Allison couldn't stand the grief support groups, but her last day there someone unabashedly admitted to buying a pillow in the shape of an arm to help them cope. They said that since their boyfriend died no one had held them and for the days when the world felt like it was closing in it made the room seem bigger. They'd stared at Allison's heavy overcoat and gloves when they said it, but when the box showed up at her doorstep it sat in her closet for nearly a week. She ignored the nights spent twisting around beneath the sheets until her partner noted the bags beneath her eyes and asked what she was doing all night if not sleeping with a suggestive wink that made Allison's stomach turn.

That night she cracked the box open, sprayed the pillow with Mac's cologne and inhaled deeply. For the first time since he died she slept the entire night through, so even though it made her feel more alone than ever she snuggled up to it every night and wrapped it around her shoulders while watching television in the privacy of her own home. She wishes she wasn't broken, that every man's hand didn't feel as cold as her husband's the day he died, and that she didn't stop being a resident because she couldn't stand only being touched by people in tears, but she is, they do and she did.

A new gang gains notoriety by having its initiates set buildings on fire and the more mayhem caused the more respect is earned. Chief Boden tells them that PD is doing everything they can and he expects the firehouse to double their efforts in making themselves available. His eyes flick briefly to Allison who had made a note that she didn't do sleepovers, but the attacks have all taken place in the early morning rather than the dead of night; as long as she doesn't work graveyards she'll be able get her rest in a mostly emptied on-call room. She picks the bed furthest in the corner to be safe and brings the blankets tight around her, but like an uncomfortable situation sniffing mutt Leslie finds her.

"One bed one person."

She snatches the blanket back from Leslie's hand all while trying to shrug out of the arm pillow's velcro grasp.

"Mind your own business."

"Sorry." Leslie doesn't move.

"Feel free to fuck off," Allison supplies helpfully and glares at Leslie's back until it disappears.

On their way back from dropping off the vagrants who were caught in a blazing abandoned house Leslie stares out the window and remarks casually that she keeps a stuffed bear on her headboard.

"It's not like that. I get," she shakes her head, "anxiety if I go too long without…I touch dead people all day, alright? Sometimes, I don't know, just drop it."

Leslie takes off one of her gloves and places a hand atop Allison's, not losing her grip as the other turns the wheel. "I'm sorry, Rafferty." There's goose bumps on their skin that fade when Leslie moves her thumb. "If you ever get sick of the pillow I'm a really great cuddler."

"Fag," She says without glancing away from the road or moving her hand from beneath Leslie's.

When they get back to the station Leslie starts noticing how often Allison gives the semblance of being close, but whenever anyone brushes up against her they're really brushing up against nylon and fabric. She tries really hard not to think about the time she hugged Allison and as soon as their cheeks touched they both relaxed into it before Allison stiffened up again.

The couple were in their early thirties and had been cleaning out the basement when the blaze went up. They find their bodies wrapped up in one another-leg over leg, arm in arm and foreheads pressed together. While loading them into the truck Allison calls them cowards for resigning themselves to death instead of finding a way out, but when Leslie reopens the back of the truck she's staring at them like they're the only things that exist.

She straddles a bench while waiting for Allison to finish inventory, waving goodbye as the squad passes her on their way out, but jumping up to detach Allison from the herd.

"Whatever women's locker room fantasy is going through your head aint about to happen sweetheart."

"This shouldn't be weird, I'm not going to let you make this sound weird, but," she held open her arms, "do you want a hug?"

"You kidding me?"

"You've got circles under your eyes, you're zoning out, making inappropriate comments with civilians around and you've stopped bringing that pillow thing when you stay overnight."

"Well look who's paying attention. Got any other observations detective dyke?"

Leslie grabs Alison's wrists and pulls her into her arms, one hand on the back of her head and the other around her waist. Allison relaxes, stiffens, and tries to pull back but Leslie doesn't let her. She rubs tiny circles into the curve of her back as the quiet settles around them.

"This doesn't have to be anything, okay? I'd rather you turn up on my doorstep in the middle of the night for a hug then run around like some kind of robot jerk." She lets go and hooks her thumbs through her belt loops. "And before you ask: no, this doesn't make you gay."

Allison sniffs, wiping her nose to cover a smile. "Admit it though, when was the last time you held a woman without groping her?"

"Why, you offering?" She pretends to grab at her, but Allison squeaks, skips backwards and starts down the hallway again.

Kelly tucks a dollar into the strippers blink-and-miss-it g string, elbowing Leslie who is turning her five dollar bill into a swan.

"You awake?"

"I'm not feeling it tonight."

He frowns. "Do you want to go to that new place on Lawry?"

"No I think I'll head home."

"Shay! This is bros night out, c'mon, you can't bail. Let's go to Molly's."

She stands up, kissing the top of his head. "Another night."

Allison bends down to touch her toes then stands back up to stretch her arms high above her head. Herman's wife had started jogging every Saturday morning and she claimed it was helping her sleep. Allison isn't the jogging type, but she has to come up with a better strategy than hugging lesbians in the locker room, she has to.

She's only been at it twenty minutes when she hears someone shout and the crunch of someone stepping on broken glass. She's not a firefighter or a police officer, but the medic in her knows the houses in this neighborhood were built for senior citizens and so she does the stupid thing and runs in the direction of the noise instead of calling for help first.

Smoke is spiraling from the windows and in the entryway four younger men are hawked over an empty wheelchair and a man on his stomach. In the man's hand is a shred of glass and when one of the thugs turn there's a line of red down his cheek.

"Law enforcement!" She shouts and although her shield looks nothing like an officer's it does the trick, the four take off running, shoving her into the bushes as they do so. She turns the groaning stranger onto his side, wiping blood from the top of a bald head that is almost skeletal.

Mac

"What's your name? Can you speak?"

He lets out one rattling breath and falls unconscious as something sizzles and sparks from the living room.

Leslie wants to shout every obscenity she knows at whoever it is banging and kicking at the front door. She probably would've drank less if she'd stayed out with Kelly instead of coming home to curl up with a six pack and a stack of old cds, but who could say for sure? She rubs her eye with the heel of her palm and opens the door to Allison Rafferty wearing a track suit spattered with blood and smelling of smoke, palms nearly black with dirt.

She scratches at the wood of the doorframe and clears her throat but her voice still comes out low and choked. "I need a hug."

Leslie opens her arms and Allison bullets into them like she thinks Leslie is made of oak, metal, and things tougher than skin and bone. She lifts her feet and wraps them tight around the other woman's waist forcing Leslie to sway them to the couch and press Allison into the cushions. She's done this a couple times under vastly different circumstances, but this feels more intimate. Allison sobs into her neck, kicking off her shoes and socks so she can feel the bottom of her feet on the back of Leslie's legs, gripping and squeezing like she's trying to turn her body into one big throbbing heart that will never stop beating.

"He looked just like Mac, towards the end, but he was covered in blood. They pistol whipped him, stage four and they just bashed his head in. I put the flames out, but he went. His nurse showed him and brought him back, but he went away right in my arms."

"It's okay, you're both alive that's what matters."

Allison unclenches her legs from around Leslie and touches her cheek with the back of her hand.

"You're so warm."

"Yeah, I fell asleep in my clothes. I feel really gross."

"Tell me about it."

"The bathroom's all yours."

"I won't find anything in there, will I?"

"Rainbow soap, homosexual agenda taped to the mirror, same old same old." Allison rolls her eyes. "Okay I'm not going to cuddle you anymore if you keep doing that."

"Keep doing what?"

"Rolling your eyes."

"I don't roll my eyes."

She pushes Leslie off, laughing to herself as the other stares at her in open mouthed fury. "You do it all the time!"

"Only when I'm talking to you."

Leslie picks up a sock and throws it at her.

After that morning it becomes more of a regular thing. Allison will text 'Busy?' and Leslie will shove her dirty clothes into a hamper, find something not romantic but not loud to play and then text back 'no' even when she feels like texting back 'yes'. Once in a while Allison will call with the wind making her voice cut in and out and Leslie won't bother to do anything, but hang around the door so she can open it as soon as she hears footsteps. The latter doesn't happen often and Leslie is grateful because while Allison teases she doesn't think Leslie will do anything inappropriate…and Leslie won't, but when an attractive woman wraps her legs around her and sighs certain alarm bells go off and she can't help that.

Leslie tells Gabriela because she has to tell someone and it's not like she has a bevy of straight women to go to for advice. She puts it off for as long as possible, but there's only so much hugging and holding a lesbian could do with a homophobe before problems began to arise-problems like Allison continuing to be a homophobe loudly and in public.

"You fall for emotionally unavailable women," Gabriela says between sit ups, "it's like your thing."

"Rafferty is not emotionally unavailable, emotions are the only thing I'm getting out of this little arrangement."

"I'm telling you shut it down before you get hurt."

But Leslie has a sick feeling that ending it will be what hurts.

Allison always smells like soap when she turns up at Leslie's which is sad and comforting all at once. It means she went home, took a shower and laid in bed first but couldn't fall asleep. Leslie shouldn't have to be a last resort, but she's the one who had stood in a locker room with her arms out and offered to be used.

"I love your mattress, I should get one. Mac would've slept on the floor if I let him he liked 'em so firm."

"I know a girl who knows a guy, I can get one for you."

Allison sighs, nestling her back closer to Leslie's front. "That'd be nice."

"Rafferty? Have you thought about going back to one of those groups?"

" No."

"Not even once? You found out about the arm pillow from them and that was working until I showed up."

"I don't need a support group."

"But-"

"Can it." She turns around to face Leslie. "If you're getting sick of me, say so yeah? You don't have to pretend you care by handing me off to someone else."

"I'm worried. We're partners I'm allowed to worry about you."

"I get it, I'm cramping your style." Allison barrels on. "The old bed not getting as much traffic as it used to?"

Leslie might've responded maturely if she'd been given a chance, but suddenly Allison claims to be sleepy enough to not have to spend the night, thanking Leslie in a tone that implies infinite amounts of ingratitude. Leslie doesn't argue, make herself a drink or call Gabriela because maybe this is the best case scenario and the universe is looking out for her for once. What they're doing can't be healthy for either party and it's better it ends before it turning into something more for one and not the other.

When the arsonist gang tracks down Allison they spot a person shaped lump in her bed and throw a Molotov cocktail through the window.

Thumpthumpthump goes the front door. Leslie throws her pillow at the ceiling and thinks make up your goddamn mind.