Righto readers, it's another fic from Axellia – and there's nothing supernatural about this one! Just, please don't ask where the idea came from!

Whilst I have no intention of using episodes like I normally do, you may find references to anything up to well, whatever has just aired on US TV, although I will try to limit to season 3 so as not to give away any spoilers, however, I will let you know at the beginning of each chapter for any references.

I'm pleased to announce this does have a shelf life! Trust me, it's a good thing! And I was going to wait until I had finished it before posting, but I want to test the waters so as not to waste my time.

Well, that leaves me with one last thing to say… Harriet Nash – she's mine. Anything else, not so much. However, unless Mr. Bruckheimer is reading this and is willing to hand it over, I can pretend CSI:NY is mine (:D)

The Wrong Side of Right

Evil is just a point of view,

Anne Rice

Chapter One: Chiefs, Cocaine and Kippers.

Harriet ran a brush through her long blonde hair one last time and took a step back from the mirror. Comfortable boots, check. Smart shirt – low cut, but decent enough for work, check. Light, suit jacket, check. Gun, check. Badge… Harry frowned. That one needed to be collected still.

She rolled her green eyes at her reflection and grabbed her purse off one of the many piles of boxes, checked her dog had enough water, and headed out.

She arrived at the precinct twelve minutes late, walking in to discover the Captain was giving the weekly brief to his uniforms and homicide detectives. She glanced in – everyone was staring at the Captain, although some had a glazed look in their eyes. Taking a breath, she slipped in.

In hindsight, she would probably have been better waiting. Everyone turned to look at her – even the Captain stopped and glared at the person who had disrupted his sermon.

"Can I help you?" he asked her icily.

Harry smiled. "Harriet Nash. I've just transferred in from Madison Narcotics."

Captain Gerrard narrowed his eyes. "Roll call is at seven am on the dot. I won't stand for tardiness or absence on my watch."

"Sorry, sir," Harry apologized, sliding into the only free school-like desk in the room. She quickly pulled out her new notebook and pen, ignoring the looks she was getting from the men and women around her, and waited patiently for the Captain to continue.

He gave her one last glare and continued with his weekly sermon.

A good fifteen minutes later, Harry was the only one who seemed to be paying any attention – the fact evident on most people's faces that the weekly speech from Gerrard was actually the same speech every week.

Slowly they filed out of the room. Or at least Harry tried to when she heard her name barked at her.

"Nash!"

Harry stopped and turned. "Yes sir?"

"I want you to meet your new partner,' Gerrard barked as Harry joined his side.

Harry looked up at the tall detective with black hair and bright blue eyes. She turned to Gerrard, her lips pursed. "I don't do partners. I work solo. I thought that had been sent through."

"Not on this watch, you don't," Gerrard informed her. "Nash, Flack. Flack, Nash." Gerrard looked down at the woman next to him. "I've heard many different things about you, Nash. I hope half of what I hear isn't true." He left, leaving Harry alone with Flack.

Harry glanced back up at his blue eyes which were staring at her like he was trying to get a read on her, and sighed. "Harriet," she said, holding out a hand.

Flack took it and shook it. "Don."

Harriet continued to stare up. He wasn't giving much away with his facial expression. 'So where can a girl get a bowl of water?" she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Flack blinked. "Excuse me?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "For," she stopped. "Follow me," she told him instead. She turned and walked out of the room, not caring if Flack was following her.

He was. He followed her for twelve minutes back to her apartment, where he stood uncertainly in the threshold. "Normally, I don't go back to a woman's apartment until after the third date."

"Cute," Harry responded, unlocking the door. "But I'm not going to sleep with you." She opened the door and walked in to be greeted by an enormous Alsatian. "This is Kipper. We work together. If you don't like it, I suggest you ask Gerrard for a new partner," she told him simply.

Flack looked down at the Alsatian. He was enormous. And he was also wearing a MPD jacket. "They let you have dogs for partners in Wisconsin?"

"They let me," Harry said, shrugging her shoulders.

Flack stared straight back into Harry's green eyes – it was like she was challenging him to object. He could feel his bottom jaw dropping into a smirk. "Kipper, eh?" He leant over and ruffled the dog's fur. "Fine with me. But he sits in the back."

"Fine," Harry complied, attaching a leash. "I drive."

"Hardly," Flack scoffed, following her out of her apartment and back to the precinct. 'You cleared Kipper with the chief?"

"Part of the clause on my transfer," Harry shrugged.

"And why did you transfer?" Flack asked. "Wisconsin not got a decent homicide department?"

"The chief didn't want people to know he was sleeping with me behind his wife's back," Harry told him as Flack's phone rang.

Flack shook his head as he answered the phone. Seconds later he turned to Harry. "We've got a 419 in Harlem." He led her to the patrol car. "And I'm driving, he added.

------------------------------------

Harry sat back in the passenger seat, staring at her reflection in the side mirror. She actually hadn't lied when she told her reason for leaving Madison. Well, she thought with a wry smile, she hadn't completely lied. There was a little more to it than that. But he was the reason why she had a transfer, rather than an arrest. And in her experience, she had found that starting rumours herself meant they were less likely to come back and bite her in the ass.

"So what's the deal?" she asked, referring to the scene they were heading to.

Flack glanced over as he stopped at some traffic lights. "Sounds like a drug deal gone wrong. I guess that's why they sent us. Let you ease into homicide easily."

"Yeah," Harry agreed turning to watch the scenery go by rather than have Flack see her roll her eyes. Seriously, did he really not think that narcotics and homicide were a linked a little closer than that?

They arrived at the scene. Flack had assumed right – it was drugs related. According to the uniforms who had secured the scene, the victim was a known drug dealer – one at the bottom end of the food chain.

Whilst awaiting the CSIs, Harry, went for a preliminary sweep of the crime scene with Kipper, as Flack began taking statements from a handful of witness who probably hadn't been at the scene until the cops turned up.

Which was about when Kipped lay down. Harriet had had a large part in training Kipper. She'd found him in a dumpster when he was a puppy and at the time had been dating someone from customs. Andrew, the custom's officer, had started by playing a game – sniffing out his food from three different bags. Three years later, and Harriet wouldn't dream of ever turning up to work without him. He was her greatest asset.

Harry crouched down to see what he had found. Underneath a nearby car were eight little baggies of white powder. Checking that both the uniforms and Flack were occupied, which they were, she picked one of them up and teased it open. She licked her finger and dipped it in her bag, made sure her finger was well coated, and rubbed it over her teeth. Cocaine.

With a pleased smile, she sealed the bag up, grabbed three of the closest and stuffed them in her pocket. She was reaching for a fourth when Flack walked over accompanied by another carrying a case.

"What have you got?" Flack asked her.

"I'm not sure," Harry lied. "Kipper found something. I was trying to see what it was."

Flack and the man carrying the cases crouched down and peered under the old Volvo. "Looks like drugs to me," said Flack.

"I'm thinking cocaine," Harry agreed.

The man who had looked under the car looked at her over the top of his glasses. "You're Flack's new partner."

"For now," Harry agreed.

The man with the glasses glanced at Flack who was rolling his eyes. "Danny Messer," he introduced himself, holding out his hand.

"Harriet Nash."

"I'll get that," Danny told her, grabbing his camera out of the bag and taking a few pictures before grabbing the baggie. Carefully, he emptied a little into a small try and added a few drops of liquid.

Harry watched – he was checking which drug it was. She knew that. She'd actually performed the test a few times herself. Only her kits involved placing a little of the drug into a special baggie and breaking a vial. But effectively, it was the same test. And the result confirmed what she already knew. Cocaine.

"Good guess," said Danny, indicating to the purple solution. "It is cocaine." He looked down at Kipper who was looking up at him. "Why is there a dog here?"

"He is my partner," said Harry.

Danny burst out laughing. "Damn, Flack. You never told me you were competing with a dog."

"Shut it, Messer," Flack growled.

Harry joined in the laughing as Flack stalked away.

"He's not normally this bad," Danny apologized for his friend.

Harry smirked. "That's because I'm giving him a hard time before he gives me one. Lord knows I've hazed enough newbies." She watched Flack return to talking statements. "What's he like?"

Danny shrugged, pushing his glasses up his nose. "He's a good cop. Very loyal. Once he's got your back, he's got it for life."

Harry nodded. Interesting. "And what about you?" she asked slyly.

"You'll just have to find out." Danny told her with a smirk.

I'm hoping to try something different here. After all, not all cops are good.

And Harriet is evil (:P)