next. Larry Herricks- one of her only good friends on the force- who'd sat in the desk next to hers, had been laid off. He and his wife had just had a baby. Little kid's name was Brady. She'd been at the baptism.

"Yes, sir?" She may be worried, but she hadn't forgotten her manners.

"I'm sure you're seen of all the cuts I've had to make."

"I'm well aware of the situation, sir." She answered politely. Her lips thinned, and she ground her teeth together. She wanted to squeeze her eyes shut. She was getting fired or laid off. She kept waiting for the words she knew she was going to hear.

"I was told by the department to let you go."

She tried yoga breathing her sister-in-law had taught her, but it didn't help. This is it. I'm finished. Jessica thought.

"But I made arrangements wit' a friend to have you transferred to the New York Police Department. You know about the bomb, 'course, but it took out of of their best first grades, and they need someone to cover his caseload. He's got you set up to become a detective and not a uni." He paused. "Only if you want it, of course. I don't want to make you feel obligated-"

"I want it." She answered, her voice deadly even. "I want the job." She'd fiercely wanted to become a detective, and had logged more overtime hours than anyone else in the Jersey PD to get the promotion. She liked being a street cop, but she'd always wanted to be a detective, just like her dad had been.

After working out a few details that Jessica hardly remembered, she was dismissed to start packing her things. She felt like she was in a fog- a happy mist that had settled over her brain

Officer Pritchett, one of her more annoying admirers, passed by, a file folder in his hand. She expected an inappropriate remark, like usual, but instead his voice was quiet and serious. "Did you get canned?"

She looked up from a box that held a few of her personal affects to look at him to make sure he wasn't setting up a joke or something. She saw only concern in his eyes. "No, Pritch, I didn't. I'm getting transferred to New York."

Something that looked vaguely like jealously flashed through his eyes for an instant. She knew everyone was worried about the current job situation, and her getting transferred was probably held to the same standard as Jesus raising someone from the dead. "Good for you," he stated curtly before turning on his heel and heading off in the direction of his desk.

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"Hi, Jessie," Cliff Angell said through the telephone. Jessica lamented the fact that he couldn't be here in New Jersey with her to guide her through this transfer. But he's not, and you're a big girl, Jessica mentally reminded herself. She sat on a box in her apartment, filled with a small items from her apartment. She was suddenly very happy she wasn't a social person. She didn't have a lot in her apartment- a few bits of furniture she'd collected over the years, a couple quilts her grandma made her years back, a dinosaur-age Mac computer, three or four pictures pictures of her family, a couple books, a few guns that she kept around her apartment, plus her stuff from the precinct, and it all fit in four boxes.

"Hi, Dad."

"How's it going?" His voice turned concerned, "I've heard about the spending cuts. Have you heard anything about your job?"

"Actually that's what I was calling you about." She heard him gasp on the other line, obviously expecting the worse. "I'm getting transferred to New York."

Cliff literally shouted with joy. He was so thankful his daughter hadn't gotten laid off, or worse. She heard him yelling something to Karen, his girlfriend. Jess stiffened a little. Karen had been nothing but kind to her since she'd come into her father's life, but Jess was never comfortable with any of her father's girlfriends.

"My stuff's all packed up, I've rented a U-Haul, and already set up a lease at some apartment complex in the city."

Cliff went on to give her the infamous 'Safety and You: An Angell Family Guide for Survival Outside the Home' speech. Jessica had just rolled her eyes.

"I'll be fine," Jessica interrupted uncomfortably when the word 'condoms' came into the conversation.

There was a moment of silence. "I know. Call if you need anything," he said softly.

"I will. I'll call you when I get there." They said their goodbyes, and Jess hung up. Then, she promptly yanked the cord out of the wall, and stuffed the phone into the remaining box. After sealing it with packing tape, she ate the remaining thing left in her beat up refrigerator made before she was born- cold, pepperoni pizza from the little pizzeria down the block. She ate on the floor, a box as a table, the only sounds being that of a busy city from outside her window.