Letting Go

by Juliann

The death of McCall's husband leads both Hunter and McCall into six years of partnership, and a struggle between Hunter and McCall's deceased husband for her love.

Sgt. Rick Hunter rubbed his eyes as the morning sun came up over the horizon and peeked at him through the skyscrapers of downtown Los Angeles. He put his arms over his head and stretched. Another lead shot to hell.

His partner, Steve McCall, wasn't happy. "Ready to call it a night?" he asked.

Hunter looked over at him and grinned. "Five bucks, buddy."

Steve looked sideways at him and then fished into his pocket for the fiver. He grudgingly handed it to Hunter and let him know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't a good loser. "Okay, you were right. The lead on this guy sucked."

"Yeah."

"Let's get the hell out of here. I'm hoping to catch my wife before she leaves," Steve said as he glanced at his wristwatch.

Hunter and Steve had been partnered for six months. The renegade cops, both known for their unorthodox methods and their obessive police behaviors, were a good match. Hunter looked at Steve and noticed the smile on his partner's tired face.

"So, I guess the past few weeks of stakeout have hurt the newlywed business, huh?"

"Yeah. You're not kidding. I swear, no sooner did she finally get onto the daylight shift and I'm out here holding hands with you at night instead of with her."

"Well, hey, that's no so bad is it?" Hunter suggested with a chuckle.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew my wife," Steve countered.

"Hey, when am I gonna meet Mrs. Perfect? I mean, I don't think she really exists. You've been keeping her under wraps."

"As soon as we can get together, I'll introduce you."

Hunter was curious. So many of the men he knew who were married had bitches for wives or were divorced because the marriage couldn't handle the strain of police demands. Steve seemed to have found the woman who defied the odds.

"How did you two meet, anyway?" Hunter asked. He didn't normally get into conversations that involved personal life instances, but he needed to talk about something before he fell asleep at the wheel.

"I met her at the academy. I got the short straw and had to do training duty and she was one of the recruits. Man, she had my blood boiling the minute I saw her," Steve mused.

"Thank God for the short straw, huh?"

"Yep. She graduated at the top of her class. She's close to making detective, so maybe you'll see her around more often."

"You're kidding. Detective?" Hunter was surprised. There were very few women in the detective ranks.

"Yeah. I'm real proud of her. She works hard and doesn't take any crap off of anyone. She has to be like that, y'know?" Steve said. "She's certainly doesn't look like a cop, that's for sure. Sometimes that's a good thing and sometimes it's not."

"What made her join the academy?"

Steve chuckled. "You'll like this. She has a degree in social work from UCLA. She tried to get a job as a guidance counselor in the public high schools, and they told her that she was too young, too pretty, too small . . . you know, they didn't think was tough enough. So, she decided to go through the academy. She figured that if she was tough enough to be a cop, she would get hired in the high schools. She never looked back, though. She got the fever."

"And now she has her sights on being a detective?"

"Yep."

"How long have you been married?" Hunter wanted to know.

"Almost three years. Seems like just yesterday, though."

"Think you'll have any kids?"

"Oh yeah. I was ready to start right away, but Dee wants to wait until she makes detective. I'm not getting any younger, but she's ten years younger than me, so she doesn't see the big rush. She loves kids, though."

Hunter was surprised. He and Steve were the same age. He had no idea that Steve's wife was so young.

"Wait a minute now . . . she is only 28?"

"Huh-uh. 27. She'll be 28 next month."

"Nothing like robbing the cradle, old man," Hunter chided. He pulled up to the precinct and watched Steve get out of the car in a hurry. "See you later, partner," Steve called out and began to whistle as he went to his car. Hunter shook his head. Must be love.

******************

Three days later, Hunter was checking out a computer generated form that was scrolling out of the rickety printer. On it was anything and everything you wanted to know about their suspect, Rodney Alistair Moody. A suspect in a homicide, Hunter and Steve were more than anxious to arrest him.

Hunter looked at his watch -- 11:30 p.m. Steve told him to bring the report as soon as it arrived, so Hunter headed out into the night. He pulled up in front of Steve's house, walked up the front sidewalk, and rang the doorbell. He waited at least two minutes and just as he was ready to turn around and go home, he saw a light go on in the living room. He heard the door unlock and open, and he looked into the eyes of a flushed and delightfully rumpled Dee Dee McCall.

It was obvious to Hunter that he had interrupted something important--most likely his partner's sex life. He cleared his throat in embarrassment, and heard the soft laughter of the woman in front of him, who had obviously become amused at his reaction. "Sorry to interrupt, but Steve said he wanted to see this report as soon as it came in." She stood aside and motioned for him to come in.

He looked her over more intently. She was small, almost delicate in structure, with joyous dark eyes and softly curling dark hair that hung to her shoulders -- not at all what he expected. Her pink painted toenails peeked out from under her robe. She definitely did not look like a cop.

Hunter heard Steve come up behind him and watched as Dee Dee immediately went to Steve's side, her arm sliding around his waist. "Hunter, this is my wife, Dee Dee. Dee Dee, this is my partner, Rick Hunter."

"Nice to meet you," she said smiling, extending her hand. Hunter smiled at her. He could now understand why his partner was so intent on getting home to his wife every night.

After showing Steve the file, Steve had thoughts of putting Moody on immediate surveillance. Hunter watched as Steve's wife's head clicked into cop mode, and she warned both of them that by following Moody, the suspect would be put on alert.

"Is she always like this?" Hunter asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You mean smart? By the book?" Steve joked.

"Yeah," Hunter said in a teasing voice.

Hunter watched her eyes sparkle. It made his heart constrict. For the first time, Hunter thought he might be missing the presence of having a woman in his life that was more than a one-night stand.

"It was nice to meet you. Steve talks about you all the time," Hunter said as he bade them farewell.

"Well now you know the awful truth," she replied with a smile as she watched Hunter leave.

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

2 a.m.

Hunter groaned as the phone at his bedside rang. It was his partner.

"Hunter, I just got a phone call. Some guy says he has information on Moody. Guess what? I think the guy who called IS Moody. I'm going to meet him at a bar on Third and Lexington. Gonna back me up?" Steve asked.

"Yeah. Give me about 15 minutes to get down there," Hunter said. "And don't go in until I'm there, okay?"

Steve answered him by hanging up the phone.

Hunter threw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt and jumped into his green Dodge. Five minutes before he arrived, the police radio crackled to life. "All units in the vicinity . . . shots fired at Dirk's Tavern . . . Third and Lexington . . ."

Hunter threw the cherry light onto his roof and cursed Steve under his breath. He suddenly had a bad feeling come over him. He hated it when that happened.

He arrived at the scene where there were some black and white police vehicles parked, their bubble gum lights of red, white and blue illuminating the night, and a crowd of people on the sidewalk in front of the bar. He saw Steve's car parked a few feet away from the crowd.

He rushed over, and found his partner lying on his back on the sidewalk, his shirt soaked with blood, and a pool of it seeping from underneath him.

Hunter knelt down beside him. The too-familiar sound of a death rattle echoed in Hunter's ears. Steve's eyes were open and his breathing was shallow and slow. Blood was coming out of his mouth, which Hunter knew was not a good sign.

"Moody did this," Steve rasped.

"Save your strength," Hunter ordered. He looked around and asked if an ambulance was called. He looked back down at Steve when he felt Steve grab his shirt and pull him closer.

"You have to make me a promise," Steve said. He was losing consciousness. Hunter felt tears sting in his eyes as his friend and partner whispered what Hunter knew would be his last words.

"Yeah, anything."

"Take care of her for me."

Hunter had to think a moment before he realized that Steve was referring to his wife. "No problem. I'll keep an eye on her," Hunter said. He shook his head. The last thing he expected was to see Steve die tonight and make his wife a widow at the age of 27.

"No. I mean take care of her. Make sure nothing bad happens to her. If I'm gonna die, I want to die knowing that I haven't left her alone." Steve continued.

Hunter nodded and then said, "Yes, I promise. I'll take care of her."

Steve was barely breathing and Hunter had to lean in to hear him. "Tell her I love her. Tell her to be happy. Tell her she has to go on without me, not to die with me. She deserves to be loved . . ." Steve said.

"I'll tell her, I promise."

Steve let go of Hunter's shirt and began to relax. Steve stared at the sky above him, and then whispered, "I love you, babe." Five seconds later, Steven Andrew McCall drew his last breath.

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

5 a.m.

Hunter continued to rest his head on the steering wheel of his green Dodge. He had been parked outside of his dead partner's house for the past 15 minutes. He had no idea how to break the news to her. He had done this duty numerous times, telling people he didn't know that their loved one or acquaintence had been killed. This was the first time he had to tell the wife of a fellow officer, who happened to be his partner, that he had been killed from a single gunshot wound to the chest.

He slowly got out of the confines of his car and made his way up the sidewalk for the second time that night. He rang the doorbell and waited, hanging his head as he stared at his shoes. Finally, he saw a light go on in the living room. His heart began to race as he heard the door unlock and open.

He looked into the sleepy eyes of his partner's wife. She smiled at him briefly before it faded almost as quickly as it began. He saw the dawning of tragedy on her face before he even had to tell her. She was a cop. The most dreaded thing was to have another cop standing on your doorstep at 5 a.m. The absence of her husband from his side was another clue--and yet another was Hunter's unmistakeable sadness.

"Oh my God, where's Steve? Is he hurt?" Dee Dee asked, her voice filled with panic.

Hunter came into the house and turned toward her.

"Steve said a man who wouldn't give his name called after I left . . . he called and told me he was gonna meet him at a bar at 3rd and Lexington. He said he thought the guy who called was Rodney Moody," Hunter began. It hurt like hell to launch into the tale.

"Yes, I know. I answered the phone and after Steve talked to him, he left. What happened?" she asked.

He shuffled his feet nervously. "He called me and I told him I'd meet him there to back him up. When I got there, I found him on the sidewalk near the bar. He was shot, Dee Dee."

He watched her reaction -- one of disbelief and denial.

"Where is he? Which hospital did they take him to?" she asked as her voice began to break.

Hunter sighed. "They didn't take him to the hospital," he said slowly.

Her eyes grew wide again and brimmed with tears and recognition. She brought her hands up to her face as the reality of what Hunter said to her slapped her in the face.

"I'm sorry, Dee Dee," Hunter said softly, his words providing her with the finality of the situation.

"No, Oh God, no," she cried as the realization of Steve's death hit her. Her small body shook with sobs. Hunter didn't know what to do, what to say.

On instinct, he pulled her toward him and put his arms around her in a gesture of comfort. Her knees buckled as he did so, and he held her tightly so she didn't fall. He led her to the couch and they both sat down.

She looked up at him with searching eyes. "How did it happen?"

Hunter sighed. "I'm not sure. I was five minutes away and I heard the 'shots fired' call come over the radio. I told him to wait for me. When I got there, he was down. He told me it was Moody."

"You were there?" she asked. "I mean, you were there when he . . ."

"Yeah. Dee Dee, he died before the ambulance got there. He was shot in the chest. He lost too much blood . . ." he began. The words didn't seem to faze her. Her eyes were filled with tears and grief.

She stood up and paced. "Where is he?" she asked.

Hunter swallowed. "They took him to the morgue, downtown. They'll want to know where you want him to go."

"I need to see him."

Hunter's shoulders sagged. "Dee Dee, I don't think . . ."

"I don't care what you think. I need to see him. Before they take him away," she said as her voice grew softer and fresh tears streamed down her cheeks.

"Okay. But let me drive you."

She started to protest but gave in once she saw Hunter standing with his arms crossed over his broad chest. She nodded her head and then excused herself to get changed.

Ten minutes later, she emerged wearing jeans and a LAPD sweatshirt that was obviously Steve's because it was three times too large for her. He opened the door for her and she got into the car. He brought the green monster to life with one turn of the key and headed toward the freeway that would take them downtown.

He glanced to his right and saw her sitting there, her head leaning on her hand that was perched on the door, her eyes closed. It was going to be painful, he knew.

They got to the morgue and Hunter walked by her side as they headed to the back room. The green walls and sterile smell of death made Hunter's stomach turn.

Hunter pulled the night clerk aside and told him that he brought Steve's wife down, and that she wanted to see him. The clerk looked around Hunter and saw her leaning against the cement block wall.

"I don't know, man. He's pretty rough . . ."

"Yeah, I know. She's a cop. Come on," Hunter urged.

"Let me talk to the M-E. I'll be right back."

Two minutes later, the M-E came out of wherever he had been sequestered. He acknowledged Hunter and then walked toward Dee Dee. "You're the wife of Sgt. McCall?" he asked her. She nodded her head.

"Come with me," he said. Hunter walked behind her into the room filled with silver drawers. He watched as the ME went over to drawer number 17 and pulled it out. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she glimpsed the outline of a body under the sheet.

The M-E pulled the sheet back and then turned and looked at Dee Dee. "I'll leave you alone for a few minutes."

She stood there, unable to move. Hunter put his arm around her shoulders and pushed her gently. They made their way to Steve together.

Steve was lying there, his eyes closed, his shirt still with the gaping hole from Moody's shot. The dark stain had dried, and other than that, he looked as if he was taking a nap. Hunter watched as Dee Dee pulled the sheet down and reached for Steve's hand. She fingered the wedding ring on his left hand and searched his face as if she was waiting for him to open his eyes.

She leaned over and gave him a featherlight kiss and smoothed his dark hair away from his face. "I love you," she whispered as her tears began again. "I'll always love you, and I'll never forget you."

Hunter unconsciously put his hand around her shoulders and kept it there as they left and slowly made their way to the car.

"Is there someone I can call for you? Is there anything I can do?" he asked. He watched her shake her dark head.

"No, but thank you. I'll call my mother when I get home. Steve's parents are dead, and he was an only child, so there really isn't anyone to call." Hunter detected a tone of loneliness in her voice.

"You'll call me if you need anything, right?" he said. His words were more of a statement than a question. She didn't answer him, only stared straight ahead as he turned the car onto her street.

He pulled up in front of her house and as he motioned to get out, she put her hand on his arm and stopped him. "No, stay here. I can manage," she said. "Thank you," she added.

Too tired to argue, he nodded his head sadly and watched her open her front door and go inside before he drove away.

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

Three days later, Hunter buttoned the top button of his dress blues and took the hat out of its box. He sighed as he caught his reflection in the mirror. A sad day, indeed. Steve's funeral was today, and Dee Dee had asked him to be one of Steve's pall bearers.

He arrived at the funeral home, and was shown in to the room where Steve's casket was located. Dee Dee had chosen not to have a public visitation, but rather have a public burial with full honors. It was what Steve would have wanted, she said. The oak casket was closed, and covered with a huge arrangement of red roses. On top of the casket was a photo of Steve in his uniform. The photo next to it was of Steve and Dee Dee on their wedding day.

"He told me more than once that you were the best partner he ever had," a soft voice said behind him.

Hunter turned and caught his breath when he saw Dee Dee standing there. He hadn't even heard her come in. She was wearing a pretty black dress that came down to just above her knees. With black heels, black hose and her hair piled on top of her head the way it was, she looked as if she was going to a country club for dinner rather than her husband's funeral.

She smiled bravely.

"Yeah, well, he was the best partner I ever had. I don't know if I'll ever find another one like him," Hunter said. "You doing okay?" he asked. She nodded her head slowly. "You look beautiful, Dee Dee," Hunter told her.

She laughed softly. "Thanks. I couldn't decide what to wear. I almost put my uniform on, but I realized that I was his wife first, a cop second. My mother told me that I look like I'm going out on a date," she said, rolling her eyes. "Steve always liked it when I dressed up."

"Yeah, I know. He told me many, many times. He always said he liked it when you wore your hair up like that."

Her eyes brimmed with tears. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry, but I don't think I'm gonna hold it together, y'know?"

He nodded his head sadly. "You've got a lot of people who care about you. We'll be here for you. Don't worry about holding it together."

She walked over to the casket and put her hand on the wood, caressing it. "They let me see him last night," she said, a wistful smile on her face. "He looks so nice. He's wearing his uniform."

She turned to look at Hunter who was listening intently. "I never, ever, thought I'd be burying my husband. It's something that's supposed to happen to other people."

They were interrupted by the funeral director who came in to tell them it was time to go. Five other police officers followed him, who joined Hunter in the pall-bearer duties. The man pulled Dee Dee aside and handed her a small velvet drawstring bag. Hunter watched as she opened it up, and drew from it Steve's badge, his watch, a gold chain, and his wedding ring.

She closed her hand around the wedding ring that was in the center of her palm, and closed her eyes at the same time. She placed all of the items back into the bag and let herself be shown out to the limousine that was waiting for her.

They arrived in procession to the cemetery, and Hunter was astounded by the throng of people standing along the road, and the huge crowd that had gathered at the grave site. Uniformed police officers stood at attention as the lead car, the hearse, the limousine, and then the car carrying the pall bearers, passed by.

Hunter helped carry Steve's casket among the silence around them that was almost deafening. He watched Dee Dee standing there, alone. The sun was shining, as if on her alone, and he was amazed at the strength and serenity that emanated from her.

He sat with the other pall bearers, but his gaze was drawn to her. He watched her sit there as eulogy after eulogy was read, all stating what a wonderful man and police officer Steve McCall was. Once the service was over, it was time for the flag to be folded. Hunter and the other five stood up and began to fold the flag. Hunter turned, flag on his outstretched palm, and Steve's hat, which had been sitting on the casket as well, in his other hand.

He walked over to Dee Dee, and handed her both items. She looked up at him, with silent tears streaming down her face, and took both from him. It was at that moment that he saw firsthand what a broken heart looked like. He was supposed to turn around and go back with the other five pallbearers. He couldn't. No way. He promised Steve --------- he would take care of her.

He stood beside her instead, and put his arm around her shoulders. She leaned into his body easily, as if all of the strength she had throughout the day had suddenly vanished.

The time came for them to pay their final respects. Dee Dee handed the flag and the hat to her mother, and Hunter stood with her at the casket. The sound of choking sobs and people trying to cry quietly resonanted in his ears. He handed her a single rose, which she placed on top. "I'll always love you," she whispered as she lay her palm on top of the smooth wood.

Hunter took a single rose as well and laid it beside hers. "I'll miss you, partner. Watch over us from wherever you are. And don't worry, I'll take care of her." He felt her small hand slip into his as she looked up at him in surprise.

He led her away to the limousine where the attendant was waiting with the door open. "Do you need anything? Is there anything else I can do?" Hunter asked.

She looked up at him for a moment and then shook her head. "No, you've gone above and beyond the call of duty. Thank you for everything you've done. Steve would have been pleased," she said. "I'm glad you were his partner."

"Take care. You call if you need me."

"I will."

Hunter pulled his shades from his pocket and put them on as he watched the limousine drove off. Little did he know, it would be six months before he spoke to or saw her again.

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

Hunter pulled yet another beat up vehicle into the precinct parking lot. Riddled with bullet holes and spidered cracks of glass, Hunter was in his glory. Yet one more perp behind bars thanks to him. While his captain could care less if Hunter put every bad guy in Los Angeles in jail, it was Hunter's own feeling of self satisfaction that made him smile.

He was going solo lately, having gone through three partners since Steve died. His latest partner, Jerry, lasted less than a week, and was in County General with a stab wound.

Hunter whistled into the precinct and checked his watch. Damnation, he did it again. Missed the start of briefing. Small price to pay for getting one more bad-ass off the streets.

He slid into a chair at the rear of the meeting room and slunk down when he saw Captain Cain glaring at him. " . . . and you will all see the departmental psychiatrist as per regulations," Cain finished, adding a final smirk toward Hunter. It was all a smoke-screen to get rid of Hunter, and Hunter knew it.

"And now, I'd like to introduce you to the newest members of Metro Homicide. I trust you will make them feel welcome and show them the ropes," Cain said. Three men stood up and turned around to face their new coworkers.

"I'd like you to meet Sergeants Boston, Lepley, McCall, and Timmons," Cain said. Hunter sat straight up in his chair when he heard McCall's name. Could it be?

Cain looked over the three men, realizing that number four wasn't there. "Any of you see McCall?" Cain asked, obviously annoyed.

"No, sir," Lepley answered.

No sooner did Lepley answer the sour-faced Captain, than the briefing room door slammed open and Dee Dee McCall breathlessly raced in. "Sorry I'm late, Captain . . ." she began.

Hunter almost fell out of his chair. She was dressed as a prostitute, obviously undercover. Every jaw in the room dropped.

Her dark hair had gotten longer since Hunter had last seen her, and was teased high into a giant brunette mass. She was wearing bright purple spandex pants that were practically painted onto her body, which Hunter didn't fail to notice was slim, taut, and curved in all the right places. A metallic silver lamee top that tied behind her neck and her back showed off her bare midriff, complete with a diamond stud in her bellybutton. Five-inch stiletto heels completed her ensemble along with heavy makeup and the biggest jewelry Hunter had ever seen.

"You are not giving a very good first impression, detective," Cain said to her disapprovingly.

The cat-calls began as one officer said "I beg to differ, Captain, she's giving a VERY GOOD impression."

Hunter could see McCall's dark eyes glitter with defiance. He had no idea that she had made detective. He vaguely remembered Steve saying that she was close to reaching her goal, but Hunter didn't know that it had finally happened.

"Captain, I was undercover on the King Hays case. There was a small problem . . ." she began before Cain interrupted her.

"Where is your partner?" Cain asked, looking behind her for Dee Dee's partner, who was missing. Cain was not amused.

"Alan?"

"Yes, Detective Alan Ritter? Where is he?"

Hunter watched McCall bite her bottom lip as her eyes darted around. She was stalling. "They just took Alan to County General," she said meekly. Her voice raised a pitch or two and her hands began to move wildly through the air as she tried to explain. "I was undercover and Ritter got nervous because it was taking longer than I anticipated and he came in hell bent for leather, Captain. I told him to wait and he didn't listen . . ." she tried to explain.

Cain's eyes narrowed. "McCall, Ritter is the superior officer. He should be ordering you, not the other way around. Is Ritter okay?"

"Yeah, he's gonna be fine," McCall said quietly, albeit through clenched teeth. Hunter could see she was furious. It was one thing to be dressed down for an incident such as this, but it was another to have it happen in front of 30 other police officers.

"Sit down. We'll continue this conversation later," Cain said.

McCall sat in the front at the first available chair. Hunter couldn't help but notice that most of the men were staring at her with lecherous eyes instead of listening to Cain ramble on and on.

When briefing was over, Hunter tried to make his way to McCall, but Cain got to her first. Hunter watched her trudge into Cain's office with her head held high . . . and then he heard raised voices, mostly Cain's. He watched Cain carry on, shaking his finger at her and pacing back and forth. Hunter felt a smile erupt on his face as he watched McCall cross her arms over her chest in defiance. Cain was doing all the talking, or yelling for that matter.

Hunter watched her turn and make her way to the door. "And you are now without yet another partner, McCall!" Cain was heard

yelling.

She had been pushed to the limit. "If it wasn't for me, Alan would be dead! I saved his pompous ass and managed to do it without breaking my cover. Go ahead and put that in my file, SIR!" she yelled as she slammed the door. "Son of a bitch," he heard her mutter. She stalked out of the precinct before anyone could stop her.

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

Three days later, Hunter was in a quandry. Cain was anxious to get rid of him and Hunter knew it. Chalk it up to a difference in personalities, or whatever, Hunter was partnerless and soon to be jobless if Cain had his way. Suddenly, it dawned on him. The perfect solution. He eased his 6' 6" frame into yet another vehicle not worthy of junkyard fodder and smiled when the car sputtered to life with one turn of the key.

He was on a mission. He drove down the exit ramp and headed for downtown Los Angeles. There was only one place where King Hays' women hung out, and Hunter was headed there. Fifth and Los Angeles . . . now there was a sight to behold. A place stirring with humanity and hookers.

Hunter drove slowly around the corner, his blue eyes in a squint, scanning the crowds for the familiar figure he had seen a few days ago. And there she was, just as he expected. He chuckled at how she was bound and determined to defy orders and go after King Hays anyway . . . alone. She had balls, that's for sure.

And there she was . . . walking down Fifth Street in leopard print spandex and a black leather halter kept up only by strings. How she managed to stalk Hays in stiletto heels amazed him. He pulled his car to the curb and honked the horn. He got her attention and her eyes widened as she recognized him.

Hunter leaned over the front seat and hollered at her through the open passenger window.

"Wanna be my partner?" he barked.

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

Hunter craned his neck sideways as he watched his partner try to stifle a yawn. Clad in Levi's, Nike sneakers and an oversized UCLA sweatshirt, Dee Dee McCall looked like she should be getting ready to go to a college class instead of finishing yet another night of police surveillance. Her dark eyes yearned for sleep.

He handed her a thermos that held the remainder of the coffee that he poured into it at 11 p.m. the night before. "Here, this'll help."

She took the thermos from him and frowned after she opened the cap and stared down into the cylinder. "Hunter, it's like tar. And cold," she whined.

"Yeah, but it'll take the hair off your chest," he said with a grin. The roll of her eyes in disgust, followed by soft laughter brightened his very early morning.

Six months. They had been partners for the past six months and it was the best six months of his life. What started out as a smoke screen to pacify Captain Cain turned into a relationship he had with no other --- male or female. Their chemistry was unlike any other he had known. They had an ESP-thing going on where they could practically read each other's minds. It came in handy during foot pursuits and shootouts, that's for sure.

He knew the sound of her light footsteps and the scent of her perfume. He knew she liked to open her fortune cookie before she ate Chinese food, pizza with extra cheese, anything covered in chocolate and an occasional glass of red wine.

She also liked classical music, the sound of waves crashing on the beach, eight hours of uninterrupted sleep and betting on football games.

He also knew that she hated health food stores, anything remotely connected to wrestling and Captain Cain.

"What do you want for breakfast?" she asked. Slightly over 100 pounds, McCall had the appetite of a 250-pound truck driver.

"I dunno. I'm not really that hungry," Hunter admitted. He rarely ate breakfast, and if he did, it would be a well-blended container of his favorite banana smoothie cocktail.

"Well, too bad. There's Bob and Ron and we are now officially off duty," she said, pointing to the brown police-issue Dodge that pulled in front of them. "I'm starving and I need something to eat. Let's go to Sid's," she ordered as she settled herself in the seat. With a sigh, Hunter took on the duty of chauffeur and headed the green Dodge into the direction of the greasiest spoon he had eaten in.

He stared at her as he drank the worst cup of coffee known to man, while she ignored him as she cleaned up a plate of Sid's Special--bacon, eggs, toast, and home fries.

"What?" she asked, her perfectly manicured eyebrows raising.

"Where do you put it all?" he asked. She ate twice the amount that he did and was only half his size.

"That's for me to know and you to wonder about," she countered. She yawned again and stretched her arms in front of her as the waitress took her plate away.

Hunter watched McCall as her face sobered. She was looking at him intently, and then her eyes became downcast. Hunter saw her biting down on her bottom lip, which he knew meant that she was pondering something that was weighing heavily on her mind.

"Do you think it has been long enough?" she asked.

"Long enough for what?" Hunter asked.

"You know, long enough since Steve . . .," she began, unable to finish the sentence.

Hunter looked at her, letting her collect her thoughts before she began again. He heard a deep breath escape her lips and then her eyes met his again.

"Do you think Steve would hate me if I went out on a date?" she asked.

A date? The thought never entered Hunter's mind. A year had passed since Steve died. He and McCall never discussed him. It was almost as if it never happened.

"You mean a real date? With a guy?" Hunter asked.

She heaved an exasperated sigh. "Yes, a real date. A guy from robbery asked me out to dinner the other day."

"Well, what did you say?"

"I said I'd think about it."

"Geez, McCall. You'd think about it? Nothing like making a guy feel good about himself."

"Well, it's been a while, y'know? I felt bad. It's not that I didn't like him enough to go out with him, I just felt, sorta . . . guilty." Her shoulders slumped as she said the words.

A-ha. Hunter knew the source of the problem now. "Come on, McCall, let's get outta here," he said, throwing a ten-dollar bill on the table and grabbing her arm and leading her outside.

They walked together down the block in the early morning sunshine, and they ended up at a small park. He walked with her, chewing absent-mindedly on a toothpick. They found a secluded bench and they sat down on it. Hunter draped his arm over the back of the bench and around her shoulders.

"I need to tell you something, McCall."

"What?"

"The night Steve died, he told me something----something he wanted me to tell you, and I just never had the right opportunity," Hunter said. He felt guilty. Everything had happened so fast, and he suddenly realized that the most important words that Steve McCall had ever said to him were the ones that he should have told her long ago.

Her eyes searched his. He had her undivided attention.

"One of the last things he told me was to make sure I told you he loved you. He said not to die with him, but to go on. He wanted to make sure you knew that he wanted you to go on living, even if it was without him."

Her eyes brimmed with tears, something that he rarely saw. Actually, he had never seen her cry since the funeral.

"Really?" she asked, not sure if she believed him. "He really said that? Or are you just saying that so I'll let him go?"

"It's not about letting him go, Dee Dee. It's about moving on. Don't feel guilty about that. It's okay, McCall. Do it. Steve wouldn't want you to sit around. The last thing he'd want is for you to be lonely."

Hunter was unprepared for the smile that appeared on his partner's face. They stood up and made their way to the car, neither one saying anything but communicating easily in their thoughts. He drove her home and left her off at the curb.

"Have a good weekend, McCall. Go easy on him!" he added with a grin. His grin grew wider as she rolled her eyes at him and shot him a look of disdain. At the same time, he felt his own heart constrict---an unfamiliar feeling to the 39-year-old detective who suddenly felt that perhaps, just perhaps, he was missing out on something, too.

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

Hunter jumped when the passenger door to the Dodge slammed. He looked sideways and watched as his partner crossed one shapely leg over the other as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her eyes were spitting fire. She was thoroughly pissed off.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's annoying. I'm tired of getting hit on," McCall replied. She ran her left hand through her short hair, the curls springing back like soft slinky toys. Unconscious of her own beauty, McCall was often the target of the opposite sex -- some well-meaning, and others who just wanted to "get a piece of her," as Hunter overhead someone say in the locker room one evening. The man who said it would now probably never have children after Hunter beat the shit out of him and nailed him in the testicles in the process.

"Who hit on you?" Hunter queried. A common problem for his beautiful partner. She usually took it in stride, ignoring the comments and blowing off the lecherous looks she received no matter where they were. He would have suggested that she dress down for the job or not do her hair, but he knew it wouldn't matter. No matter what she wore or how she looked, she was still beautiful no matter what. Always professional, she still managed to chase down the buttholes of Los Angeles like a true hard-ass cop.

"Oh, just that consulate guy. Don't get me wrong, he was nice enough. Almost too nice, y'know?" she said. Hunter grinned as he watched her hands begin their familiar animation.

"Actually, I might have even gone out with him, if it wasn't for being on this case. I told him it was a conflict of interest and he just didn't seem to get it."

"Geez, McCall, come on. I know which guy you mean. Just 'cause you're in a dry spell it doesn't mean you have to go out with a creep like that," he teased. To Hunter's enjoyment, McCall had been dateless for a little over a month. He grinned at her, which added to her frustration.

"What do you mean, a creep? You didn't even talk to him. He was very nice, very gentlemanly. You could take some lessons from him, Hunter. Oh--and you can just lay off the 'dry spell' comments."

"Oh please. I can tell just from looking at him," Hunter replied. He remembered the short little Hispanic with the beady eyes. His eyes were small. Way too small. There was something about him that Hunter didn't like.

Her short, sarcastic laugh made him smile.

"It's the eyes, McCall. You can always tell by the eyes."

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

Hunter was prepared for a nice leisurely Saturday. He was ready to take in the San Diego State football game on TV for the afternoon and would later take Cindy out for dinner. Yeah -------- Cindy. 5'10", blonde, and a body to die for. McCall had made fun of her yesterday when she referred to her as the 'astrophysicist.' Okay, so Cindy wasn't a rocket scientist. He and Cindy had a great relationship. No emotional demands, just a nice relationship of convenience where they could enjoy each other's company from time to time and get some physical satisfaction out of it as well.

Shirtless, shoeless, and reclined on his extra-long, special order davenport, Hunter was 4 minutes and 20 seconds away from halftime and was thinking of refreshing his beer mug when the phone rang.

"Hunter? Help me," said the choked voice on the other end.

Hunter's brain clicked into overdrive as he tried to make sure it was McCall on the other end. It couldn't be. Every hair on his neck stood straight up. Not a good sign.

"Dee Dee?"

"Help me," her voice said, sounding more like a choked squeal.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Help me," her voice said again. A pleading, distraught voice.

It was a voice of fear and horror. She didn't sound sick, she sounded like she was scared to death. The unmistakable sob that he heard kicked him in the ass.

Silence.

Not waiting a second longer, Hunter grabbed Simon from the hallway drawer and his t-shirt off the chair, dressing and driving at the same time. McCall's Studio City home was a 15 minute drive, but Hunter made it less than 10. She didn't say where she was, but Hunter drove on instinct and adrenaline alone.

Rubber-necker neighbors gawked as Hunter drove in with squealing tires as he laid rubber, throwing the Dodge into park. Jumping out of the car and making his way to McCall's front door, he inched his way to the doorknob, not surprised to find the door slightly ajar.

Roses. Dozens of them. Their fragrance overpowered Hunter's over-alert senses, nauseating him. A paperback book was lying on the couch. Hunter noticed the overturned chair, and the throw carpet on McCall's bare floor that was bunched into a heap. His heart beat faster with the realization that there was an obvious struggle.

He kept the safety off of Simon, sure that there was someone still in the house. Like a venomous snake stalking its prey, Hunter inched his way through the house . . . . . looking . . . . . listening.

And then he heard her.

Small choking sobs emanating from where he knew her bedroom was. The bedcovers were a jumbled mass. The contents of whatever had been on her dresser were now on the floor. It was then that he saw her on the floor of the other side of the bed. He could see blood coming from her nose and near her eyebrow.

"Oh my God, Dee Dee," he said, rushing toward her.

Like a scared rabbit, she darted away from him and scrambled into her bed. A quick flash of bruised, naked flesh caught Hunter's eye--and realization set in. Her face had begun to swell, the evidence of being struck numerous times into submission. She avoided his gaze, curling her small body into a fetal position, burying herself under the covers.

He picked up the phone and called for an ambulance. He reached out to touch her in a gesture of comfort and drew his hand back as if bitten when he felt her flinch.

"How long has he been gone, Dee Dee?" he asked. No response.

"Who did this?" he asked, this time trying a different question. She refused to speak.

"Come on, talk to me," Hunter tried again.

He felt her whole body shudder as she took a deep breath and tried to do his bidding.

"Raoul," she replied, her voice shaking with fear. "The guy from the consulate."

Hunter's eyes narrowed as he realized that this was the guy who had asked her out the day before. And she declined. Hunter was at a loss for words. He said the only ones he could think of.

"You're gonna be okay."

The sound of the ambulance coming down the street brought him out of his jumbled thoughts. He went to the front door and waved them in, and waved the neighbors away with one glare.

He went back into the room where she lay, unmoving, her eyes open and staring. He locked his eyes on hers, hoping to see some flicker of recognition.

"The EMT's are here and they're gonna take you to the hospital. Do you want me to help you dress before they come in?" he asked. He couldn't bear to have them see her like this.

She slowly nodded her head in the affirmative. He reached for her pink robe that was hanging on the hook of the bathroom. He took it to her and tears came to his eyes when he saw her struggle to sit up. He wrapped the robe around her, helping her ease her arms into the armholes.

"I don't feel too good," she murmured, as Hunter witnessed her skin take on a greenish hue. He grabbed the wastebasket that was beside the bed and held it for her as she vomited into it. It tore his heart out to see her suffer.

The EMTs brought a cot in for her, but Hunter waved them away. He tried to help her stand, but her knees buckled as soon as she did so. He picked her up effortlessly, as if he were picking up a child. He felt her arms go around his neck, clutching him, holding on for dear life, and unfamiliar tears burned his eyelids as he gently laid her down on the cot and covered her up with the blanket.

Then it dawned on him. "Take care of her for me." Steve's dying voice from 18 months ago reverbated in his ears. "Make sure nothing bad happens to her."

He had broken his promise. His deceased friend's wife, who had become his best friend and partner, was brutally raped and almost killed. And Hunter felt responsible. How did he let this happen?

The methodical plan of how he was going to seek revenge slowly began to take shape.

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

The perspiration beaded on Hunter's forehead as he cursed the lack of air conditioning in Curaguay. The room he was staying in lacked drinkable water, air conditioning, and any other comforts of home. A small price to pay, however, to finish the mission. Hunter's shoulder still ached from where that son-of-a-bitch Raoul Mariano shot him. Stupid bastard couldn't even aim.

Hunter chuckled, almost in a sinister fashion. He couldn't wait to see the man who stole the sparkle out of his partner's eyes face-to-face.

She was still in there. Somewhere, underneath all the pain and fear, his partner was lurking. For a while, Hunter was worried. The brass cupcake seemed to have lost her "brass." She was scared, timid, almost shy. Suddenly, his partner had become afraid. It worried him. A wise old mentor of his once said, "Never use the words 'afraid' and 'cop' in the same sentence." Now he knew why.

But, he could slowly see the fight within her begin to return. Now, if he could only see her smile. A real one, not the ones that she had been forcing in an effort to please him, to make him believe that she was okay.

As much as Hunter tried, he couldn't banish the images from his brain ----- the ones of his partner screaming in terror from the nightmares that plagued her, or the mere thoughts of her being held down against her will, beaten into submission, as the bastard raped her.

Hunter lied to her, telling her he was going fishing. She was so wrapped up in herself, trying to get her life back together, that there was no way that she'd figure out that he had chased that rotten piece of shit south of the border. Forty-eight hours. That's all it would take. He'd be back before she knew he was gone.

It killed him that he couldn't do more. Dee Dee was resigned to the fact that Mariano had been sent south and would never return. But in Hunter's mind, there was no way that Mariano was going to get off that easy.

"Please don't go after him, Hunter," she pleaded, upon hearing that Mariano was sent back to his country--for good. It was the first time in weeks that he had seen her get fired up about anything. "Promise me?" she pleaded.

"Yeah, I promise."

"Hunter, it's not going to change what happened. No matter what happens to him, it's not going to change it, or make it go away," she tried to reason with him.

"I told you, I promise."

She looked skeptical. She knew him too well.

He lied. He had to. She had enough to worry about.

She was worried about what other damage he may have done to her -- some horrible sexual disease, or even worse, pregnant. The last possibility hadn't dawned on him until she mentioned it. The thought of that bastard leaving a piece of himself growing inside of her made him crazy.

But it hadn't happened. There was some mercy, Hunter decided. He smiled as he remembered her telling him she was never so happy to see a bottle of Midol in her life. That was the first time since it happened that she had made a joke or laughed without conscious effort.

Yeah, she was still in there. Mariano may have thought he had snuffed out the fire within, but he didn't. Brought it down to the status of a single flame, an ember maybe, but not totally out. Someday, she'd be back.

And killing that scum-sucking pig would be an added bonus.

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

Hunter was on the prowl. Skulking around the Mariano family hacienda was no different than chasing a perp in the bowels of the city of Los Angeles. His stomach growled. Hunter watched some loose chickens running around in the south American dust. One of them turned into a bucket of the colonel's original recipe right in front of his very eyes, causing Hunter to shake his head and blink. It had been a full 24 hours since he had eaten, and no intake into the digestive system was causing him to see apparitions of food. Ahhh, hallucinations. Not a good sign. Time for food and sleep.

No sign of Mariano, either. Hunter was ready to put the safety back on Simon until he saw it. A car that hadn't been there before. Hunter swiped at the dust in front of his eyes and could have sworn he saw someone sitting in the driver's seat. A trap. Someone was on to him.

He quietly came to the passenger side of the car and aimed Simon at the driver. His heart almost stopped when the scared brown eyes of his partner looked down the barrell.

"What in the hell are you doing here?" he asked her. He was furious. Goddammit, she was smart. He should have known better than to understimate her.

"When I went through customs, there was no one that went through with the name Hunter, and no one was checked in at the hotel with that name, so I went looking for you." Hunter cursed her under her breath.

"I want you to go back and get on the first plane out of here," Hunter ordered. There was no way that he would let her get involved with his plan.

"Okay, but only if you go with me." The look in her eyes tore him up. She knew he wanted revenge. But she didn't understand why. She would never understand. The only one who would understand was Steve McCall.

He should have known better than to argue with her. It was a losing battle. He rode back to the hotel with her and helped her settle in. There was only one bed, and there was no way that he was letting her out of his sight. He laid down on the bed and saw the look of hesitation in her eyes.

"Come here," he said to her, holding his hand out to her. "You're tired, so let's get some sleep." The next thing he knew, his partner was lying beside him, sound asleep. Her sleep didn't last long, though, as another nightmare made her sit straight up in the bed, trying to catch her breath as if she had just run a marathon.

Hunter drew her into his arms to comfort her, feeling her relax again as she laid her head over his heart. He enjoyed the feeling of her in his arms. The scent of her hair and her soft skin brought a smile to his face. It also fueled the desire to seek revenge.

"I'll get you for doing this to her, you sorry-ass bastard," he thought to himself. Raoul Mariano would not go free. Hunter owed it to her. And he owed it to Steve. He had promised, after all. He would take care of her. And killing Raoul Mariano would be everyone's revenge.

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

The pathetic bastard had the audacity to look scared. Hunter's muscles were twitching and Simon was ready. He was staring Raoul Mariano square in the eyes, his finger on Simon's lethal trigger.

"It's crazy, Hunter." He could hear her voice.

"It's not going to change what happened. No matter what happens to him, it's not going to change it, or make it go away." Her voice wouldn't leave him alone. She was right.

He couldn't kill Mariano in cold blood. The rage he felt was still pumping within him. Fury, pure and simple, was fighting against the voice of reason---her voice. Frustration clouded his brain. He relaxed his grip on the trigger and turned away. He just couldn't do it. As much as he hated Raoul Mariano, he couldn't do it. He would then be on Mariano's level. And he was better than that. Killing him wouldn't un-rape her. It wouldn't purify her soul, it wouldn't take away her pain, therefore, it wouldn't take away his.

The click of Mariano's gun invaded his thoughts. He whirled around, glimpsed the end of Mariano's gun, with Mariano ready to kill him in an instant. Hunter and Simon beat him to it. With four shots, Mariano crumpled to the ground. Hunter only needed one. The first shot was for Dee Dee. The second was for Steve. The third was for Hunter. The fourth was just an added bonus.

Raoul Mariano was dead.

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

She had changed. There was something different about her, and Hunter couldn't quite figure it out. Since the rape, she had softened. She was still a hell of a cop and returned to the job as if the rape had never happened. But personally, she was more pensive, quieter maybe. Her sense of humor remained in tact, and Hunter's teasing still brought the same bright smile to her face. But something was different.

Even he was different. The sexual innuendoes came to a halt. He still teased her and she was still busting his chops, but the sexual banter that flowed back and forth was suddenly uncomfortable. Until the argument.

"Hunter, stop it!" she screamed at him. Hunter was shocked. All he did was push the guy. Okay, so it wasn't very gentle. But he didn't hurt him. He and McCall were sitting at their desks, minding their own business, when the guy from the FBI came in and started talking to her. Hunter overheard him ask her out for lunch, to which she said no, thank you for asking, but she couldn't. But maybe some other time.

The man was persistent. How about next week? Next month? Before McCall could answer, Hunter pushed the man into the wall and told him to beat it ---she's not interested, pal.

A pin could have been heard dropping to the floor. Not only did everyone in the precinct see the commotion, but the reaction on McCall's face was one that Hunter was not prepared for. She was furious. She grabbed her purse and her keys and with one final glare in his direction that silently told him to go to hell, she made a hasty exit.

Hunter showed up on her doorstep an hour later. She let him in after he threatened to shoot the door open, and he smiled cynically when he saw her with her arms crossed over chest, shooting daggers at him with her eyes. Shades of the brass cupcake warmed his heart.

"You're mad at me."

"I knew there was some reason why you're a detective," she retorted.

"What did I do?"

"You embarassed me, Hunter! What was up with that? The poor guy asked me out for a date and you go nuts! And in front of everybody! You know what they're thinking now, don't you?" Her eyes were blazing and she was pacing--not a good combination for the person on the receiving end.

"No, what are they thinking?"

"That poor, weak, Dee Dee McCall can't take care of herself." Her voice had come down in decibels to a whisper. She shook her head as tears came to her eyes.

Hunter took a deep breath. "God, McCall, don't think that. I just lost my head is all. I mean, you told him no, and well, I just lost it. I'm sorry."

She looked up at him and smiled. "I appreciate that. Really, I do. But I need to take care of myself. I don't want everyone's pity, Hunter. Especially yours."

"Pity?" Her words wounded him.

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate it that you want to look out for me. But if I lose my independence, I have nothing. Understand? You're not superman, you know."

"Sometimes, I don't know what to do, or what to say."

"Just treat me like you always did, okay? There is nothing I want more than to have things be back to normal. Please, don't treat me with kid gloves. If you do, everyone will, and if that happens, well, I might as well quit."

"Don't say that."

"It's true. I've thought about it. I worry that I've lost the edge, Hunter." Her dark eyes became downcast. Lost the edge? Never.

"You will NEVER lose the edge. Lookit, I'll go back to my unsensitive ways if you promise you won't ever, ever think about quitting on me."

She looked at him suspiciously and then gave him a smile that he hadn't seen in a long time. Bright and genuine, 100% McCall. She put her hand out to him and they shook. "Deal." And then she reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you. For being my friend. I couldn't have done it without you."

The sizzle he felt from his head to his toes at the feel of her lips on his cheek shocked him. Like a school boy who received his first kiss, Hunter swore he saw fireworks and rockets going off in the sky. He mumbled his goodbye and stumbled out McCall's front door, oblivious to the fit of giggles that had erupted from his partner.

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

Hunter had been at a loss since they returned from Curaguay. They spent more time together away from work than ever before. The month he had stayed with her at her house after the rape was a no-brainer for him. It began with just being there for her because she was terrified to stay alone. Dinner together every night and just hanging out watching movies or television became a ritual. Once she was ready to stay alone again, dinner together continued. It was a comfortable feeling, one that warmed his heart. He looked forward to her companionship, her voice, her smile.

She had entered his heart slowly, without him even knowing it. It wasn't until he slept in his own bed that first night, alone, when she told him that she was okay by herself--that it hit him. He didn't like the feeling of being without her.

Was he in love with her?

Nah, it wasn't possible. She was his best friend. His partner. His buddy. The one who beat him at football pools and challenged him at target practice.

She was also the same woman who entered his thoughts as soon as his eyes opened in the morning and who invaded his dreams at night. Many times while staying at her house after the rape, he would breathe in the scent of her bubble bath as it wafted from the bathroom.

But she was off limits. She was his dead best friend's wife. He promised to take care of her, not fall in love with her. And it sucked.

Hunter watched her as she flipped through a magazine in the hotel room at the Bel Aire Hotel. Fabro was settled in his room for the night, like a naughty child who had been sent to his room without supper. The pizza Hunter had finished was sitting in his stomach like a rock. For two straight nights he had gorged himself and then hated himself afterward because there was nothing to do to work off the full feeling.

"Did I ever tell you I make a teriffic eggplant parmesan?" he asked McCall. He was rewarded with a "You're kidding," and a look of disbelief. She didn't believe him.

"Since when do you cook? I can't believe that for as long as I have known you, I didn't know this!" she said, all of the sudden looking intrigued . . . and impressed.

Hunter then found himself lying to her, telling her what a great cook he was, how he learned to cook from his mother, and promising to make "eggplant parmesan a la Hunter" for dinner the next night while they babysat Fabro. How he would pull it off, he hadn't the slightest. The smile on her face would be worth the effort, however.

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

Complete with candles, wine, and a cardboard box lined with newspaper to keep the casserole dish full of eggplant parmesan warm, Hunter whistled in the elevator on the way to the Bel Aire. McCall was waiting for him in the lobby on the floor where they had Fabro "stashed away like the crown jewels," according to their captain. Her eyes danced like an excited child at Christmas when she saw him step off the elevator with box in hand. Oh yes, he would make her smile tonight.

The look on her face when she ate the first bite of eggplant delighted him from the inside out. Now, as he watched her sleep on the couch in the hotel room, Hunter's heart filled. He knew what he was missing. It was her. Could it happen? Would he let it happen? He often thought that perhaps his feelings were out of guilt or responsibility. But lately, he realized that it wasn't true. He loved her. There was no escaping it.

But he would lose his partner. The best partner he had ever had the privilege of cuffing perps with. He loved tooling around the bad-ass city in the Huntermobile with her at his side.

Even more fun was watching her try to maneuver the bench seat forward so that she could see over the hood when she decided to haul ass and drive---and her amusement at his knees banging off the dash in the process. No one had an aim better than his . . . except her. What was a lovestruck cop to do?

Okay, so she busted him after catching him thanking his saint of a mother for making the eggplant. He smiled at the recollection of her enjoyment at his expense. Her eyes sparkled with laughter as she busted his chops. Her laughter had been so few and far between lately, but was slowly returning in full force. Ahhh, the beauty of it all.

The fourth night of Fabro, Hunter found himself eating Chinese. She was eerily quiet tonight. Usually the first to finish her pint of General Tso's chicken, she only picked at it. When she didn't reach for the fortune cookie on the first opportunity, Hunter knew there was something wrong.

A man of few words, Hunter struggled, trying to find the right thing to say. He hated seeing her in pain, emotional or physical. Physical would be easier to fix. Emotions, or trying to understand them, however, made Hunter feel like a big fat zero.

She was sitting on the couch, very quiet, her thoughts a million miles away.

"I'm really gonna miss this," she had told him. Hunter, relieved that she wasn't digressing about the rape, listened intently. "Yeah, right," he said. He personally couldn't wait until they could escort Fabro to the grand jury next week and get back to the normalcy of cops and robbers.

"No, really," she said earnestly. He sat down by a chair and watched her as she poured out her soul for him. Twisting her beaded necklace nervously in her hands, she explained how she wanted to move on.

She wanted a husband. She wanted children. A real family, full of babies, car pools, piano lessons and backyard barbecues. That kind of life didn't mix with being a cop. Hunter remembered Steve saying that they were going to start their family once she made it to the detective ranks. Steve's death brought her dreams to an abrupt halt. Hunter smiled to himself. He could give her all of that. And more.

"But he won't be a cop."

His heart fell as she continued. Strike one.

"I tried that once. I just couldn't do it again . . . couldn't go through it again." Strike two.

"What Steve and I had . . . it was so good. So special." Strike three.

Before her tears could begin, he sat in front of her and welcomed her into his arms in a gesture of comfort. As he held her close to him, he realized he would be in the shadow of Steve McCall's ghost forever.

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

"When partners care too much about each other, bad things can happen," Hunter snapped at McCall as she rolled her eyes at him in between bites of chicken with cashew nuts. "Hunter, partners are supposed to care about each other," she argued. He stopped her from speaking when he went to answer his phone. He had been angry with her all day, and didn't need to tell her, either. Earlier, they had chased a suspect down an alley, Hunter going south and McCall going north. She had seen him first. Hunter unknowingly had his back to the suspect, who had risen silently from behind a dumpster, his .22 Rueger cocked and ready, aimed at Hunter. Instead of firing first after announcing herself as a police officer, McCall screamed Hunter's name instead, and then fired a shot. Thankfully, her dead-ringer aim got the guy before he had a chance to shoot Hunter in the back. But it could have gotten them both killed. Her voice alerted the suspect of her presence, and he easily could have either fired his weapon by surprise alone, or could have turned his gun on McCall. Thankfully, neither had happened. But she had put her fear of her best friend and partner being shot or killed in front of police procedure. Not a good combination, as it could spell disaster for partnered police officers. Hunter hung up the phone. An old friend needed his assistance as a designated driver. The discussion would have to be put on hold. He looked at his partner intently, and could see the remorse in her eyes. "All you have to do is tell me not to do it again, and I won't," McCall instructed. She was losing her patience with him. She did not like being lectured, especially from him. "Okay, don't do it again." "Okay, I won't," she retorted, having to get the last word. He grinned at her. All was forgiven. He couldn't stay angry with her for long. He left to retrieve his drunken friend, and left her in his house surrounded by containers from the Hunan House. "Eat all this food. And clean it all up. Everything. Clean all of this up," he teased. He was rewarded with a look of disbelief, and then a soft, feminine laugh that followed him out the door and warmed his heart. All was right in his world. ---------- Hunter stared at his new captain, Charles "Charlie" Devane. There was no way she would buy it. Devane obviously underestimated his partner's intelligence. "Captain, McCall is never gonna buy this." "You'll have to make her. I'm telling you, I smell a dirty cop. I need you to do this, and you better be goddamn convincing," Devane said. Hunter turned and looked out through Devane's mini blinds. McCall was diligently working on the report of yesterday, explaining how she killed the suspect with one shot. It was rare for her to discharge her weapon, and although she hid it well, taking a life wasn't something that sat well with her. They had started the day out with coffee at Sid's, exchanging friendly words and Hunter filling her in on finding his friend dead, a single gunshot wound to the temple. Their argument of the previous day was over, and he was happy to move on. Devane, new to the precinct, was not in complete understanding of Hunter and McCall's relationship. Their ability to read each other's minds was uncanny. She would never buy it. Hunter knew. And in good conscience, he wasn't thrilled with the idea of McCall being teamed up with that ponce Coslin. The guy barfed in a squad car after a shootout, for chrissake. Coslin was young, new, and a rookie. McCall would be the senior officer, although they were the same age. Hunter knew fire and brimstone would erupt when she was told of their new assignments, albeit temporary. "When we nail this guy, I'll put you back together," Devane promised. Hunter wasn't so sure. He had been lied to before. However, there was something about this Devane character that Hunter liked. Yeah, Devane had a hard nose, but Hunter respected this guy, unlike those of Devane's predecessors. He still hadn't figured out why, but he did. "Put it this way, Hunter. You have to be 100% on board with this. If you breathe a word of this to McCall, the separation WILL be permanent." Devane had him by the balls. Hunter resigned his trust to Devane. If he was going to save their partnership, he had to do it. It was going to suck seeing Coslin at McCall's side, however. He didn't like the thought of a rookie backing her up. It would probably be the other way around--her saving Coslin's ass. Steve was probably turning over in his grave at the thought of someone else in charge of her welfare. Hunter's eyebrows narrowed at the thought. And their argument of last night would not rest easy with her once she was told. Devane, with no knowledge of their recent discord, didn't know how McCall would relate the breakup to last night's argument. Hunter knew, though. And he wasn't pleased. He would suffer the brunt of her anger. Hunter's acting abilities would be put to the test. McCall knew when he was lying to her. He only ever lied to her once--when he told her she was going fishing instead of hunting down Raoul Mariano--and she had seen right through it. "You promise?" Hunter asked Devane. He was rewarded with a smile. "Promise. I don't break up partnerships unless it is for a very good reason." Devane tapped on a folder. "You two have an outstanding record. Don't give me a reason to bring it to a halt. Now get out of here." Hunter heard Devane bark to the secretary to summon McCall into his office. The lie would now begin.

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

Hunter took another swig of his water as the sound of the carousel drowned out his thoughts. He was sure by now that McCall had been told of him being partnered with that asshole, Harry Trainer, and her with Riley Coslin. He chuckled at the thought. He was certain that she had protested as much as she could, her brown eyes blazing as the brass cupcake emerged.

He heard her voice calling him and he looked over his shoulder. Damn. She found him. Why was he surprised? Los Angeles was one of the biggest cities in the world, and his partner was able to find him in less than 60 minutes. He tried to hide his smile. He had only been without her less than an hour and he missed her already. Oh well. Time to turn on the acting again.

"This is a coincidence," she said. No hi, how are you, or hello.

"What? Us meeting here?" Hunter asked, trying to sound nonchalant. She wasn't fooled.

She followed him as he walked with her toward the carousel.

"No, not us meeting here. I mean about you and me, and last night, and you saying about partners getting too close, and now us being split up because we could be getting too close . . ." she said all in one breath. Hunter had to bite his tongue to hide his amusement at how her hands were flying through the air. Totally McCall.

"Rick, you didn't ask for this, did you?" His heart fell as he watched her eyes brim with tears. She rarely called him by his first name, and he knew she was taking this a lot more personally than she should. Damn Captain Devane.

"Dee Dee, you're the best partner I have had or ever will have." At least that wasn't a lie, he thought. It killed him to do this. "I did not ask for this." That was also not a lie.

"But you're not going to fight it?" she asked, and he didn't know if her voice was accusing or just incredulous.

"No, I'm not going to fight it. We have a new captain with a very hard nose."

She wasn't pleased with his answer. "Well, if that really is the case, what are we gonna do?"

"Nothing. We do nothing."

McCall was hurt. She didn't believe him. He knew she wouldn't.

"Look at me, and tell me you didn't ask for this," she ordered.

Hunter took a deep breath and mustered all of his courage as he silently cursed Devane under his breath. He took off his sunglasses and stared his baby blues into her dark ones that were full of anger and disbelief.

"I did not ask for this. I did not want this switch."

He swore he could see her flinch. She still didn't believe him. Unfortunately, what she believed was that he was still angry with her from the night before---that he didn't want her any more. And it was killing him. He watched her walk away from him, hurt and angry. All the more reason to bust Trainer as soon as possible.

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

"A bitch on wheels." Hunter chuckled. He and Trainer had been on a stakeout and heard from some of their brethren that McCall had flown in to the precinct that day on her broomstick. Trainer looked at him as he laughed. "Hey Hunter--I heard McCall was a sweetheart. She must be really pissed off at Devane. Was there, uh, something else going on with you two that she's so mad?" Trainer asked.

Hunter frowned at his new, albeit temporary, partner. "No, there was nothing going on." But Hunter sure wished there was. But she had clearly stated to him that cops were off limits. It sucked to be him.

"And yeah, she is rarely in a bad mood. But watch out if she is." Hunter smiled again as he thought of his McCall, raising hell. She rarely let her temper flare, but on the same token, the only person who knew the real McCall was Hunter.

He almost pitied that poor bastard Coslin, who was now the brunt of McCall's bad mood.

"I dunno, Hunter. If I had a piece of ass like that for my partner . . . no offense to you, by the way . . . I'd have fought tooth and nail to keep her." Hunter glared at Trainer. He absolutely hated it when comments like that were made about his partner. Yeah----HIS partner.

"Say that again, Harry, and you'll be swallowing your teeth."

"Hmph. I thought so," Trainer gloated, throwing Hunter a knowing glance.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"It means someday I'll win the pool."

Hunter already knew about the pool. "You can kiss my white American ass."

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

He and Trainer made their way back to the precinct after breaking up the jewelry store hostage situation. Trainer was a renegade. He and Hunter made a dangerous combination. But it was all part of The Plan.

When they walked in with the rest of the troops who assisted, Hunter caught McCall standing there screaming at Mike Snow. Hunter grinned. McCall was in a full-fledged argument with Snow and pointing her finger at him while Coslin stood meekly by. It looked like McCall was winning . . . kicking ass and taking down names. He shook his head. He couldn't remember the last time she had been in such a foul mood. And it thrilled him beyond words. Ahhhhhhh, she missed him.

He and Trainer made a big deal about their latest conquest, which was again, all part of The Plan. He saw McCall look at him out of the corner of his eye as he and Trainer high-fived it and let the others congratulate them. It looked like a secret male bonding ritual.

Hunter would rather put his hands around Trainer's neck and strangle him instead of seeing the hurt in McCall's eyes. But it couldn't be helped. He saw her pain.

Then he saw her eyes wander to Trainer. If looks could kill, Harry would be a pile of shit.

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

Hunter almost had enough on Trainer to nail him. It didn't take nearly as long as he thought it would. The cocky son-of-a-bitch left too many clues. Hunter slept in the comforts of his waterbed, lulled to sleep by the sound of the ocean, dreaming of McCall. Bliss, pure and simple. Until he heard someone at the door.

It was 12:45 in the blessed morning. Who the hell was there? He pulled on his jeans as he went downstairs to see who it was. "Who is it?" he asked, zipping up his fly.

"It's McCall!" she yelled through the door. As if she expected him to have x-ray vision and could see through the door that it was her. He smiled at the thought of her . . . it had been three days and she was still incensed. The sound of her fury warmed his heart.

"Do you know what time it is?" he asked her as her purse stung him on his bare chest after she smacked him with it.

"Yeah, I know what time it is. And I'm mad as hell because I finally figured all of this out."

Hunter smirked. God, he loved her.

"But what I'm really mad about is that you lied to me!"

"Wait a minute now. I didn't lie. What I said to you was that I did not ask Devane for a new partner."

She looked at him blankly. She thought that he should have let her in on the secret. Hunter figured he better start explaining, and fast. He couldn't stand to see her suffer any longer.

"And in the words of our brand new captain, 'if you tell McCall anything about this, the separation will be permanent.'"

McCall looked at him as her shoulders slumped. "Great. Just great." He went along with The Plan to save their partnership. And she had been running around like a woman scorned. She was embarassed at how she had behaved lately. But as much as she liked Coslin as a person, there was no way she could continue to be his partner. He just wasn't . . . what word was she looking for? Hunter. He just wasn't Hunter. No one was.

She had put 2 and 2 together and got 4. She was a brilliant police officer. And she had that schmuck Trainer all figured out. Hunter couldn't hide his grin any longer.

"So now what .............. partner?" he asked with a grin, stressing his voice on the word 'partner.' He knew that would get her. And God, he sure did miss her. He missed her smile, her laugh, her sarcasm, her humor, and most of all, her constant presence at his side.

She began pacing in front of him and declined the offer of coffee that he offered, which pleased him because he wasn't really interested in putting a pot on anyway.

"I don't want any coffee. What I do want is for you to promise me something," she said, pointing a finger at him as she sat on the couch across from him. Suddenly, her lecture turned serious. "Promise me, that if this ever happens again, we'll sit down, talk it out, like normal, rational adults . . . . . and separate as friends, okay?" she pleaded. Hunter was stunned . . . she had taken it a lot harder than he realized.

She looked worried. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised a little as she widened her eyes, probably in an effort to keep the tears he knew she was fighting at bay. He sighed, silently cursing himself. It would have been so much easier if he hadn't jumped on her about caring too much about him the other day.

He watched as McCall put her hand out in an effort to "shake on it" and make amends. He took her hand, half shaking it, half holding it. He much preferred the latter. He continued to hold it, enjoying the feel of it in his.

"And if you ever pull a stunt on me like that again, I might not take you back," McCall threatened, albeit with a smile.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

She was no match for him in his tug-of-war with her hand. He finally pulled her hard enough that her whole body ended up beside him. Her laugh quickly diminished as she looked up at him, his blue eyes piercing hers. He swore he heard her try to catch her breath.

He let go of her hand and instead put his arm around her shoulders. She took the cue and leaned her head against his bare chest as he took her other hand in his. He hugged her gently as he inhaled the scent of her hair, her dark curls tickling his nose.

"I told you -- you're the best partner I have ever had or ever will have. If there's no you and me, then there's no 'me'," Hunter said softly. She raised her head and looked up at him.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that if the time ever comes that I have to have a new partner, then I'm done. And I mean that." He certainly did. He couldn't sleep, knowing that Coslin was in charge of backing her up while he was spying on Trainer. And truth be told, he didn't trust anyone else to watch his back, either.

One look into his eyes confirmed it. McCall first looked surprised, and then the reality of what he said dawned on her. She felt the same way. Three days with Coslin almost killed her.

"Same goes for me, big guy. You go, I go." Her bright smile warmed his heart from the inside out.

He pulled her against him again, enjoying the feeling of her nearness. It was intoxicating. Once again, all was right in his world.

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

Hunter's eyebrows became one as he scrutinized the items laid out before him. His eyes in a squint, he just couldn't decide. Mr. Hong was quite patient, yet persistent.

"The lady is special, yes?" Mr. Hong asked.

"Very special."

"You want ring? Bracelet? Watch? What you like?" Mr. Hong inquired. "Better ---- what she like?"

Hunter was mystified. Tomorrow was McCall's 30th birthday. He knew her as well as he knew himself, but he was drawing a blank trying to choose a gift for her. He wanted to give her something special, something meaningful, yet nothing too sappy. He knew she would be uncomfortable if he gave her something too ostentacious, like a full carat diamond ring. He knew she would never, ever feel the same way about him as he did about her, but nonetheless, he wanted to make her birthday special.

Especially her 30th. She seemed to be a little bummed about reaching the big 3-0, but when he reminded her of the stripper she hired for him for his 40th a few months earlier, in front of the entire precinct no less, she sheepishly kept her mouth shut. While he enjoyed the striptease act with the bodacious blonde that showed up at the precinct on his birthday wearing a replica of a LAPD uniform, all he could think about was McCall doing the same for him in her uniform instead.

Sigh.

And then he saw it. "That's it, buddy. That's what I want," Hunter said, pointing to a necklace that caught his eye two cases down.

"A-ha! Yes, yes! Good choice, Mr. Hunter. I wrap it for you."

Hunter smiled as he watched Mr. Hong pull the necklace out of the jewelry case. A delicate 14 karat gold necklace, the chain so tiny it was barely visible, with one pear-shaped diamond solitaire hanging from the center. It was beautiful, just like her. She would love it, he was sure.

Hunter handed Mr. Hong a wad of bills and grinned as the old Chinese man bowed to him. The Hunter family had been doing business with Mr. Hong for as long as Hunter could remember.

"Next year, we pick out engagement ring!" Mr. Hong called after him as Hunter left the store. Hunter just chuckled. Yeah, right.

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

Four hours later, Hunter found himself in McCall's comfortable living room, sitting on her sofa, watching her fish. His feet were propped up on the coffee table while he waited for her to return from the kitchen with the wine she promised him.

Not having to wait too long, McCall finally sat down beside him and handed him a glass of white zinfandel. "To being 29 forever," Hunter teased as he clinked his wine glass with hers. He watched her swirl the wine around her tongue as she took a sip and swallowed. When he asked if he could take her out to dinner for her birthday, she accepted his invitation--on the proviso that they did it the night before. She told him that she wanted her actual birthday to just "come and go" without any big deal.

He watched her lean back into the couch and cross her legs. She was wearing a black sleeveless dress that clung to her every curve. The addition of black hose and black heels made his heart leap out of his chest. Although her hair was still shorter than he liked, it had grown enough that she could put it up, which added to his pleasure.

"Happy Birthday, McCall," Hunter said to her as he pulled the small, flat box out of his jacket pocket. She looked startled.

"But, Hunter, you took me out for dinner. You didn't have to get me anything . . ." she began before he stopped her.

"Am I hearing things correctly? Dee Dee McCall doesn't want to open a present?" he teased. "Well, in that case, I'm sure I know at least a handful of other women who would want it . . ." Hunter said as he attempted to get the gift back.

She snatched her hand away and shot him a look. "Not so fast," she said as she ripped the paper off of it. Her mouth formed a big "O" as she popped open the lid of the box and saw the diamond solitaire gleaming on the black velvet background.

"Oh, Rick, this is beautiful!" she exclaimed, one hand over her heart as she stared at it. "Oh, you shouldn't have," she said as she looked at him with the eyes that he got lost in every time.

"Yes, I should have. I saw it and thought of you. You only turn 30 once in your life," he explained. All of the sudden, he felt like a teenage boy who had just given a girl his class ring. "Come here," Hunter told her as he took the box out of her hand. He held his hand out to her and pulled her off of the couch.

She turned around while he took the necklace out of the box. He held it out in front of her and then drew the ends around her neck, his fingertips grazing the soft, warm skin under the few tendrils of hair that had escaped throughout the evening. He hooked the clasp and then placed his hands on her shoulders, running his hands down her bare arms before turning her around.

McCall turned and looked at him with a smile as bright as the sunniest day in L.A. "How does it look?" she asked.

"Beautiful. Just beautiful."

McCall leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him chastely on the lips. "Thank you. I love it."

He would have preferred the word "you" on the end of her last sentence, but for now, he would settle for what was in the here and now.

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

The next day, Hunter watched as McCall pouted on her way out of Charlie's office. "Hot lunch date?" Hunter queried as she grabbed her purse and walked with him toward the parking lot on their way to see the DB found on Rt. 6.

"Had a lunch date is more like it," McCall grumbled.

"Anyone I know?" Hunter asked, intrigued.

"No. Besides, you wouldn't approve," she countered.

"It's not another jerk attorney, is it?" he growled back at her. He hated every man she went out with. None were good enough for her. And he had no problem telling her about his feelings, either.

McCall turned and looked at him, the diamond necklace he gave to her the night before shining in the L.A. sunshine. "Why is it that I date an attorney one time, and you think that is all I date?"

"Well, is it?"

He watched her begin to get perturbed. He loved to ride her about her choices in men--usually professional putzes in his opinion.

"No, he is a doctor. He is also very successful and very busy, which means we don't get a lot of time to spend together," she explained. He could tell she was very disappointed. "And now we won't have ANY time to spend together," she added.

It WAS her birthday, he decided.

"Tell ya what. You go to lunch with your doctor friend and I'll take care of the DB. We'll catch up later."

Her face lit up. "Really? You mean it?"

Hunter nodded. He could do nothing else when she looked at him like that. It turned him into mush. He pointed to his cheek and she took the bait, leaning up toward him and kissing him there. "You are an angel," she told him as she rushed around the Huntermobile and got into her snappy red Daytona.

"Go easy on him," Hunter teased, smiling as he heard her laughter.

Some guys have all the luck.

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

Hunter pulled the green monstrosity in behind the Daytona parked in McCall's driveway. It was a quiet night in her neighborhood, as usual. Hunter promised to meet her at her house with a hooker known as Susan Dumont, a.k.a. "Suzie Q," who knew something about the traveling prostitution ring servicing truckers and traveling salesmen--the same organization that seemed to be somehow tied to the DB found on Rt. 6 this morning.

Hunter walked up McCall's sidewalk and realized that although her car was in the driveway, there were not lights on in the house or outside. He knocked on the door, which opened under the force of his knuckles. The hair on the back of Hunter's neck stood straight up, joined by the skin crawling down his spine. Something was wrong.

He pulled out Simon and pushed the door open, reaching for the light on the left wall. He gasped when he was greeted by the sight before him.

Susan Dumont was lying on her back on McCall's floor nearest the front the door, with two gunshots visible. McCall was lying spread-eagled on the floor in front of her couch, face down, in a pool of blood.

Hunter leaned down to McCall, his hands shaking with fear. He placed his fingertip where he knew her pulse should be. He didn't feel one. "Oh my God," he thought to himself.

And then he felt it. Faint and thready, but there. He felt the blood rivuling down the side of her neck where his fingers felt for her pulse, and that was when he saw the bullet's entrance wound . . . the same place his own hands had touched the night before when he hooked the diamond necklace around her neck.

She was bleeding to death. He found the gaping hole and pushed his hand over it, trying to stop the bleeding. He didn't dare move her. It seemed like forever until the ambulance came. While he waited, he could hear the faint echo of Steve's voice again.

"Take care of her. Don't let anything bad happen to her."

"Damn you, Steve," Hunter said out loud as he felt the unfamiliar burn of tears sting his eyelids. "You can't have her yet, do you hear me?" he said, his eyes raised to the heavens, where he was sure Steve was watching, and waiting.

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

Hunter sat in the chairs with Ambrose Finn and Charlie Devane. She was hanging on, unlike Suzie Q., who had just been brought out of the ER covered with a sheet on a one-way trip to the morgue. When Hunter saw the female form come out on the gurney, he thought that perhaps Steve had won the battle. Not so.

Once again, Hunter found himself at war with Steve's ghost over McCall, who was the common denominator in the equation.

Hunter wanted her, Steve still had a hold on her, and McCall wouldn't let go. It was the Bermuda Triangle of relationships.

Just when he thought he had gotten to her, something happened to make her shrink back and add another level of cinder blocks to the walls she had built up around herself since Steve's death.

"Excuse me, but could one of you handle Sgt. McCall's registration?" a nurse asked the trio of distraught men. Hunter raised his hand.

"I'll do it," he offered. It wasn't the first time had done it, although he had hoped the last time had indeed, been the last.

The nurse then handed him a small purse, the one McCall had used that day that was found beside her. "You might need this," the nurse added. "We put some of her personal things in there, too. Wouldn't want them to get lost or anything," she added.

"Um, any word yet?" Finn asked.

The nurse shook her head glumly. "They're still working on her ----- sorry," she responded.

Hunter had given the purse to the EMTs at her house, in case information about her would be needed. McCall also never went anywhere without her purse. It was a given, to Hunter, to make sure she had it with her, regardless if she was aware or not.

He opened it, and found her 9 mm. handgun, her ID, and her badge inside. A lot of good they did, he thought sadly. He searched for her insurance card, which he found in a small wallet that contained some credit cards, her drivers license, an organ donor card and some cash. He was startled to find two photos in the wallet as well.

One was of Steve. The other was of McCall and Hunter . . . a photo taken the previous year. They had been at a fellow officer's wedding, and neither one able, or willing for that matter, to find a suitable date, chose each other. A common practice for the two of them -- their lives were so demanding, and often, their dates weren't very understanding about the demands of police work. Using each other as a date was much easier, and a hell of a lot less complicated. The picture showed her standing behind him, as he sat in a chair, her arms wrapped around his neck as she leaned over his shoulder, smiling mischievously to the camera.

He remembered that day, and how much he enjoyed himself with her at his side. She cared enough about him to carry his photo along with Steve's. Hunter suddenly discovered a reason to smile. The battle for her heart would continue.

A small bottle of perfume was also inside the purse, which Hunter waved under his nose. Her favorite scent, the one he loved, brought tears to his eyes. So did the tube of lipstick, its clear cap showing the bright shade of mauve that had been on her lips, the same color that left a mark on his cheek when she kissed him earlier in the morning, when he absolved her from the 187 on Rt. 6.

And then he saw the bag. A small, clear, sandwich-bag type of thing. A computer-generated sticker was on it, with McCall's name and the day's date. Her 30th birthday. Inside were a pair of pretty gold earrings, two rings, a bracelet, a wristwatch and the diamond solitaire necklace. Upon seeing it, he recalled putting it around her neck just 24 hours ago.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. "She's strong, Hunter. She's gonna be okay."

Hunter looked up at Charlie and swallowed hard. "I don't know if I can do this job without her, Charlie" Hunter admitted. He thought about what he had just said. Nah, he DID know -- he couldn't.

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

Hunter watched as Devane and Finn tried not to nod off in the waiting room. It had been hours since they brought her in, and no word on her condition was yet heard from hospital personnel. Hunter felt as if he had consumed three pots of Sid's worst coffee. He was on edge, worrying about her. He tried to justify that no new was good news--at least she was still alive.

"Are you with Sgt. McCall?" a doctor asked. All three men jumped to attention, anxiously awaiting word. The doctor recognized Hunter as the one who came in with the patient, and spoke to Hunter directly.

"I'm Dr. Lee. Your partner has been taken to intensive care. She is in very critical condition. The bullet is lodged between her third and fourth vertebrae, pressed up against the spinal cord. She is paralyzed from the neck down."

Hunter's heart dropped. The words "paralyzed from the neck down" reverbated in his ears. No, it couldn't be true. That possibility never even dawned on him. Only twelve hours ago, he was smiling at her as she bounded to her car on her way to lunch with her doctor date. Only 24 hours ago, she was sipping wine with Hunter and opening her birthday present. Oh God, today was her birthday. Paralyzed on her birthday.

"I just want the day to come and go without any big deal," he heard her voice say. Yeah, right.

Dr. Lee saw Hunter's pain. "It may not be permanent," he continued. "It will take a week or so for the swelling to go down, and then we'll know more."

"Can't you operate?" Hunter asked, grasping at something, anything, that would somehow make the situation seem slightly less ominous and depressing.

"Yes, but like I said, we have to wait until the swelling goes down," Dr. Lee responded, almost impatiently, as if anyone should dare contradict his diagnosis.

"Can we see her? We'd like to find out if she saw the guy who did this," Charlie asked.

"No, she is in no condition to speak to anyone. Tomorrow, maybe," Dr. Lee said as he left.

Hunter feld his jaw automatically begin to tighten. He would find out who did this to her if it was the last thing he did before he took his last breath. Charlie and Finn watched his mind working.

"Don't go out and do anything stupid," Charlie said before Hunter exited. "I know you care about her, but going out on a one-man crusade isn't going to help her right now."

Hunter glared at both men. They would never understand. Care about her? It went way beyond caring. "Don't worry, Charlie. I won't do anything stupid."

With Simon at his side, 'stupid' was an adjective no longer in Hunter's vocabulary.

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

No sleep and too much coffee made for a dangerous combination, even for Hunter. He strode into Wilshire Memorial at 9 a.m., making a beeline for ICU. He met Dr. Lee in the hallway, who recognized him from the night before. Hunter didn't even have to ask to see her. And Dr. Lee didn't dare tell him no.

"Only for a few minutes," Dr. Lee told Hunter. "She is in a great deal of pain."

Hunter flinched. He thought she couldn't feel anything? How could she be in any pain? Dr. Lee answered his unasked question.

"We had to put her into a halo--an apparatus that will keep her head immobile."

Hunter didn't fully understand Dr. Lee's explanation until he walked into her room. When he saw her, it felt as if his heart had briefly stopped.

A large metal apparatus was around her head, with four points screwed into her skull. The metal frame went the whole way down to her hips, designed to keep her from moving her head, neck and spine. The monitors, tubes and wires were enough to scare anyone, but this? "She's strong," he kept reminding himself.

He took her hand in his and watched her. "Dee Dee?" he asked, hoping to talk to her. Her eyes slowly opend a fraction of an inch, as if each eyelid weighed ten pounds.

"Did you see who did this?"

She opened her eyes again. "No. I didn't see much," she answered slowly. Her voice was full of pain, and the lump Hunter felt in his throat felt bigger, going from the size of an orange to a grapefruit.

"How's Suzie?" she asked. Hunter swallowed hard. Damn, Suzie. Why did she have to remember?

"She didn't make it." There was no use lying to her. She'd know he was lying anyway.

She didn't respond. She only closed her eyes, and a few seconds later, one lone tear escaped her eyes.

"You're gonna be okay," Hunter said as he squeezed her hand. It was limp in his, and Hunter realized she couldn't feel him holding it. He bent over and kissed her forehead. "You're gonna be okay." The second time, it sounded much more convincing, as if he alone could will it to happen.

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

Hunter opened his eyes to a wave of pain. It took him a few minutes to focus his eyes as his body shivered from the cold. He was soaking wet, water dripping from every inch of his body. Where the hell was he? And then he remembered.

Ugh. He slowly rose on his hands and knees and crawled his way up the rocky embankment, the sound of water sloshing against the shore in the background. Warm blood dripped down his face and arm, evidence of the struggle. "Bastards," he thought. Black spots floated in front of his eyes as he continued to try to focus them on where he was, and where he needed to go.

The pier. He was near the pier. Dammit, there had to be a phone booth somewhere. Vaguely, he remembered the struggle. There were three of them. Hunter was the biggest, but against three of them, he had slowly lost. Almost. Something scared them. Maybe they thought he was dead. They had left him for dead, in the cold water of the bay, floating.

Thank God for the Red Cross swimming lessons his mother had forced him to attend as a child. A lifeguard he was not, but a good swimmer? Oh yeah. He could play dead as well as the rest of 'em.

McCall. His saving grace. She would come get him. She was well enough now to drive, he was sure.

"Hello?" the groggy voice of his partner said on her end after he fished through his jeans for a quarter and dialed her number.

"I need you to come get me," Hunter told her. His voice sounded like he had been chewing the rocks that he had just climbed.

"Hunter, is that you?" she asked.

Wake up, McCall.

"Yeah, it's me. Three guys jumped me. I can't drive. I'll tell you about it when you get here."

"Where are you?" she asked. He had gotten her attention. He told her where he was, at least where he thought he was. He shivered again, soaked through to the skin. It would take her at least an hour to get there.

"Stay right there! I'll be there as soon as I can," McCall ordered. It was the last thing he heard before he crumpled to the floor of the phone booth.

They had come back for him.

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

Hunter blinked his eyes. He was still wet, and he was hurting. Where was he? He looked around, tried to lift his head up to get a better view, and then thought better of it. He was seeing double of everything, halos around objects, everything that could happen when one gets a concussion. Not a good sign. Maybe his head wasn't as hard as everyone else told him it was.

It was light outside. At least a few hours had passed since he alerted McCall. She hadn't found him, and he knew she was probably on the hunt. Damn. He had let his guard down. He and McCall had the weekend off, thanks to Charlie, and Hunter decided to visit one of his Dad's old pals who was near death in prison.

The man had given him important information . . . told Hunter things that would implicate the others who had gotten off scot free. Hunter figured he'd go up to see his old man's buddy in an effort to give McCall a break. It was her first weekend alone since the shooting. She needed her space. She needed to fend for herself, to be strong and independent again. So, Hunter went away in an effort to keep his mind occupied with other things. This sure as hell did it, he thought.

Thoughts of her warmed his heart, probably the only thing in his body that WAS warm. He shivered again as his head throbbed with pain.

It took her three months to get where she was right now. Three long, hard months. After the successful surgery removed the bullet lodged next to her spine, the feeling in her limbs slowly began to return.

She likened the feeling to having pins and needles in her fingers and toes, slowly working its way up through her body. McCall's inner strength was unwavering. A week after the surgery, despite the pain, she was moved to the rehabilitation wing at Wilshire. She was the youngest patient there, surrounded by mostly elderly people who had fallen and broken a hip or who had suffered strokes. She became the darling of the old men who had fallen in love with her caring heart.

"How are you today, Mr. Reynolds?" Hunter would hear her say as he helped her walk down the hallway to physical therapy. She would stop and bend over in front of Mr. Reynolds, placing her hands atop the old man's, now wrinkled with age. The old man's eyes would come to life as McCall flirted with him and every other old geezer down the way.

Who needed Viagra when McCall was around?

She would take her time with each one, asking how they were doing, holding their hands or sitting down beside them and talking to them, asking about their families, their lives, their pasts. The joy in her eyes became theirs as they watched her improve each day, knowing that someday, she would move on and no longer be greeting them as she made her sojourn to recovery.

The elderly women would smile at her, and tell her stories of their youth. "Who is that handsome man who visits you?" Hunter heard them ask her one day. "Is he your husband? Boyfriend?"

"No, he's my partner."

"He cares about you very much," 90-year-old Mrs. Lindy advised her one day. "You should marry him." Mrs. Lindy's voice was that of a carnival barker . . . her deaf ears required it. Mrs. Lindy could be heard hallways away.

Hunter heard McCall's soft laugh from where he eavesdropped around the corner. "He's my partner, Mrs. Lindy. He's my best friend. It's not allowed," McCall tried to explain.

"Then stop being friends. If I was 50 years younger, I'd jump his bones," the old woman said. McCall cracked up.

"Yeah, I'm sure you would."

"Listen to the old lady, McCall," Hunter thought silently.

After two weeks, they discharged her. He remembered her sorrowful brown eyes, worried, because the doctor wouldn't release her to go back to work. She wasn't ready. Walking around and doing normal every day tasks was one thing . . . but running and shooting her .38 or 9 mm. was another. McCall tired easily and was still working on her strength and coordination. The doctor told her she might get back to work in six months, if she worked hard.

Hmph, Hunter thought. He added these imbeciles to the list of others who highly misjudged his partner's desire to be whole again.

She looked at the doctor and told him to forget it --- she'd be back in two. Hunter would chuckle as he joined her in her jog up and down the beach every mornig and evening, trying to regain her strength. He tried numerous times to encourage her to wear her bikini to add to his own personal enjoyment, and he smiled as he remembered the looks of disdain she gave him in response. It was worth a try, anyway.

Last month, Hunter took her to the shooting range. Her coordination was way off. McCall's first rounds were everywhere but in the center, her arms still weak and shaky. "Try again, McCall," Hunter encouraged as he reached for her 9 mm. He planned to reload it for her, but was surprised when she snatched it away from him and thrust a new round of ammo into it.

He stood behind her and put his arms around hers, helping her to steady the pistol. He aimed, she fired. Not too bad.

She was furious at herself, and even more at the guy who almost took it all away from her. Her frustration became her strength.

Her brown eyes narrowed as she fired yet another full round without Hunter's assistance. This time, they were closer to the target, and she elicited a true McCall smile. "That's enough McCall, you're getting obsessive. It'll come," Hunter encouraged her with a grin. If he didn't stop her now, she would stand there shooting forever. He took her there twice a week over the last month. She still wasn't where she was supposed to be, but it was closer and closer every time.

Last week, she defied the odds and came back to metro homicide. She hit her two-month goal, complete with getting the all-clear to drive. She took one look at the pile of paperwork on her desk and shook her finger at Hunter. "I am NOT doing these reports for you," she admonished.

Hunter purposely trashed her desk to ease her return. He didn't want her to arrive at the precinct feeling that things had changed. She needed normalcy even more than he did.

And now, here he was, hands and feet tied together, lying on a poor excuse for a mattress, bleeding from his head, in a warehouse that had probably been abandoned years ago. Where were those thugs, anyway? No matter. McCall would find him.

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

Hunter thought he was dying. It had been three days since he had eaten and had only small amounts of water to drink. He still didn't understand why they were keeping him alive. And where the hell was McCall?

The next thing he knew, he was being loaded into a van. It took 4 men to throw him into the back of it. Hunter's head ached so bad he thought the perps had used a sledgehammer on him.

Whose voice was that? Definitely female . . . he had heard it before. And it wasn't McCall.

Holy shit, it was Kitty O'Hearn. Hunter's mind reeled. Kitty. Yeah, Kitty. What a ditz. And blonde. With a beautiful set of . . . Hunter's mind began to race. What the hell was Kitty O'Hearn doing in Shaughnessy's van? Last he heard, she was on loan to vice. He couldn't open his eyes, but he made sure he kept his ears open. Something big was going down. He could feel it.

Hunter's body rolled to his left as the van came to a screeching halt. Kitty's cover was blown. She sounded scared. A door opened, another one slammed shut, a car screeched. What the fuck was going on?

Next, he heard gunshots. Kitty was still in the van, being fondled by the asshole in the driver's seat. The van lurched forward, crashing into something. Maybe she wasn't as blonde as he thought. Dammit, why couldn't he open his eyes?

Another gunshot. A yell from Shaughnessy . . . one that Hunter assumed was connected to the single gunshot.

"Freeze! Police!"

McCall! He heard her voice. She was here. Jesus, she's still not ready for this, Hunter thought.

He knew the shot he heard, the one from the gun that shot Shaugnessy, wasn't from McCall's gun. He had an uncanny ability to know the sound of different pieces, and the ones he heard were not hers.

Another single shot, and the sound of shattering glass.

Kick ass, McCall.

And then he heard it. One single shot reverbated through the air. It was McCall's .38. He'd know that sound anywhere. Silence. Hunter smiled. It could only mean one thing. She nailed the son-of-a-bitch, no matter who he was, with a single shot. Welcome back, partner.

"Where is he?" Hunter heard McCall ask..

"He's in there," Kitty replied, motioning toward the van.

Hunter heard quick footsteps, and then the doors to the van opening. It was her. He'd know that perfume anywhere. He felt a pair of small, delicate hands touch his face, turning him to a face up position.

"You're gonna be okay, Rick," he heard her say. His heart filled. She called him by his first name. "You're gonna be okay," he heard her say again. Her hand moved down his arm, in search of wounds or other injuries. Finding none, she sat down in the van and put his head on her lap.

He felt a light kiss on his lips. He knew those lips. "I missed you, Big Guy."

He opened his eyes a fraction. God, his head hurt. He saw a tear-streaked McCall gazing down on him. "Nice shot, McCall."

She laughed softly. And then got serious. "Everyone thought you were dead . . ."

"Well, I'm not."

"I know. I knew you weren't dead. It just took a while to find you."

Hunter coughed. "Well, you found me." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Thanks, partner. I owe you one."

"Partners don't owe, remember?" And then Hunter was rewarded with one of her killer smiles. Life was good.

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

"Are you scared or do you have to go potty?" Hunter asked. His teasing comment was rewarded with a smirk from his icicled partner, doing a wonderful impersonation of Jack Frost. She was freezing, shivering at the foot of the king four-poster bed where he was lying.

Stuck on Bald Mountain together during a snow storm. If they hadn't had a murder case to solve, Hunter would have been patting himself on the back for conjugating such a wonderful scheme to get her alone with him.

"The life and times of Stanislovsky?" she asked. "Since when did you start reading in bed?" she asked skeptically. His penchant for one-night stands with tall blondes seemed to be a constant annoyance for his petite brunette partner.

McCall had inched her way from the foot of the bed to the other side.

"This is the first time, actually. I'm kinda excited about it," Hunter replied earnestly, and succeeded in getting her to smile.

"How did you rate a room like this?" she asked as her dark eyes darted around his master suite.

"In case you didn't notice, Sylvia and I have a rapport."

His comment was lost on her as he watched her eyeing up the bed . . . and him, or so he wanted to believe. His groin tightened at the thought.

"It looks pretty warm in there," she said softly, her voice almost sing-songy.

Hunter grinned as he pulled the covers back on the other side of the bed. "Get in Sergeant, make my night," he teased.

"Go ahead . . . make jokes . . . I'm freezing to death," she retorted as she pulled the covers clear up to her chin. Hunter was wearing only his boxer shorts, but she was wearing pink satin pajamas that covered her from her toes to her neck (damn!) and a cotton robe over top.

The mattress moved in time with her shivering. She scooted next to him where he was sitting in the bed, his back against the headboard. Just a little closer, McCall.

As Hunter's luck would have it, the lights went out, probably from the insurmountable weight of snow that had just landed upon the power lines. He felt her tense up immediately.

"Now what? Are you afraid of the dark, too?" he asked with irritation. He could think of at least 100 other things to do with her in the dark but knew if he shared them with her, it would earn him a slap or a right hook.

"No, I'm not afraid of the dark," she replied. Hunter suddenly detected a sound of real fear in her voice. And then he remembered. She had said a long time ago, after their return from Curaguay, that one thing she had never gotten over since Mariano raped her was her newfound fear of the dark. Was she still having occasional nightmares? Hunter sobered and then put his book on the nightstand. He felt her shiver again as he cursed himself for his insensitivity.

Hunter slid down under the covers until his head rested on the pillow.

"Come here, McCall," he said softly.

Their unspoken reading of the minds occurred again. He felt her slide down beside him, hesitantly, until she was resting on the pillow next to him. She shivered again. Hunter knew she was still cold, but his heart secretly wished that she was shivering from desire instead. No such luck.

He pulled her toward him to share his warmth, and she was way too eager to take it. She laid her head on his chest, the same way she did in Curaguay, as he hugged her shivering body.

"Jesus, McCall, you ARE freezing." Her feet were like ice, and so were her hands, one of which had grazed his chest, sending his skin into a breakout of goosebumps, as she wrapped her arm around him in an effort to get comfortable.

He pulled her even tighter, entwining his legs with hers. He felt her take a deep breath as her body relaxed into his. Ten minutes later, her slow, even breathing signaled that she was asleep, while at the same time, Hunter was wide awake.

If only this could last forever.

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

It was 7 a.m. and Hunter was not pleased. McCall was on loan to vice for the day, which meant he was flying solo until 3 p.m. His partner was also late. Hunter grumbled to himself with growing impatience. He had to be at the precinct by 8, which meant he had to drop off McCall by 7:30, and at this rate, L.A. traffic would get the best of them.

"Let's shake it, McCall!" he bellowed from her living room. She was having a rough time finding the right hooker ensemble, as she put it. It had been a while since she had to go undercover as a prostitute, and it certainly wasn't something she was looking forward to.

"Keep your pants on!" was the reply she gave him.

Hunter looked up toward her loft bedroom and caught his breath as his partner descended the stairs. She was dressed in a black dress, its hem only reaching her mid-thigh section of her legs. The dress was open on the sides, baring her taut midriff. The front was low-cut as well. How could a hooker look beautiful? Hunter just stared.

"It's terrible, isn't it?" she asked after seeing his reaction. "I dunno, Hunter. I think I'm getting too old for this crap."

Hunter swallowed hard. His eyes scanned her perfect body from the top of her dark haired head to the tips of her toes. Her high-heeled shoes were slung over her shoulder.

"McCall, you look fine," Hunter said. The thought of the offers she was going to get on Hollywood Boulevard that day made him frown. "And for God's sake, you're only 31." And he was 41. A constant reminder that he was losing precious time. "Let's go."

She was rather quiet in the car, not saying much.

"What's on your mind?"

She sighed. "I just don't know about this, Hunter. I mean, come on. It really sucks being a woman on this force. You guys don't ever have to do this. I just hate getting ogled all day."

"I ogle you all day. You should be used to it by now," he said with a grin.

He was rewarded with a slap on the shoulder. "Shut up, Hunter." But his comment did make her smile.

"Besides, that's not true. I went undercover as the Slammer, remember? I had plenty of offers that night."

McCall's soft laughter made him feel as if his chest would explode.

"Yeah, I remember. Hey --- do you still have that pink hair?"

Then she hesitated. "I just don't think I have it any more, Hunter."

Women were such a pain in the ass sometimes. "Just get out of the car, McCall, will ya? And quit your bitching and moaning."

McCall did as he instructed and slammed the door of the green sedan. At first, she glared at him, and then Hunter swore he could see her demeanor change in an instant. Suddenly, a glint of mischief sparkled in her eyes.

He watched her walk seductively around the front of the car and come to his side of the car. She leaned into the drivers side window, her elbows resting in the open window, just enough so that he could see partially down the front of her dress. He watched the tip of her tongue slide over her top lip. "Pick me up at 3?" she asked in her best hooker voice.

Hunter's mouth went dry. Before he could answer, she laughed at him and turned around, slinging her duffle bag with her change of clothes and her purse over her shoulder. She still had the power.

"You still got it McCall!" he shouted after her when he found his voice.

"Gee, lucky me!" she responded, looking over her shoulder, giving him a smile and a wink that warmed his heart through the rest of the day.

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

Hunter glanced at his watch. It was 3:30 and McCall was late. Again. Finally, his patience got the best of him.

Someone at vice answered the phone and lo and behold, McCall had just come in with a bust. "This is Sgt. Hunter. Lemme talk to McCall." Hunter's eyes narrowed as the minutes passed who the man who answered the phone tried to find her.

"Hey, what's up?"

"We've got a DB. Are you ready to go with me?"

"Yeah. Let me get changed and I'll be right there."

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

Hunter picked her up 15 minutes later. She was wearing her normal clothes now, looking very professional . . . and tired. She exchanged her stilettos for flats, which meant one thing . . . her feet were killing her and she would be persuading him to give her a foot massage before the end of the day.

"How'd it go?"

He heard her soft sigh. "Great, if you count busting Judge Warrick Unger as a good day."

"Get outta here," Hunter said in disbelief. Only his partner would have such luck. "You mean, the federal judge Warrick Unger?"

"That's the one. I'm serious. I busted him for solicitation. God, he's such a creep," she said. He watched her shiver. "What's going on?"

"Female DB. She was found an hour or so ago. And here we are," Hunter said as he pulled up in front of a small beige stucco house, so common in California, with a nice lawn and flowers planted near the sidewalk. The coroner's wagon was there already, as were a number of black and whites.

He walked into the house after his partner, and watched her stop dead in her tracks when they got to the body. An obvious rape. The victim was naked, lying on her back, her hands tied behind her back with panty hose. Hunter watched McCall as she shook her head, and then in almost an instant, changed from a human being with feelings to a professional police officer. She could turn it off as quickly as she could turn it on.

"I don't think the rapist knows he killed her," Barney, the medical examiner, told them. "She choked to death on her own vomit."

Hunter made a face. He looked out of the corner of his eye and saw McCall wince. She remembered, too.

He and McCall completed their questioning and headed back to the precinct. The size 13 shoe print found in the carpet made their hearts sink. This woman was victim #9. But she was the only one who died in the process.

Their serial rapist had graduated to murder, and their murderer was running loose.

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

Lloyd Fredericks, a.k.a. Bigfoot to the Los Angeles Metro Homicide division. Size 13.5 shoe, over 230 pounds, and a horrible penchant for cheap cologne. Hard work and no play equaled Hunter, McCall, O'Hearn and Navarro with little sleep and very short nerves. They knew the real estate appraiser was their rapist, but were having a damned difficult time nailing him. They needed more evidence, or even better, an eye witness. They had little of the first, and none of the second.

Hunter watched McCall as Navarro teased her. With the commander trying to wipe out her case against Judge Unger, toppled with dealing with a rapist, he was sure that it was tough for his partner. At least someone like Navarro could hopefully chide her enough that she would forget for a while.

"Sgt.McCall," she said as she answered her telephone. Hunter glanced up at her when he heard her tone of voice change. Her eyes widened as she moved her hand wildly in the air, gesturing to Hunter. She wanted the phone call traced.

Hunter tried to hear McCall's end of the conversation while at the same time, figure out where the phone call was coming from. It was to no avail.

"I'd really like to meet you," was the last sentence he heard his partner say before the caller hung up.

"Okay. Run that by me again," Hunter said as he looked at the wild eyes of his partner. His heart dropped as he put the telephone into is receiver.

"Well? Did you get it?" McCall asked.

"Yeah. And he's calling from your house," Hunter told her. He watched as her eyes widened in disbelief. Or was it horror? No time to figure that one out.

Hunter tried to catch glimpses of his partner but couldn't . . . it was too dark. Finally, he reached for her hand, and as he wrapped his over her small one, felt the shaking in her fingers. Christ, how do these things keep happening?

He pulled up in front of the house as Navarro and O'Hearn escaped to the back. The air force was circling overhead, looking for the suspect. Hunter knew it was Fredericks.

And Fredericks was gone. No sign of him anywhere. Hunter gave the house a second look while a startled McCall stood in the center of her living room.

"Do you smell that cologne?" she asked, and not to anyone specifically.

"Yep. And I've smelled it before. That's Bigfoot," O'Hearn chimed in.

They called off the overhead chopper in hopes that they didn't alarm Fredericks. "Maybe he'll be back," Hunter heard himself say. The look in McCall's eyes unnerved him. Fear. Again.

Hunter chased Navarro and O'Hearn out and prepared to settle himself in McCall's house for the long haul. She barely nodded her head in acknowledgement when he offered, or declared, rather, to stay at her house for the night. There was no way that he would leave her alone with a freak like Fredericks on the loose.

He heard her shuffling around in her bedroom as he loosened his tie and took off his shoes, finally stretching her 6'6" frame into her overstuffed sofa. He loved her house . . . so warm and inviting.

"Hunter?" spoke a shaky voice that belonged to his partner.

"What?"

"He's been through my things."

Hunter gazed at McCall, standing on the landing of her staircase, her eyes wide and frightened in her face. He could see the flicker of fear in her body language, screaming for reassurance that it would be okay.

"Go to bed," Hunter replied, his words almost sounding like he was annoyed with her. He watched her ascend the staircase and turn the light off. He laid back down, folding his arms underneath his head, crossing his long legs via his ankles, staring at the ceiling that was flickering from the reflection of McCall's lighted fish tank.

"I'm such an asshole," he thought to himself. He told her to go to bed. That was it. No "It's going to be okay, or, I won't let anything happen to you." What was he thinking? He stood up and made a move toward the staircase. He was going to go to her bedroom, take her in his arms, and tell her that she was safe.

No, he couldn't. First, he'd scare the hell out of her if he went into her bedroom. Second, she told him that she needed her strength and independence back. She wanted to take care of herself.

Hunter returned to his slumber position on McCall's couch. If that was what she wanted, then by all means, he wouldn't stand in her way.

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

They drove to the precinct in silence. She was mad at him. Rightfully so, he admitted to himself. She barely spoke to him in the morning when she woke him up. She was showered and dressed and poked him in the ribs to wake him up. After that, it was silence. He heard her stomping around her house while he dressed, like a spoiled child. Her message was sent loud and clear.

"Lookit, Dee Dee, I'm sorry." She continued to stare out the passenger side window.

Hunter stomped on the brakes and pulled the car over.

"What do I have to do to get back into your good graces?" Her brown eyes glared at him.

"Nothing. Just drive." McCall's words were steely . . . ice cold.

"Fuck it. I'm not going in with you being like this. We either talk it out, or we'll park our asses out here on the freeway."

"Fine."

"Don't 'fine' me. I told you I'm sorry."

"And I heard you. You're sorry. Drive."

Hunter slammed his hands onto the steering wheel. She could be so damned difficult. She won. It wasn't worth sitting out on the highway while the world passed him by going 75 mph. Besides, he had a murder/rapist and a sex-ritual masochist who preyed on teenage hookers to catch. Damn her anyway.

He pulled the car back onto the freeway and found himself driving on automatic pilot. His eyes saw the road and the turnoffs, but his brain only saw last night. The hurt in his partner's eyes when he said, "Go to bed."

Okay, so he was a man. That was an automatic point deduction, he figured. He screwed up, royally. Telling her to go to bed didn't score any extra points, that's for sure. He figured that on a scale from 1 to 10, with ten being perfect, his score was in the minuses somewhere. She reached out for him and he blew it.

He pulled into the parking lot and parked the Dodge, and watched McCall scramble out of the car and head inside. Normally, it was she who would breathlessly chase after his long strides, but today, it was the opposite.

The thump of her purse into the bottom drawer of her desk sent most of their coworkers looking at the couple wide-eyed, and then hastily making themselves look busy. The 'lovers quarrel' that many of their coworkers used to describe Hunter & McCall's rare squabbles looked to be an all-day affair.

Hunter barely managed to sit his ass down before his partner, Navarro and O'Hearn were called in to the conference room. Again. McCall sat across the table from him, refusing to look at him. Hunter looked at her with his best pleading look, and received a look that said "go to hell" instead. This was going to be a while. And it was going to at least cost him dinner and a movie. And a call to the florist.

Next thing he knew, Charlie was pulling the rug out from under them all. It was watch Fredericks or watch McCall.

"Cover Fredericks. I'll change my locks," McCall piped up. Hunter glared at her. Less than 24 hours ago she was scared to death, but now she was letting their argument turn the situation into a personal statement against him.

Hunter protested but his partner cut him off.

"I'll be fine."

That did it. Charlie was pleased, and there was a plan. Hunter was ready to strangle her.

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

"Hunter. Hey, Hunter!" McCall said later that evening. He had been sitting at his desk, thinking of which restaurant she would like the most. He should have been looking at his list of license plates, but his eyes were practically crossed as it was.

"What?"

"Brad and Kitty are going out for dinner and a drink. Wanna go?"

"Oh, be still my heart. We're speaking now?" he asked. Screw her. He wasn't letting her get off that easy.

"Hunter, grow up. Look, your apology is accepted. I'm sorry for dragging this out. Please, come with me?" she asked.

Hunter figured he'd use this to his advantage. He purposely stalled. He watched her eyes soften, and knew that soon enough, she'd be within arm's reach. He wasn't disappointed.

"Come on, Hunter. I don't want to go with them by myself. I'm already named in Brad's damn lawsuit."

"I dunno."

She got closer. "Please?"

"Brad might get upset if I interrupt his threesome."

She began to say something but stopped when his sentence registered in her brain. Her laughter broke the mood, and made him smile. Then her eyes sparkled at him. "Weeeell . . . Brad will be the lucky one then. If you come along, it could be a foursome."

He was back in her good graces. Life, again, was good.

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

"Okay now. I'll get home before you get home. As soon as you get home, you call me. Make sure you check your doors and your windows," Hunter instructed.

She rolled her eyes at him. "Okay."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Twenty minutes later, his phone rang.

"Dial-a-cop."

"Hi, Dial-a-cop. I was just checking to see if you made it home okay."

"Just fine, McCall. I checked all my doors and windows. How about you?"

"Yeah. I checked in with Roswell. Fredericks is still on his perch."

"Good. Get some sleep."

Hunter smiled as he put down the receiver. He could finally rest easy.

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

Hunter looked at his watch twice. He had been waiting in the precinct parking lot for McCall for 20 minutes, and there was still no sign of her. Finally, he got tired of waiting for her and strode into the office.

He was slapped with a demand from Ambrose to attend a briefing on Fredericks. "Navarro, Hunter, McCall, O'Hearn!" the voice yelled. 75% of those summoned were present.

"Where's McCall?" O'Hearn asked. Hunter's brows furrowed in response.

"Late, that's what." He plopped down on his chair as he reached for the phone and dialed her number. It was so unlike her. She answered on the fourth ring.

"Hey, where are you?" he barked.

"I was just gonna call you," she said. "I've been up most of the night . . . I called Dr. Paxton. She said there's some kind of bug going around, and . . . . . I guess I got it," McCall explained. Her voice sounded hesitant, almost distant.

Hunter wasn't quite giving her his fullest attention as he heard Finn yell for them a second time.

"So, any sign of Fredericks?" she asked him.

"Nope. Hey, you don't sound good, do you?" he asked. Whatever. He was needed in the meeting room. "Get better. We'll fill you in tomorrow," he said, hanging up, not even saying goodbye. He had more important things to discuss.

Fredericks was on the loose. Between that guilty SOB, the Judge Warrick Unger situation, and Unger's suspected association with the death of Stacy Tyler, Hunter's head was spinning. Without his partner for the day, it would be double the work on his part.

Now that he thought about it, he was a little annoyed with her. It was highly unlike her to call in sick. She was hardly ever sick - and if she was, she usually worked through it. It took a lot to get her down. He pushed thoughts of his partner aside as he concentrated on the task at hand.

He thought about calling her back, to check on her, but then got sidetracked. He was just too busy. Besides, she'd call him if she needed him.

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

Hunter entered the precinct early the next morning, and McCall's red Daytona was still not in its usual parking space. A brief feeling of guilt fluttered through his brain. He hadn't spoken to her since yesterday morning when she told him she was sick. He would make it up to her later, if she showed up. Maybe offer to take her out to dinner? He'd find a way.

He sighed as he looked at his watch. It was still early. He was on a mission to break Fredericks ---- and by God, he'd do it if it was the last thing he did. He thought about calling her to see if she was coming in, but Fredericks was sitting in the interrogation room, awaiting his questioning.

He strode into the precinct on a one-way trip to the interrogation room. He could smell Fredericks' cheap cologne before he opened the door. The same odor that permeated McCall's house a few nights ago. The same cologne that she could smell on her personal possessions that he had touched when he had trespassed inside her house two nights ago. The same smell that had kept his partner awake all night, in an effort to chase away her own personal demons.

Damn. He should have called or driven by to check on her.

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

Four hours later, unable to break Fredericks, he found McCall in the break room, where she was sipping a cup of water. He looked at her twice. He was reading something in her facial expression, the way she was sitting.

"Welcome back, partner."

Her dark eyes looked at him and she smiled. "Thanks. So, I hear you brought in Fredericks?"

Something was wrong. Her voice was strained. Or something. She must have been really sick, he thought, suddenly concerned. He silently cursed himself again for not checking on her.

"Yeah, we brought him in. But he's not talking."

A shadow of something -- pain maybe? -- flickered on his partner's face. Hunter looked closer. Her eyes looked . . . different. He was sure this whole serial rapist case was getting to her. As much as he knew she tried to hide it, any time there was a case involving rape, it brought back strong memories for her. She never said a word, and her stoic personality usually hid it very well.

The Judge Unger situation was another thing on his partner's mind. She had taken a lot of heat over the bust, including going to IA. Her voice from the stakeout the other night echoed in his brain.

"It's tough enough being a woman on this force let alone being labeled a snitch."

He applauded her for doing the right thing and putting the screws to Commander Cain. There was no love lost there, that was for sure.

And then he thought about Navarro and his divorce situation, naming McCall and O'Hearn in the lawsuit. Yet another mishap to sidetrack his partner. While Hunter thought the situation was quite interesting, to say the least, McCall thought Navarro's wife was bluffing.

"The marriage vows are a distant second to the ones taken between two partnered police officers. I mean, you and I are supposed to die for one another, right?" Hunter told her.

Her dark eyes glittered that night after he said the words to her. She knew it was true. She would -- and so would he. She had put herself out on the line for him numerous times, and he did the same for her.

But he knew her. As much as he knew himself. All of this was getting to be too much for her. It was hard enough for him, between Stacy Tyler and Lloyd Fredericks. It was probably 100 times worse for her. He made a mental note to talk to her more fully later, when they were alone, when he knew he had a better chance of getting her to let her guard down.

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

Hunter was thrilled beyond belief. They finally had a witness. The Chinese man had identified the man suspected of killing Stacy Tyler. Hunter knew, and now could prove, that the man with the scar on his face was one of Judge Unger's henchmen. Hunter dismissed the witness and was practically jumping in his shoes to go to the suspect's place of employment and bust him.

"Let's go get him," he said to McCall, unable to hide his ambitious intentions, the opportunity to bring out Simon for the thrill of the chase. He could feel the adrenaline pushing through his veins.

As he began his leave, fully expecting his partner to follow, he heard a gasp from her, one that made him jerk his head around to see what caused it.

She was 3/4 of the way standing from her previously seated position, her hands gripping the arms of the chair, her knuckles now turning white. Hunter grew alarmed as he watched her slowly release her grip and slowly sink her body back into its originally seated position.

"Are you okay?" he asked with growing concern as he kneeled down in front of her. Her head was bent down, and he couldn't see her eyes. Her eyes were the windows to her soul, and she wasn't going to let him in. She wouldn't look at him.

He heard her take a shallow breath. "Yeah, I, uh, just got up too fast," McCall explained. Her voice was shaky, almost in a whisper.

"Well, that's because you're still sick," Hunter said. Again, he chastised himself for not paying more attention to her. He would make amends right away. "You stay here and rest."

Immediately, she tried to object. "No, I think I should go with you," she responded. Far be it from McCall to leave her partner without backup. He was her priority.

"No, I think you should stay here. If I need you I'll call you."

She gave in. Almost too easily, Hunter thought to himself. He was getting a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. McCall may be small in stature but she had a heart as big as Mt. Everest and a strength within her that equaled or exceeded any man's. Something was up. He would find out what it was.

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

Hunter chewed his last piece of sugarless gum on his way back to the precinct. He was dead tired, but he didn't mind getting back so late. McCall's Daytona was gone from its familiar space, and he didn't really expect her to wait for him. She had been busy while he was gone, busting Fredericks out of the county jail.

He was sure that she wasn't happy about the DA rejecting the case. Goddamn district attorneys. Hunter hated them all. But alas, it had happened before. They'd just have to work a little harder to get him to make a mistake.

Kitty O'Hearn was typing away busily. She flirted with Hunter for a minute, to which he gave his famous grin before he was interrupted by his phone ringing.

"Hunter," he announced.

"This is Dr. Paxton. I'm worried about Dee Dee." The toothpick Hunter was chewing on fell out of his mouth. He had only met this Paxton woman once, but knew she and McCall were very good friends. She sounded scared.

"What's up?"

"I tried calling her twice and there was no answer. I tried a third time and I got a busy signal. I called the phone company and they said her phone was off the hook."

"Well, maybe she wanted some privacy. She's done that before," Hunter countered. Yeah, she had done it many times before . . . usually when she and Hunter got into one of their rare arguments and she didn't want to talk to him. Or refused to talk to him until he came groveling to her doorstep. She sure knew how to push his buttons.

"No, that's not it. I know that's not it."

"Then what is it?" he asked. He was suddenly more than concerned. For Dr. Paxton to call him regarding McCall's welfare was a breach of doctor/patient confidentiality. Friendship or not. He heard the woman hesitate, and then the hair on the back of his neck stood straight up when she said the words.

"Dee Dee was beaten and nearly raped less than 48 hours ago . . . by the man you have under surveillance."

Hunter hung up the phone and barked orders at Kitty to call Fredericks' wife. God Almighty. She said she was sick. That was all.

Damn her. She didn't tell him. She lied to him. Hunter slowly put two and two together, getting 4, and cursed her the whole way to her house at Mesden Drive. He reflected on Charlie telling him that McCall was the one who kicked Fredericks loose earlier that afternoon. Fuck it --- she had a plan, Hunter thought. Why didn't she tell him?

She wanted to make Fredericks pay. It was now personal for her.

He knew McCall. She was gonna kill the bastard. If she hadn't done it to herself in the process.

And his head was so goddamn buried in the sand that he hadn't seen her pain. The real pain.

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

The lights were on at McCall's house. Her Daytona was parked in its usual spot. Hunter brought the green sedan to a screeching halt and pulled Simon from his holster. Images of doing the same thing two years ago when he and Simon found her on the floor of her bedroom floated through his brain like an old horror movie.

He pushed the door open and clicked Simon's safety off. He saw her, facing away from him, seated on one of her overstuffed chairs. Slowly, her dark head turned at the sound of the intrusion. Relief. She was okay.

She didn't even look surprised to see him, Hunter thought.

He inched his way closer to her and then clicked Simon's safety back on. Her silver .38 was lying on the couch beside her. In front of her, on her floor, lay the 250-pound, size 13.5 shoe-wearing Lloyd Fredericks. He was handcuffed in such a way that he couldn't move.

Hunter found himself staring into the dark eyes of his partner. They were full of pain and remorse.

"I wanted to kill him. I intended to kill him."

He couldn't believe that these words were even coming out of McCall's mouth. This was not his partner -- the woman who had the ability to kill a man with a single shot, and in her history as a police officer, never, ever, emptied her clip at one time. This was the same woman who on the occasions when she had to kill someone to save the life of another, cried afterward, when she thought Hunter didn't see her, being given no other choice than to take another life.

"But I couldn't . . ." This was the the McCall he knew.

Her eyes met his again, as the torrent of tears began to fall.

"I couldn't tell you."

He held her small hand in his as she broke down, leaning her head against him. He sat down on the edge of the sofa and let her cry, not saying a word. There was nothing he could really say. Except that he was sorry.

He should have been there for her. He should have been on Frederick's back 24 hours a day until they got him. He let her down. He was supposed to protect her.

Hunter knew backup was on its way, so he ushered McCall upstairs to her bedroom. He didn't want anyone to see her like this. She did his bidding like a frightened child . . . her dark eyes now huge in her small face. "Let's get you dressed before they get here," he suggested, and his heart broke as she only nodded her head in agreement. "We're gonna have to go to the precinct together to book him."

He helped her remove her robe, and then he watched as she removed the sweatshirt and sweatpants she was wearing underneath. He caught his breath when he saw her body. Although he would have been pleased beyond belief to see his partner standing semi-naked in her bra and underwear in front of him, this was not a scene he had ever wanted to see.

She was covered with bruises in a rainbow of colors from her neck to her mid thighs. Hot tears burned his eyelids as he realized how much pain she had to be in.

She just looked at him blankly as she slowly put her clothes on. The pain must be horrible for her. Hunter still couldn't fathom that all of this had happened, and he hadn't known about it. And she wouldn't talk to him.

How did she fight him off? A slightly more than 100-pound woman vs. a 230+ pound man didn't equal McCall as the winner. She must have fought him with every ounce of strength she had. Hunter had heard of super-human things happening to people in moments of extreme duress, when the adrenaline overpowered every other part of the body . . . people who lifted cars off of others or who fought grizzly bears with their bare hands. It must have happened to McCall.

"Get dressed. I'm going downstairs. Did you read him his rights?"

She shook her head, no.

And then suddenly, it hit him.

Wait a minute . . . he hadn't known about it. The reality of his words finally registered. She didn't report the attempt. She failed to report a felony. Now this was going to be a problem.

Hunter watched Fredericks flinch as he Mirandized him. "Get up, slime ball," Hunter said as helped pull Fredericks to his feet. Two uniforms stood there at the ready, waiting to escort Fredericks to the squad car.

McCall's footsteps into the room got Fredericks' attention. He looked at her lecherously.

"Get him outta here," Hunter said with disgust as he pushed Fredericks toward the uniforms.

Hunter slammed her front door shut and looked at his stunned partner. Dressed in work attire, one would never know that she had been brutally attacked less than 48 hours ago.

McCall just stared.

"Come here," Hunter said to her, opening his arms. A man of action, not words, he knew that the only thing he could offer that would be of any help was his embrace. And she took it willingly.

He led her to the couch and forced her to look at him.

"We have to get to the precint. But before we go, I need to know what happened. It's the only way I can help you."

"You can't help me, Hunter. I'm done. Finished."

"No you're not. Listen to me . . . what happened?" His eyes searched hers for cooperation. She sighed, not wanting to relive the nightmare yet again.

"When I got off the phone with you the other night, I was headed upstairs. Halfway up, I smelled it." Damn. The cologne.

"I looked up, and he . . . he was . . . just there." Her faraway look tore his heart out.

"He jumped on me and we fell down the stairs. He held me down, and I just kept . . . fighting him. He was so big," she recalled. She looked at him as her voice began to whisper. "Hunter, it almost happened again. He managed to get my clothes off, and just as he was going to . . ." she hesitated. He knew what had almost happened. He could feel the bile rise to the back of his throat as he pictured the scene in his head.

"I heard a siren. I thought maybe it was you, or backup, or something.

Dammit, Hunter wished it had been him.

"He must have heard it, too, because he jumped off me and ran. He just took off . . ."

"I called Beth, and she came to get me." Her hands were shaking, even though Hunter's large ones were holding them tightly. "I'm so sorry, Hunter. I just couldn't tell you. I just couldn't." He knew why. He didn't think she could tell him, either.

"Are you ready to go?"

She nodded her head. "Hunter, you can't save me. I didn't see his face. I know it was him, but I couldn't see his face. I had nothing new to put into the report. I could NOT go through that again and not be able to put him away. I just couldn't."

"We're gonna figure something out. You're going to be okay. Remember, you go, I go, right?"

She shook her head at him, trying to make him understand. "Hunter, they are going to throw the book at me."

"No they're not. I won't let them."

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

Hunter swore it was situations like these that made his hair turn grayer and thinner. McCall didn't say a word on the way to the precinct, as if she were in a state of shock. It unnverved him, to say the least, to know that she broke one of the cardinal rules of police work. She didn't report a felony. His McCall, the one who had kept him out of trouble for the past four years by making sure he followed the rules -- well . . . . as much as she could, anyway.

The fact that she hadn't trusted him enough to tell him didn't make him mad, it just hurt his feelings. Her sense of pride and independence got in the way.

He peeked at her through the mini-blinds of Charlie's office. She was holding up the wall on the other side of the room. No one else knew what had really happened. All they knew was that Fredericks broke into her house and she arrested him. End of story.

If it only was, Hunter mused. The story was now a tangled web.

"Do you realize I'm gonna have to ask for McCall's badge?" Devane asked, snapping Hunter out of his musings.

"No you're not. She was beaten and nearly raped nearly 48 hours ago," Hunter countered. "That has to count for something."

"Did I hear you correctly? She's willing to make a full statement?" Devane asked incredulously. Hunter noticed that Devane's supply of Mylanta had been brought out from under the desk and was now sitting in a neat row on top of it.

"She's willing to make a statement about the attack. But she's not 100% sure that it was Fredericks who tried to rape her."

Charlie's hands ran through his Irish-red hair as he paced back and forth. It sure was lonely at the top.

"Hunter, she is a cop who failed to report a felony."

"I know that Charlie."

"No matter what the circumstances, we can't protect her. She is through!"

Hunter knew Devane was only doing his job. But so was he. He took an oath to protect and serve, and by God, without McCall by his side, he wouldn't be able to do it.

"I won't do this job without you. If you go, I go." McCall's words from some of their conversations about their partnership echoed in his brain.

He glanced out the blinds again. McCall was still holding up the wall, staring at a cup of coffee.

Hunter turned and put on his most determined face. "We gotta talk about this, Charlie." And with that statement, he closed the blinds and sat down on a chair.

"I know you care about her, Hunter. But we have to face the facts."

"You have no idea how much I care about her. It goes way beyond caring, Charlie."

Charlie looked at Hunter as a moment of truth shadowed his face, and then shook his head. "Dammit, Hunter, please don't tell me that you're sleeping with her."

"Only a few times, but we only slept. No sex." Hunter grinned at Devane. "Not for a lack of trying, however." Nothing like trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Hunter then sobered. "Charlie, I'm gonna be honest here. I can't let this happen to her."

"Hunter, she a cop who failed to report a felony! We cannot protect her!"

"You've already said that, and yes we can, if we put our heads together." The situation was looking more and more grim.

Their conversation came to an abrupt halt when a shot rang out. Both men pulled out their guns and burst through the office door toward the sound of the shot, finding a scene that Hunter would remember for the rest of his life.

Lloyd Fredericks, crumpled on the floor, Brad Navarro standing over his lifeless body. The muffled cry of Fredericks' wife, gripping Kitty O'Hearn's pistol, being held down by Ambrose Finn. And then there was McCall, her dark eyes round with disbelief, watching as Hunter and Brad checked for signs of life.

Fredericks was dead.

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

Hunter couldn't tell if she was upset that he was dead or upset that he wouldn't be brought to trial. Fredericks dying was not something any of them had taken into possible consideration.

Hunter pulled her aside, away from the commotion. Now that Fredericks was dead, they would need to regroup.

Wait a minute. Fredericks was dead. A brilliant idea came to him. Yeah, this would work. Definitely.

He took McCall aside and spoke to her, away from the rest. "Go home," Hunter ordered. He searched McCall's dark eyes for recognition. She was still stunned by the sudden turn of events.

"Hunter, I can't. I don't have a car, and besides, I'll probably have to hand over my badge any minute," McCall said with remorse.

"Will you just shut up and listen to me?" Her mouth opened and then closed again. "Brad is gonna take you home. Come in tomorrow morning like always. I have a plan."

"Hunter . . . ."

"Why is it that you can't keep your mouth shut? Just do it, will ya?"

She resigned herself to do as he asked. She gave him one final glare and grabbed her purse. Hunter watched her leave with Navarro until she was no longer in his sight. The ME had just left with Fredericks in a body bag, and Kitty was working on the report. There was still time.

Hunter strode into Charlie's office and slammed the door.

"Charlie, I know how we can fix this."

"Hunter, you're not gonna change my mind. I'm sorry, but there is no way I can overlook this. Believe me, if there was a way, I would. I hate to see her go, too. Believe it or not, she is my favorite. McCall is like a daughter to me."

"Charlie, sit your ass down and shut up. What is it with you and McCall tonight that you won't listen?"

Hunter threw a bottle of Mylanta to Devane after the man sat down on the couch in his office. "Just relax. Now," Hunter said, drawing out a pause for effect, "you haven't actually spoken to McCall about what happened, right?"

"Right."

"No one knows what really happened except me, you, McCall and Fredericks, right?"

"Right."

"Fredericks is dead. If McCall hasn't actually reported the incident, and Fredericks can't say anything now that he's on his one-way ticket to hell, what purpose would it serve?"

Devane looked at him incredulously and shook his head. "I see where you're going with this, Hunter."

"Come on, Charlie. You know her history. She was beaten within an inch of her life and almost raped less than 2 days ago. She's lucky she's not dead." After the words were spoken, unfamiliar tears came to his eyes.

"She wasn't thinking clearly, Charlie. Yeah, she's a cop . . . but I know my partner. She freaked. Understandably. Can't we just forget that this happened?"

Hunter watched Devane's jaw move back and forth with his thoughts. "I dunno Hunter. Do you think she'll be okay? I don't want to take the chance that she's gonna blow away every man charged with rape on the streets of Los Angeles. I'd never be able to explain overlooking this if it got out."

Hunter glared at him. "Oh, bullshit. You know her better than that. McCall had every opportunity to kill him in an instant and she didn't. She knew it was wrong. She put her job on the line instead of killing that son-of-a-bitch herself."

"You really care about her don't you?"

"That has already been determined, Charlie."

"Do you love her?"

"Desperately."

"Is it mutual?"

Hunter thought a moment. And then he grinned. "Yeah. She just doesn't know it yet."

Devane sighed. Hunter knew he had him on the edge of a very big decision. Now he was going to push him onto the favorable edge.

"Put it this way, Charlie. McCall and I have a pact. She goes, I go. If I go, she goes. You lose one of us, you lose us both. It's your decision."

"You know what, Hunter? I'm really getting sick of you screwing me over. Okay. She stays. But you better make it crystal clear to her that I want her to pull it together. I need her."

"Oh, I'm not gonna tell her. You are."

"What?"

"She'll never forgive me if she knew it was my idea. You gotta tell her yourself. She needs to know that you believe in her."

Hunter grinned as Charlie reached for the second bottle of Mylanta. "All right. Tell her I want to see her at 8 a.m. sharp."

"Thanks."

"No. I should be thanking you. You forced me to make the decision I wanted to make in the first place."

There was justice for all.

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

It had been 8 weeks since Fredericks violated his partner, both physically and mentally. While McCall put on a brave front, Hunter remained worried. She had insisted on working instead of taking time off like Charlie had suggested, which Hunter had supported. Now, Hunter wasn't so sure that she had made a wise choice.

She was quiet, moody, and downright depressed. Hunter was surprised she was doing as well as she was, though. Her ribs were still sore, but had, for the most part, healed. The bruises on her body were gone, and the headaches she had been having were not as frequent. Her eyes, however, looked tired. Dark circles under them proved to him that sleep no longer came easy to her.

Quantico, Virginia. A place that would possibly help her. She had been chosen to attend FBI training there and was leaving tomorrow - for six weeks. Hunter encouraged her to go. She needed to get away, and he needed for her to be away. He was tired of worrying about her. Perhaps the green, rolling hills of Virginia and focusing on something other than the LAPD would do her some good.

He glanced across the desk at his partner, who was staring at a report in front of her. She had been staring at the same page for the last 15 minutes, while she absently rubbed her index finger against her temple. Her coffee remained untouched, her soulful eyes aching with something that Hunter couldn't put his finger on.

Hunter's eyebrows narrowed. She had been eerily quiet all day. More than usual. Basically other than answering his few questions, had nothing more to say.

He gazed at her beautiful face from where he sat, and saw a sadness that he couldn't ignore. What was going on?

"Let's go McCall," he finally said to her. He watched her raise her head with a questioning look in her eyes.

"Where are we going?"

"Out," he replied, pointing his index finger toward the parking lot.

He pulled her chair out for her and thrust her purse in her hands, then put his hand on the usual place on the small of her back as he pushed her toward the exit. She got into the car and looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

He drove to a quiet park in one of his favorite neighborhoods and parked the car. "Let's go for a walk," he said, although it was more of an order, not a request.

They walked silently and after a few minutes, came to his favorite spot. The same park bench where they talked about her adopting "Baby Girl McCall" almost a year ago. "I like you," he had told her before kissing her forehead. He smiled at the memory.

If he had had the balls, he would have said "I love you," instead.

This was a place where he knew she would let him in to her thoughts. Hmmmm. At least he hoped she would let him in.

"So, what's up?" he asked.

He saw her take a deep breath as tears welled up in her eyes. He knew it---there was indeed something wrong. She would open up to him.

"You're gonna think I'm nuts," she said.

"Hmph. I already know you are. Try me." His response made a smile appear on her lips.

"I just . . . I miss . . ." she began, trying to find the right words. "Today is my wedding anniversary," she blurted out.

Hunter sobered. Here he was, thinking she was nuts over Fredericks, but what was really wrong was that she missed Steve on what was probably the very best day of her life, five years ago.

"Yeah, I know you miss him." He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze as he rested his arm on the back of the bench, around her shoulders. Suddenly, he had a brilliant idea.

"Tell ya what. How about you and me - tonight - get all dressed up - and we'll go celebrate."

Her tears stopped briefly as she looked at him as if he had three heads. "What?"

"Tonight. You and me. Go home, get dressed up -- and I mean really dressed up -- and we'll go out to your favorite restaurant - on me." Hunter thought a minute as he grinned at her. "Steve liked Italian food, right?"

She only nodded, her dark eyes wide. "Really? You're -- gonna take me out to dinner?" Her voice almost sounded as if she didn't believe him, or expected an alterior motive. McCall was so rightfully skeptical, except this time -- his intentions were purely honorable.

"Yeah. Besides, you're leaving tomorrow. Think of all the money I'll save on lunch and dinner while you're gone."

"Give me a break. I think you've got it the other way around."

"Pick you up at 6?"

"Okay. Six. And Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

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

Stunningly beautiful. There were no other words to describe her. She was a vision in ivory, a color that Hunter would have thought would have washed out her porcelain skin, but it did exactly the opposite. The color set off her beautiful eyes and dark hair, which she put up, making her look even more elegant.

He sat mesmerized in the restaurant as he let her talk about Steve, their wedding day, and other fond memories. Her movements were soft and flowing. Maybe she had too much wine, maybe she was feeling better, he didn't know, and frankly, he didn't care. All he wanted was to see her smile again.

They talked about her upcoming trip, and she confided to him that yes, she indeed needed to get away. She had to get Fredericks and everything else out of her head. Everything was a constant reminder, she said.

"I'll miss you," she said softly. Her brown eyes, again the windows to her soul, looked directly into his. This was a statement that he was unprepared to hear out loud.

"I'll miss you, too," Hunter responded, as he reached for her hand across the table. "I'll have to stay out of trouble while you're gone."

"You better. I don't want to come back and find out I have a new partner because you've been suspended or something," McCall said with a laugh. It was a real, genuine laugh, one that he hadn't heard in a while.

She was lightening up. There was a sparkle in her eyes again. His mission had been successful.

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

Hunter watched McCall check her watch as he walked her to her doorstep. It was going on 11 p.m. They had talked for hours, in a quiet corner of the restaurant.

"Do you want to come in for coffee?" McCall asked. "It's still early."

"Sure," Hunter said. He felt a rush of something, adrenaline maybe, go through him. He leaned against her kitchen counter, watching as she made the coffee, while they carried on a casual conversation. He asked her what time her flight was, and then offered to drive her to LAX. He also promised to check on her house, water her plants, and feed her fish. What a friend.

Hands in his pockets, Hunter wandered around her house. Pictures of family and friends adorned her shelves. It dawned on him that he knew almost all of the faces in the pictures. He and McCall were so involved in each other's lives that he felt as if the people in the photos also belonged to him.

The wedding picture. She had moved it over the years. The photo that used to be the center of what existed as her widowed universe had now shifted. It was still there, but was now put aside with other photos that perhaps didn't measure up in importance. His eyes misted over at the photo, his former best friend and current best friend, joined in holy matrimony. She had worn a traditional white wedding gown, and looked blissfully happy. They had made a beautiful couple, both of them with their dark hair and dark eyes.

Hunter's eyes traveled to where the wedding picture used to be, on top of her piano. A photo of Hunter and McCall taken two years ago was in its place. A slow smile spread over his face.

She returned with two cups of coffee, and Hunter could no longer keep himself in check. She had been his partner and best friend for over three full years, and they were currently working on number 4. They had a relationship that was closer than most marriages. He could tell her things that no one else knew. He had seen her in the best and worst times of her life. She had also seen him at his best and his worst. They had no secrets. They told no lies. He loved her.

He was in love with her.

And he could swear that she was feeling the same thing. There was something going on tonight, almost electric.

She stopped in front of him, and when he reached out to take the coffee she offered, and instead of drinking it, he sat it down on the table. He answered her questioning eyes when he took her coffee out of her hands as well, sitting it beside his.

She didn't say a word. She didn't have to, and neither did he. He moved closer to her, and heard her take in a shallow breath. He cupped her face with his large hands as he leaned in to kiss her. His lips met hers gently. She didn't pull away. She didn't stop him.

For a fleeting second, he was sure that she would slap him or push him away. He pulled back from the kiss, gauging her response. He saw desire in her eyes.

Then she did something that he never thought she would do. She came toward him. She wanted him. She stepped forward and brought her mouth to his, opening it to receive his kiss.

Kissing her was a small piece of heaven, Hunter thought, as he tentatively explored her mouth with his tongue. Her response overwhelmed him as shivers of delight went down his spine. It was gonna happen. He knew it.

He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her slight body into his arms, not breaking the kiss for even one second. He heard her sigh as the kiss deepened.

He carried her to her bedroom, setting her down gently on her feet in front of the bed. Her small hands reached up and began to untie his necktie. His hands met hers as he looked deeply into her eyes. Sanity, the voice of reason, suddenly gripped his brain cells.

"Dee Dee, are you sure you want this? I mean, all you have to do is tell me to stop, and I will . . ." Hunter said, sure that she would change her mind.

A dazzling smile met him instead, as she pulled her hands away from him. She reached behind her back and unzipped her dress, where it easily slipped off her shoulders into a pile of ivory silk around her feet. She reached behind her head, loosening the hair clip, letting her hair loose. She shook her head, and her dark hair flowed down over her shoulders in a mass of soft brunette curls.

Hunter didn't need one more affirmative move from her. Her small, nimble hands helped him undress, and in just minutes, they stood before each other in only their underwear.

She took one step closer to him, and he could feel her breath on his chest as she wrapped her arms around him, her fingers lightly caressing the skin on his back. He met her lips for a deep kiss, gently lowering her to the bed, where he stretched his body over hers.

It was going to be so difficult to take his time, Hunter thought, as his mind told him to go slow, while his body was acting like an imminent train wreck. It was going faster and faster, out of control.

In just seconds, they were completely naked, and Hunter luxuriated in the sweet caress of her hands on his body, and his on hers. He memorized every inch of her body.

There was no way he could wait any longer. He knelt above her and looked into her open eyes. Before he could say one word, her sweet voice echoed in his ears. "Make love to me, Rick. Please . . ." she breathed.

"You don't even have to ask," he whispered back to her. He claimed her lips with his as they joined together, a sweet harmony that he had known with no other. She was like a combination of silk and satin, so soft, so sweet.

He felt her wrap her legs around him, which spurred him on to the finish. He laced his fingers with hers as he drew her hands upward toward her head.

He had never dreamed that she would be so responsive, so passionate, and even more beautiful than he had ever imagined.

Hunter claimed her lips once more, delving into her depths as he felt her tighten around him. The train finally arrived at the station, and he spilled inside her with a powerful force. She eventually became limp in his arms, sated with the pleasure they had shared. Careful of her still-injured ribs, he rolled to his side, taking her with him.

She opened her eyes and looked at him, and he realized she had tears in her eyes. He wiped a stray tear from her cheek and asked, "What's wrong? Are you okay?" He would never forgive himself if he had hurt her.

He was rewarded with the McCall smile he knew and loved so much. "It's nothing," she said. "I'm okay." And then her face erupted with a grin. "Beauty just does that to me."

He pulled her into his embrace and smiled as she snuggled up into his arms. He was sure that this, indeed, was the true meaning of love.

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

Hunter stared at the ceiling. McCall remained in his arms, sleeping quietly, her dark hair soft against his bare chest. It was 5 a.m., and Hunter had slept on and off throughout the night. He tried to sleep, but couldn't. His lack of sleep was getting the best of him.

Will she hate me when she wakes up? Should I tell her I love her? What if she regrets this? Did I take advantage of her? He tried to justify and rationalize . . . "I know she loves me, but I'm not going to say anything yet. I'll wait 'til she gets back from Virginia. She's a grown woman. She could have said no if she hadn't wanted this . . ."

Hunter's jumbled thoughts were interrupted by the feeling of McCall's fingers playing with his minimal chest hair.

"Why aren't you asleep?" she asked him, her voice still raw with sleep.

"Too busy thinking," he said to her, suddenly feeling at ease when he saw the smile on her face. She propped herself up and leaned over to kiss him.

He snaked his arms around her still-naked body, and felt the stirrings of desire rise within him. She must have felt it, too, because the next thing he knew, she was straddling his body, leading him on in another round of love-making.

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

Hunter watched the plumes of smoke behind Flight 261 to Dulles as it soared off the runway. Standing with his legs apart, his arms crossed over his chest, he felt as if his heart had just been ripped away. How would he manage for six weeks without her?

They said few words this morning. A comfortable silence had settled between them. The circles under her eyes were gone, and a dazzling smile greeted him when he woke her up for breakfast. He took care of some things around her house while she finished packing for her trip, and held her hand on the way in to the airport.

She waited until the very last minute to board the aircraft, finally turning toward him.

"I'll miss you," she said to him again for the second time in 24 hours.

Hunter echoed her reply. She stepped toward him and put her arms around his waist under his jacket, gently caressing his back. He bent his head and kissed her once more, first chastely, with the second not-so-chaste.

"Don't forget me," she ordered.

"How would that even be possible?" Hunter teased. "Besides, I have to solve the D'Angelo case while you're gone, all by myself," he pouted. "Have a safe trip. Call me when you get settled, okay?"

She nodded her head and reached for his hand. He kissed her again quickly and then ushered her toward the gate.

Now, she was gone. Six weeks without her would be pure torture.

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

Hunter did the math quickly in his head. If he had a dime for every time he tried to figure out the female race, he would be a rich man. McCall's phone calls from Virginia the past weeks disturbed him. She told him about her uneventful flight, how the humid Virginia weather was curling her hair, and that she was learning a lot.

He was stumped. She said absolutely nothing about the night before she left. Thoughts full of doubt began to race through his head. Did she regret it? Did it not mean as much to her as it did to him? His heart fell at the thought.

Hunter decided not to bring up the issue. If she wanted to talk about it, she certainly would. This woman, who could successfully produce, direct and star in her own talk show, would certainly open up to him.

"How's the D'Angelo case coming?" she asked him.

"It's not."

"That good, huh? Charlie hasn't taken it from you yet?"

"No. Not yet. He stuck me with an officer Malone from robbery who has been working on this case as well. We'll meet up tomorrow."

"Good luck."

"Thanks. See you in 3 weeks."

Their conversations involved work and everything else except what happened between the two of them. There were not enough toothpicks in the city of Los Angeles for Hunter to chew on to help him try to figure her out.

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

Yet again, Hunter was in the doghouse. The D'Angelo case was about to bust wide open, but unfortunately, so was his partner's temper when he'd tell her that she would have to fend for herself for a ride from LAX. Her plane was due in any time and he anxiously awaited her telephone call. She would have to take a taxi, and he knew she would not be pleased. Her hatred of cabs and cab drivers, citing "you never know who or what has been in the back seat" was one of her obsessive tendencies that he so loved.

In the meantime, his temporary partner, Megan Malone, was enough to drive him insane. Self-righteous as all hell, the tall, blonde sergeant was bound and determined to crucify D'Angelo and his partner Glazer. However, he was sure McCall would be pleased to see the progress they had made on the case. They were close to nailing him.

Damnation. He really wanted to be there when she got off the plane. He had romantic musings about the scene for weeks . . . him standing at the gate with an armful of red roses and McCall running at full speed into his arms, greeting him with the sweetest kiss ever. His groin tightened at the thought. But his fantasies were just that . . . fantasies. She had not spoken one word of their tryst in the six weeks that she was in Virginia. And he would be damned if he was going to bring it up first.

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

He detected her presence in the room before he heard her light footsteps. He knew that perfume anywhere. Hunter looked up from where he sat and saw her silhouette in the doorway of the precinct. God, he missed her. He wanted to push over the chair and hurdle all other obstacles in the way of embracing her. But Megan was there, sitting at McCall's desk, and he knew McCall would kill him if he acted unprofessionally in front of another cop.

Slam! The briefcase bouncing off McCall's desk was the first dead giveaway.

Uh-oh. Her voice was terse, her actions hard, and her expression . . . hmmmmm . . . thoroughly pissed off? He should have picked her up. Dammit, if it wasn't for the case at hand, he would have been there will bells on.

She offered to tag along on the case. It was bad enough having that self-righteous bitch Megan Malone on his ass, let alone have a pissed off McCall as a bonus. "Just rest, relax. You had a long trip. Megan and I'll handle it," he told McCall. She looked hurt. What the hell was her problem, anyway?

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

It was after midnight. She'd be mad as hell, but that's okay. She certainly woke him out of a dead sleep more than once, so all was fair play. He rang her doorbell once, twice, and a third time. There was always the key, but he knew that it would only dig the hole he was in much deeper. Thanks to McCall's superb instincts and her override of that bitch on wheels, Megan Malone, McCall sent Hunter in after Glazer, whom he found with a light cord wrapped around his neck, with D'Angelo on the tying end.

The bust was gratifying. But he and McCall were polar opposites at this point. The uncomfortable silence between them was killing him. Finally, Malone was out of his hair, or what was left of it at that point, and he could think. Clearly.

The click of her door lock brought his attention forward. A sleepy McCall stood before him in a short satin nightgown and matching robe that came to just above her knees, unfortunately for him, setting off every feminine curve of her body. He swallowed hard.

"Hunter? What the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

"Gonna let me in?"

She didn't answer him, except to stand aside and motion him in with her arm.

"Lookit. I'm sorry about not picking you up at the airport. I couldn't get away."

He swore her eyes turned even darker as he stood there in their depths.

She looked down at the floor and shuffled her feet. "It's okay. I know you were busy . . with the case and all."

"Some bust today, huh?" He smiled. Hunter knew she would be glad to have the D'Angelo case off of her desk.

"Yeah. Sure was something. Hunter, couldn't this have waited 'til tomorrow?" Hunter watched her lick her lips nervously.

"I guess so. Are you okay?" He was hoping that perhaps she would bring it up.

"I'm fine." Her standard answer. "Just tired. Jet lag, I think."

"So, we never really had a chance to talk. How was Quantico?"

She smiled at him through a severe yawn. "Great. It was really very interesting." Her stories of Quantico brought a light to her eyes. After an hour of storytelling, they were talking like they used to. Still, no mention of what happened six weeks earlier, but at least their banter was friendly and upbeat.

"Well, I'm sorry I barged in," Hunter told her. It was going on 2 a.m. "I just missed you, that's all. I wanted to catch up."

"No problem. Now go home and get some sleep," she ordered.

He turned and watched her gaze as she leaned against the door frame. "Hunter?"

"Yeah?"

"You don't want a blonde partner, do you?" she asked, a smirk on her face.

He chuckled and shook his head. His gestured response was good enough of an answer for her. She waved her fingers at him and closed the door.

He stood on her stoop as he heard the lock click behind him. If the best he could hope for was remaining partners, then he would have to accept it. The Dodge seemed to drive itself back to his house, as his thoughts wandered. He could still feel every soft inch of her body, her shape firmly memorized in his brain. He thought it had mean so much more to her. It obviously hadn't.

He swore then and there that it wouldn't happen again. He would pretend it hadn't happened. She needed him in a moment of weakness, he figured. It sucked.

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

The sound of beat cops rifling through garbage cans like the city's best specimen of homeless winos entered Hunter's brain. Three hours of searching had yielded no weapon. McCall's irritated voice carried over the scene, getting more high-pitched with every word. His brows furrowing, Hunter encouraged the city's finest to keep searching. It would come up, he was sure.

Donned in Levi's and Nike sneakers, her hands resting on her slim hips, McCall was quickly becoming incensed. She swore up and down that the guy she shot had a gun. Hunter believed her. She had chased the perp from the second she spied him breaking into the jewelry store.

His craggy face broke into a smile. The city's newest policy of partners not working on the same cases had edged them further apart. But he remembered her sweet voice talking to him over the radio on the fifth night of stakeout before she spied the two men they were earnestly searching for. How many times had he been in a car with her in the middle of the night, just sitting, dreaming, hoping? How many times had he wanted to . . . no . . . he wouldn't go there. He promised himself. His smile immediately turned upside down.

McCall's quick feet had kept the perp in her line of sight the entire time during her foot pursuit. He remembered how his heart had thudded wildly in his chest when he heard the gunshots. One-two-three-four-five-six-seven. It wasn't her 9 mm. semi-automatic that he heard, either. She never emptied her clip, so he knew she was the shootee, not the shooter. And then he heard it . . . BAM! . . . his partner's single-shot had eased his mind. Not only was she okay, but she nailed whoever was shooting at her with one shot.

But suddenly, there was no weapon. The guy shooting at her was wearing a jacket. The guy they found bleeding from the chest on an old mattress didn't have a jacket or a gun. Fuck. Her manicured eyebrows met in the center of her forehead as she explained the situation for the millionth time over the course of the morning.

Hunter watched her absently rub her stomach. She had been bitching into the radio at 3 a.m. that she was hungry . . . already fighting with him as to where they were going for breakfast and whose turn it was to buy. It was now going on 10 a.m., the heat of the sun burning through the Los Angeles ozone which was again rated in the red, and he knew she was not only starving but also hot and tired.

The team hammering her with questions finally left her, and Hunter seized the opportunity to use that moment to comfort his now enraged partner. "Don't worry. It'll turn up." He felt her arm slide around his waist as she hugged him, and he returned the gesture.

"I'm going to go to the hospital. I wanna be there when he wakes up," she informed him.

So much for breakfast.

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

Hunter watched McCall's slumped posture as she sat at her desk. His partner was on suspension until IA finished trying to clear her of a shooting gone wrong, in their terms. He knew and she knew that Roberts was indeed the guy who emptied his clip while trying to get away from her a few nights ago.

"I know I shot the right guy," she said over and over.

"Sitting at this desk is making me crazy," she said. She hated desk duty --- it was a slow and painful death for her.

"Yeah, I know ---- I've been there," Hunter sympathized. Fuck the IA bastards anyway. The young, good-looking one in charge of the investigation had it in for his partner, or so Hunter believed. She dated him a few times and he broke it off with her when she wouldn't hop in the sack with him after date #2, or #3. What happened to having a conflict of interest?

Hunter looked at his sad partner and silently promised that he would find the missing link and free her from her precinct prison, and back by his side where she belonged.

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

The smile on her beautiful face practically lit up the room. She was cleared, as Hunter knew she would be. Charlie congratulated her and gave her the walking papers she was eagerly awaiting . . . she was now free from her desk.

Not to be outdone by Charlie in accepting McCall's thanks, Hunter felt a little teasing was in order. After all, it was his definitive brilliance as an outstanding detective that cleared her name. He scored points, buddy, and goddamnit, he was gonna collect.

"So, have you, uh, thought about how you're going to thank me?" he asked her as he loosed his tie.

He watched her roll her eyes to the right as she feigned humility -- and pondered her payback. Finally, wordlessly, she nodded her head. Yeah, she had a plan.

"Well, what is it?" he asked impatiently. His eyes immediately grew wide as she silently wagged her index finger at him, beckoning him to follow her.

Like the dog that he was, Hunter followed her through the maze of desks, his blue eyes not letting her form out of his sight. He followed her outside into the LA night, onto the back ramp at the rear entrance.

Her dark eyes darted around the parking lot, looking for signs of their brethren, and finding none, she turned toward him and flashed a mischievous, flirtatious grin at him.

Her 105-pound body packed an unsuspecting punch as she used her fingertips to push his 6' 6" body against the brick wall behind him. He swallowed hard, suddenly taken aback.

She gave him no warning, no chance to gather his senses. What man has them anyway? Thank God she was wearing heels, he thought. She pressed her body against him as she put her left hand around his warm neck, her fingertips winding through his meticulously cut short hair, bringing him down to her level, and planted a searing kiss on his lips.

He felt her open her mouth for a dazzling second or two, her tongue entwining with his for just a fleeting moment. Her right arm slid around his waist under his jacket, while Hunter threw both of his arms around her waist, holding her. The kiss curled his toes and uncurled other body parts. In an instant, she pulled away, her smile making him tingle from the inside out.

She laughed softly at him, and he knew he must look like a lovestruck teenager.

"Payback comes dear, Hunter," McCall said to him, and just as swiftly as she kissed him, she turned away from him and returned to the precinct.

Damn. Some day, he would make her see that she was meant to be more than his partner.

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

McCall's penchant for doctors and attorneys, specifically the ones out of the DA's office, was a constant contributory to Hunter's bad mood. Her latest conquest, "Jason," was a ponce. Egotistical mother-fucker, in Hunter's latest description, had swept his raven-haired partner off of her feet. What did she see in that SOB anyway?

The dazzling sparkle in McCall's chocolate-colored eyes killed his soul every day that he saw it. Today, their little PDA - public display of affection - made him want to vomit on Jason's $200 Italian shoes. Fucking attorneys. He caught sight of their little kiss in the hallway of the precinct, and he turned and walked away. The light in her eyes and the pink-cheeked flush on her skin made him realize that he was no longer the main man in McCall's life.

He heard her quick feet catch up to him, her sling-backed pumps clicking on the tile.

"Positively beaming today, aren't we?" Hunter teased her.

McCall drew her palms up to her face as she breathlessly tried to keep up with Hunter's pace. "Is it that obvious?" she asked, her dark eyes dancing with the cheap thrill that Jason had just given her.

Hunter figured he's at least be courteous enough to let her ramble on about Jason. Blah blah blah blah. God knows how many times she put up with his tales of his flavor of the week, as she pointed out to him on numerous occasions.

"Well, you know I'd like to hang this all up someday," McCall said as they waited for the elevator. Her words brought him out of his recollections.

He knew. He just wish she'd hang it up with him. On the corner of their four-poster bed. Damn.

"Yeah, you know, nice little house, barbecues . . ." she went on and on. Fuck. Why wouldn't she see that he would deliver that to her on a silver platter?

"Little McCall's hopping around . . ." Hunter interrupted.

She blushed. "Weeellll, yeah!" McCall affirmed.

"Do you think he's the one?" Hunter asked, terribly afraid of her response. He was losing her.

"Ummm, 60 percent sure."

Hunter grinned to himself on the inside, while trying to look like the concerned best friend that he was. Yeah! Only 60%! Love was supposed to be an instant thing -- and Jason obviously hadn't done it to McCall -- If Hunter could have pumped his fist, done the wave and jumped up and down in a victory dance, he would have. Jason, you'll never last.

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

Six years. Longer than some marriages, Hunter's partnership with McCall that was now entering its sixth year was considered to be a record in the department. But Hunter instinctively knew that mostly likely, they would never see lucky #7.

How had they drifted so far apart? Their lives were no longer intertwined. He would give his left arm to have dinner with her or share a bowl of chowder. Hell, he'd even put mustard in it if he could see her smile.

He knew that if push came to shove, she would be there for him in a heartbeat. They still operated like clockwork. He trusted no other to watch his back, and trusted no other to watch hers. He knew her moods and she was the only one who knew how to bring him out of a bad one. The pressures of police work and maintaining their integrity was priority one.

Failed relationships on both their parts as of late didn't help, either. She was still searching for Mr. Perfect. He had given up hope of finding a woman who would replace McCall in his heart.

Hunter reflected on the days of old, when a renegade young cop named Rick Hunter cruised the streets of the City of Angels with a kick-ass partner named Dee Dee McCall. Neither was afraid, neither cared what it would take to see justice. She taught him to follow the rules. He taught her to take risks. Between the two of them, they were a machine.

But emotionally, they had drifted so far apart that it made his chest hurt. He found himself leaving her behind, tackling the insurmountable amounts of paperwork and related investigative work while he chased bad-ass criminals.

Her soft heart still looked up to her mentor, Andy, the one who had gotten her through the ranks at the Academy before Steve stole her heart and made her into a detective. Andy, now retired, had returned to L.A. from Seattle. His story about returning to the work force didn't ride well with Hunter, who could see a lie as if it were written in a 150-point head in black and white on the front page of a newspaper.

Personally, Hunter couldn't stand him. He was a cop gone bad, a retired cop who couldn't stop being one. An old man who had lost the edge a long time ago, but wouldn't believe it. Unfortunately, neither did McCall, whose sense of nostalgia and loyalty made her believe in the old man's instincts. She treated him as a father figure, an old man whose family abandoned him and had no one else to love him, except her.

Hunter knew better. Andy was lying, but nothing Hunter said to McCall would make her believe it. If anything, it was putting one more wedge in their suffering relationship. She was furious when Hunter interrupted their little reunion. Even more so when Huner pointed out more and more of Andy's inconsistencies.

It wasn't until she took a housewarming plant to Andy's new place of residence and saw him wearing his rent-a-cop security uniform that she came to her senses. Andy lied to her. Hunter didn't have to say "I told you so." It was written all over his face, and dammit, McCall hated him for it. Her denial was bigger than she was.

"We have a job to do."

The words came out of his mouth as if he was a Rotweiller. Hunter's temper was flaring. "Get off the fucking phone and come with me, be my partner, instead of Andy's beck-and-call girl," was what he really wanted to say. He wished he could have taken it back. The hurt in her eyes was more than he bargained for, and quickly turned to anger.

McCall's silence in the Monaco told him that she wanted to tell him to go to hell. She answered his questions, but other than that, her pursed lips refused to budge. Screw her. Hunter was tired of playing the game. It was she who decided that the working relationship would be it. It was she who stomped his heart two years ago when she returned from Quantico, pretending "it" had never happened.

Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

McCall's eyes darted around in nervousness. Her sixth sense, which Hunter jokingly termed as her "woman's intuiton," was waving big red flags at her. Hunter watched her excuse herself and pop a quarter into the pay phone. Her brows furrowed with worry.

"I'm gonna check on Andy, okay?" she told Hunter. He couldn't decide if it was a request for permission (not that he could stop her anyway) or a statement that said "I'm gonna do what I damn well please. Andy is more important to me right now. Screw you."

Hunter and Devane walked into the now-empty precinct at Parker Center. This white-supremicist case was leaving a bad taste in Hunter's mouth. He didn't trust any of these insane people. The ideas of which Frank Lassiter and his cronies stood for pissed Hunter off more than he could say. Bastards like Lassiter should be locked up and the key thrown away.

His hatred for Lassiter and the related conversation with Devane was interrupted by McCall's entrance into the precinct. She didn't even hear what they were talking about - didn't answer his question . . . her vacant eyes telling Hunter that something, indeed, was terribly wrong.

"Andy killed himself tonight."

His heart dropped. Fuck.

Hunter's attempt to console her drew an angry response - her furor, now directed at him - brought him something he wasn't prepared for. The end. Suddenly, it was Hunter's fault. In her distraught mind, Hunter made Andy put his gun to his temple and forced him to pull the trigger. Grief was a terrible thing.

Suddenly, she revealed to him that she had no life. All she had was her job. No one to love her, no one to go home to. Her words stabbed him in the heart. She was so very wrong. Everything she wanted was standing right smack in front of her . . . all she had to do was tear down the proverbial wall and tell the ghost of Steve McCall to get back into his fucking grave and stay there.

"We have a job to do." His words to her a few hours earlier echoed in his mind as she repeated them to him. He had never seen her so hurt and angry with him. Her dark eyes flashed anger, sorrow, and tears.

As if in slow motion, he watched her badge, her ID and her 9 mm. semi-automatic sail onto her desk. She was done. She had hit the wall that she had built, and she hit it hard.

The phrase "Hunter and McCall" was now a matter of Los Angeles Police Department history.

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

Hunter pulled the Monaco in front of McCall's white ranch style home. Her new yellow Mustang sat out front near the curb, signaling to him that she indeed, was home. This latest example of fine real estate was his favorite of all the ones she had owned over the years. Just six months ago, he had worked tirelessly helping her unload and unpack boxes and boxes from a U-Haul as she moved in.

It was her childhood home. Her mother died unexpectedly the past year, leaving the property and the rest of her "estate" to McCall. Prior to moving in, he had helped her sort through her mother's things, which McCall had auctioned off -- furniture, appliances, etc.

He had lost sight of her for a while, and found her sitting in a walk-in closet, a big box on the floor in front of her, and McCall leaned against the wall with her eyes closed, a little cloth doll clutched in her arms.

"I can't believe she kept this stuff," McCall said when she realized Hunter had found her. "Take a load off," she instructed, motioning him to the space beside her, and he sat down shoulder to shoulder with her and watched as she slowly brought each item out of the box, each one a symbol of her childhood.

"The Life and Times of Dee Dee McCall . . . " he mused.

She had been an only child. Her father died when she was in college. "He was a great guy. I really miss him," she told him many times. "He spoiled me rotten," she recalled with a smile.

On the top of the box were all of McCall's report cards. "You were a brainiac, huh?" Hunter teased, noticing she was a straight-A student. "Always the over-achiever," he said. She snatched them out of his hand and watched as he looked at her school pictures.

The photos showed a little girl growing up into a gangly teenager, and finally, into a beautiful young woman at her high school graduation.

"I wish I had gone to high school with you," Hunter admitted.

"Why?"

"You would have been my prom date, for sure." Oh yeah . . . he would have loved to have her on his arm at the prom and then in the back seat of his dad's Mercury afterward.

Further down in the box was a worn teddy bear and a few other of McCall's belongings. A barbie doll, some art drawings from elementary school, and more photos.

"Who's this?" Hunter asked, pointing to the little doll still clutched in her arms.

"This is Dana," McCall said softly. McCall drew her knees up and laid the doll on her lap, smoothing out her black yarn curls and straightening the faded pink dress. "I used to pretend she was my sister."

Hunter watched her eyes water with unshed tears. "Did I ever tell you I was a twin?" she asked.

"What?"

"I was a twin," she repeated. "I had a twin sister. She lived less than a day. My mother named her Dana. She's buried beside my dad."

Hunter was flabbergasted. McCall had a twin sister? How had he not known this? He stared at a black and white photo that McCall handed to him, showing two very tiny babies with hair as black as midnight . "This was my mother's only picture of her, and it was of us together, right after we were born."

"That's me, on the left," she pointed. "I was 4 pounds and she was 3 pounds. We were born a month early," she informed him. He heard her sigh. "My mother told me about her when I was in elementary school."

"What happened to her?"

"She was too small, I guess. My mother never really said, other than that she was too small to breathe on her own. She said she developed pneumonia. Nowadays, it's not as big of a deal, but back then . . ."

"Who was first?"

"Dana was. By an hour. My mother said I was stubborn." She grinned.

"You still are."

She punched him in the arm, a smile spreading over her face.

"My mother never got over her," she said wistfully. "But, she moved on. We had our differences, but I know she loved me." McCall certainly got her source of strength honestly.

Hunter's eyes watered as he remembered the conversation. He often wondered what else was in McCall's life that he didn't know about. Right now, however, he had to save their partnership. Hell hath no fury like a partner scorned. He would fight 'til the death.

She made him promise years ago that if they ever split up, they would "sit down like normal people and part as friends." She promised. She shook on it. And she broke it. He was hurt more than he was angry. What happened to "If you go, I go?" If he couldn't get her back, he would be seriously considering that measure. It did not seem possible to even think about having someone other than McCall by his side.

She opened the door, and he greeted her with his very best Hunter smile. She looked tired and troubled. Not a good combination. He invited himself in, and then invited her to lunch.

"When was the last time you took time out for lunch?" she asked him skeptically. She acquiesced, however. "I guess I could eat. Just let me get my jacket."

Devane's timing was worse than Hunter's. Her telephone rang and she picked it up as he pulled her jacket out of the closet for her. Her eyes registered huge disappointment, although her actions said she understood. All part of the job.

Charlie told him the Lassiter brother was awake from surgery. Hunter needed to talk to him ASAP, which meant lunch with McCall was now on hold.

He cursed himself under his breath. He couldn't wait to get Frank Lassiter behind bars -- again -- where the SOB belonged. Lassiter had a vendettta against him. Hunter reasoned with himself - the quicker he got to Lassiter, the quicker he could work on McCall.

Hunter would not let her go that easily. Partnerships like theirs were worth fighting for. Already, he was asked to partner with someone else who was currently unassigned.

"I appreciate the offer, but I haven't given up on McCall yet," Hunter told him. He was shocked at his own politeness. But no one ever had, or would ever understand their relationship or their loyalty to each other.

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

Hunter attended Andy's funeral and watched as McCall paid her final respects. She was still angry. She took out her anger on Andy's daughter, surprising Hunter. Normally it was McCall who exercised social graces no matter what. It was she who always tried to find the good in people.

"You were a little brisk in there, weren't you?" Hunter criticized.

She wasn't sorry. In her eyes, Andy's daughter threw him out and didn't give their relationship a chance. To her knowledge, as one-sided as it was, it was Andy's daughter who forced Andy to go back to LA and made him pull the trigger.

He was worried about her. They parted ways, promising each other they would talk later. "Later" came that very evening, via a phone call to Hunter from Frank Lassiter.

Waving his hands at the others to get Charlie to listen in and have the phone call traced, Hunter's brows turned into one. There was no way Lassiter was gonna call the shots.

Lassiter had devised a way to change Hunter's mind.

"I have someone who would like to talk to you," Lassiter's evil voice said.

"Hunter?" said the oh-so-familiar voice on the other end.

"McCall?"

"They grabbed me . . ." McCall's voice said before he heard her pained gasp.

Lassiter had her. How the hell did that happen? Lassiter had no beef with her. She wasn't even on the case when he busted him years ago.

Lassiter was no fool -- he was wagering an even trade. He wanted his brother in exchange for McCall. Somehow, Lassiter knew that Hunter would turn over heaven and earth for her.

"Your partner, in exchange for my brother," Lassiter sneered.

Hunter was too stunned to even think straight. Lassiter was giving him 24 hours to make the switch. "Hey, let's talk about this," Hunter told him to no avail.

"And in the meantime, you can imagine all the fun we're having." Click. Lassiter's sinister voice made his skin crawl.

Goddammit. Horror creeped through his soul, enveloping his entire being. He knew what atrocities Frank Lassiter was capable of. And the thought of McCall being subjected to them sickened him.

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

He hadn't slept. He hadn't eaten. He couldn't remember the last time he had been to the john --- since the call. His search for clues to where his partner was hidden remained fruitless. Hunter had never felt so helpless in his life.

What had they done to her? Was she still okay? God forbid, had they killed her? His heart wrenched.

"It's against department policy, Hunter. We knew that going in." Charlie' s words didn't mean jack shit. Fucking bureaucrats. A Los Angeles police officer was missing and possibly dead, and they chose that particular day to decide to read the rule book and follow it.

"We have made this priority one," the chief told him. Hunter would believe it when he saw it. Until McCall was by his side, alive and well, he would remain incensed and driven.

Charlie was merely a puppet, doing what he was forced to do. The 24-hour mark was coming up, Lassiter's brother remained in critical condition and Hunter knew that Lassiter would follow through with his threat.

McCall was his better half. She was his peas to his carrots. She was his Jeckyll when Hunter's Mr. Hyde reared its ugly head. So what if it was a "marriage made in Disneyland?" He'd take it above all else. He would sell his soul to the devil on a one-way trip to hell to get her back.

"She would get an idea, and then I would get an idea . . ." Hunter told Charlie. The slightly older man shook his head at Hunter. "I know this is hard. We're gonna find her," Charlie told him.

No, Charlie didn't know. No one would ever know how deep his love was for her. He kept kicking himself in the ass for the way he had treated her lately. He would fix it. But first, he had to find her.

Thoughts of that creep Lassiter and his cronies touching her made his stomach reel. There was no way she would be able to fight them off. Dammit. She was alone and vulnerable. She didn't even have her 9 mm. for godsakes.

The ringing phone interrupted their conversation. It was Lassiter. He said she was still alive. Dare he believe him?

Hunter tried to stall him. He tried to explain that the brother was too weak to move. Lassiter would hear none of it. Lassiter gave him an hour to come through with the goods. "Or I'm gonna kill her."

Chills ran through Hunter's body. He knew it had to be done. "Okay. I'll be there." He slammed down the phone in exasperation. He also caught Charlie's look of dismay. Fuck the system. Hunter would do what he damn well pleased. McCall was in grave danger, and by God he'd get her back.

"There's not enough time Charlie. I have to do this." Why even try to explain?

"You're gonna lose your badge!"

"I'm gonna lose McCall!" was Hunter's final reply.

Why couldn't they understand? Nothing was worth losing her. He promised to protect her. He promised to take care of her. This was what he had to do. Screw it. No job was worth it without her. He was going to get her back. He just hoped it wasn't too late.

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

Simon reacted before Hunter even realized it. Sometimes, he swore Simon had a mind of his own. Lassiter's brother was dead, thanks to Hunter's quick trigger finger. No more bargaining chip. No more deal. His heart sank. Lassiter would kill her when he found out. And now, he had to mastermind an alternative plan to save her.

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

Lassiter was slipping. He bought the lie. Hunter summoned every ounce of acting ability and lied through his teeth as he told the white supremicist freak that his brother would die if he was moved. Okay, so he was already dead. Lassiter just didn't know it yet. Lassiter fell for it and agreed to wait a little longer to get his brother sprung from the hospital in exchange for McCall. Hunter now had time on his hands to flush Lassiter out of his hiding place.

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

The plan was falling apart. Hunter stood in the upstairs room of the house where Lassiter had been holding McCall hostage. He could feel her presence. She was still alive. He would have found her body there if Lassiter had killed her.

The room was dark and dingy, the stench of it alone was enough to make him sick. The few mice he saw out of the corner of his eye didn't bother him, but he knew that McCall was probably horrified. He couldn't even imagine what she had been put through while she laid there on the filthy mattress.

His chest tightened when he saw the handcuffs at the top rail of the bed. He fingered the blood that clung to them, his eyes trailing down the rails where small rivulets of her blood had dripped down the metal path. She was hurt and bleeding. But she was alive, and that was the best he could hope for and cling to at that moment.

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

"Hunter!" the voice called out to him at the warehouse. Lassiter's burly voice rang through like an echo. "Find her yet?" he asked. Hunter followed the voice, with Simon cocked and ready. He wasn't afraid of dying, he wasn't afraid of fighting Lassiter for his life. He was afraid of finding her lifeless body before Lassiter took his. He couldn't die knowing that he hadn't saved her. He shook his head. Get the edge back, Hunter, he told himself. He had to take Lassiter out. Or he would die trying.

His search led him to the rooftop. Lassiter was some crazy bastard, that was for sure. Bullets flew. Hunter dodged them as if they were ping pong balls as his eyes searched for her.

Suddenly, there she was. Straight ahead, in the most open area of the roof. She was chained to the railing of the roof, gagged so she couldn't speak. Her eyes greeted him, one part relief, one part fear. Hunter was right smack in the middle between McCall and Lassiter. While his heart wanted to run toward her, his head spoke the voice of reason. He had to take Lassiter out. If he didn't, they were both as good as dead.

And then he saw it. The look in her brown eyes communicated to him to watch out, turn around -- Lassiter was right behind him. They still had the magic. That uncanny ESP ability that saved his ass and hers countless numbers of times.

With one spin and the go-ahead to Simon, Hunter shot a full round, striking Lassiter in the bullseye. The sound of splintering glass from Lassiter's free fall over the roof's edge reverbated in his ears. He had to make sure, for his own peace of mind, that Lassiter was gone. He ran to the opposite edge of the roof where he last saw Lassiter's fly backward into the air, peering over it, and then saw Lassiter's bloodied face staring at him through the eyes of death.

Hunter raced toward McCall as fast as his long legs would carry him. Her eyes stared back at him as he untied the gag around her mouth and then the bondage that tied her to the railing on the roof. He gasped when he saw her wrists, raw, red and bleeding from being shackled for so long. Sirens echoed around him, signaling that the LAPD was on the way.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and then realized it was such an open-ended question. He drew her into his arms before she could even respond, feeling every tense muscle in her body, tight as a bowstring. He felt her body shudder as he continued their embrace. He would hold her forever if he could.

"Ready to get out of here?" he asked finally. She simply nodded her head, and he lead her downstairs straight to the EMTs that were waiting for her.

"She okay?" Charlie asked. His fatherly concern for his favorite detective was obvious.

"Physically, I guess she's okay. I dunno, Charlie. She won't talk to me." Hunter hung his head.

"She's been through the gauntlet. Give her time."

Fifteen minutes later, she appeared before them. "I'm glad you're okay, McCall," Charlie offered. What else could one say? Her gaze remained with Hunter's.

"I'd still like you to reconsider," Charlie told her. Charlie wanted her back almost as much as Hunter did. Hunter knew his intentions were good, but this was not the time nor the place. He watched her shake her head sadly. "I"m not going to reconsider." After this incident, Hunter knew the chances were few and far between that she'd come back to him.

"You've always been there for me," she said, matter-of-factly, out of the blue. She motioned to the black and white that was parked outside the entrance to the warehouse, waiting to chauffeur her back to her house. "I'll talk to you later, okay?" she said to him. He watched her rub her arms again in an attempt to lessen her pain, and then turn around and walk out.

"How much longer you need me, Charlie?" Hunter asked, his gaze still following the exit where he had just seen McCall.

"A couple of hours."

"I'll give you one. And then I'm outta here." Hunter was on a mission. He would be there for her. And instinctively, he knew she would be waiting for him.

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

True to his word, sixty minutes was all Hunter allowed. No one dared stop him when he left the scene, his forceful stride headed on a one-way trip to McCall.

Chowder. With mustard. Hunter glanced at the four containers of chowder on the seat usually occupied by his partner. Three for her, one for him. He knew from past experiences she hadn't eaten in days -- and he also knew that there was probably nothing fit for human consumption in her refrigerator.

Coincidentally, today was Thursday. The official 'chowder night.' Through the 60 minutes that he had assisted with wrapping up the scene, at least his portion, he debated on what to pick up for dinner. He had consternated between pizza and Chinese, and then suddenly remembered their longstanding date with the little shop on the corner that McCall swore made the best chowder in the city.

How long had it been since they had a chowder night together? Way too long. He cursed himself as he realized how long he had neglected her. His heart thudded as he pulled up to her house. McCall's state of mind worried him. First Andy's suicide, being held captive by Frank Lassiter, and Hunter's insensitivy of recent months -- okay, let's be truthful -- at least a year -- and her recent relinquishment of her badge, did not make for a good combination.

He rang her doorbell, although his instincts told him to barge right in as in days of old. A minute or so passed until she opened the door for him, wearing a bath towel wrapped around her body leaving her arms and shoulders and legs bare. Her hair was still wet, the ends beginning to curl around her shoulders.

"It's chowder night," Hunter informed her with a grin. It went unnoticed by McCall, who stood aside and invited him in with a swoop of her arm.

Normally, the sight of his semi-naked partner would have sent him in search of a cold shower in the outdoors of Alaska. This time was different. Her face was flushed, her skin had taken on a bright pink hue, evidence that she had scrubbed it almost raw.

Brief memories of the aftermath of Raoul Mariano flitted through his brain. She told him earlier that Lassiter hadn't put a hand on her. But she had lied to him two years ago about Fredericks. Did something happen and she not tell him? He tried hard to banish the thought.

"I'm not hungry," she said softly, her eyes downcast.

"Sure you are. You just don't know it yet. I even brought the mustard," he informed her, showing her the new bottle he had picked up with the chowder purchase.

He searched the depths of her dark eyes for some sort of relief, and found none. He set the box down on her kitchen counter and then placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face the hallway leading to her bedroom.

With a gentle push, he urged her down the hall. "You have five minutes to get dressed. Unless, of course, you want to wear that," he said, grinning. "I'll be waiting." She rolled her eyes at him and then trudged down the hall.

Hunter surveyed her neat house. The picture of the two of them from years past was still the center of her attention, at its place on her piano. He studied it. While she still carried the essence of youth, he did not. His slightly graying hair was thinner, probably from all the times he had run his hands through it in exasperation, usually related to her.

She appeared in the kichen as requested, wearing shorts and an oversized sweatshirt, one that Hunter recognized as being one of his, her hair up on her head, a few stray, damp curls falling around her face. The scent of her floral shower gel followed her.

"Sit," he ordered. She dutifully obeyed. He sat a steaming bowl of chowder in front of her and squirted some mustard into it. He took his bowl, without the mustard, and sat down across from her. "Eat."

"Hunter, " she whined. "Thank you for bringing this, but I told you. I'm just not hungry."

"Bull shit. You eat more than I do. And look at you. I bet you're not even cracking 100." She glared at him.

He watched her as she attacked the chowder, noticing that her pale skin was doing a poor job of hiding the dark circles under her eyes. They ate in silence. Finally, she pushed her half-empty bowl away from her and went into the living room with a bottle of water in her hand.

He heard the television turn on as he took on the duty of KP. She was randomly surfing the cable channels, settling finally on the classic movie channel.

"How many items of clothing of mine are here?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the navy blue sweatshirt she was wearing. She cracked a smile.

"You have one pair of jeans, full of holes, may I add, and a set of blues folded in my laundry room," she said, pointing the other way. "Two of your shirts are in the top drawer of the tall dresser in my room. Help yourself." He chuckled. It was times like these that he likened their relationship to that of an old married couple. He wished. "Ignore the dust on them," she called after him.

His heart lurched. In a few words, she had told him what he had recently come to realize. He had neglected her. So much that the clothing he had changed into after he helped her move in to the house and had forgotten to retrieve was still there, untouched. And a significant amount of time had passed since then. Damn.

"May I?" he asked, sitting down beside her before she gave him an answer. He had chosen his favorite Pier House t-shirt and worn Levi's, finally getting rid of the strangling suit and tie he had been wearing. Time to relax and address the issues at hand.

"Lemme see your arms," he ordered, facing her. He picked up her hands and pushed the too-long sleeves up to her elbows. The angry, raw marks from the handcuffs made him wince. On his way back from changing his clothes, Hunter had rifled through her medicine cabinet and found some ointment and some bandages, knowing full well that she wouldn't do it herself.

He gently rubbed some antibacterial ointment onto the marks. "Am I hurting you?" he asked, feeling a slight jerk in her body.

"No. It's just cold."

He wrapped her wrists with a fine layer of gauze, tight enough to protect the wounds but loose enough that it didn't cut off her circulation. He brought each wrist up to his lips and kissed each one, and witnessed a single tear creep out of each of her eyes.

"You're gonna be okay." How many times had he said those four words to her? And her to him?

Their ESP was still in full force. He put his arm around her shoulders as she snuggled in beside him, laying her head on his chest. It had been way too long. Wordlessly, they pretended to watch the old black and white Katherine Hepburn/Spencer Tracey movie in front of them. Her rhythmic breathing ten minutes later signaled to him that she had fallen asleep. If only he could hold her forever. It would give him the time he needed to repair whatever it was the needed to be fixed.

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

Hunter woke up to the smell of coffee. He glanced at his watch and saw it was going on 8 a.m. He had somehow managed to stretch out on McCall's couch, and she was no longer clutched in his arms.

Rubbing bleary eyes, he followed his nose to the coffee. There was a mug sitting on the counter for him, which he promptly filled and headed out to the back yard where McCall was sitting in the early morning sunshine.

"Good morning," he offered. She greeted him with a warm smile, her eyes suddenly a little brighter, and the circles underneath them now erased. Amazing what a little sleep could do for a person.

"I was just going to wake you," McCall told him. "Don't you need to be at the office soon?"

"Yeah. I guess. Any chance you'll go with me?" he asked, already knowing what her answer would be.

"No. I told you, I haven't reconsidered."

Hunter sighed. Somehow, somewhere, the gods above were torturing him for a reason unknown to him. He sipped his coffee again.

"What are you gonna do?"

"I dunno. I haven't gotten that far yet." It was unlike her not to have a plan.

"Maybe I'll teach. Maybe I'll go back into social work. Maybe I'll marry a millionaire. Who knows." Her haphazard remarks unnerved him.

"You'll be bored to tears."

"But at least I won't be handcuffed to a bed for 3 days and be pawed by a bunch of stinking, filthy men because they wanted to settle a score with my partner," she muttered bitterly. Her words stabbed him in the heart.

"Now wait a minute. I had no idea . . ."

"I didn't say you did. Hunter, this was not your fault. It's just an example. It's everything. This job consumes my life. I have no life. I have no time for anyone else or anything. I want a real life. And I'll never get it as long as I'm wearing a badge." She was so wrong. Open your eyes, McCall. The answer is right here in front of you.

The finality of her words frightened him.

"Fine. Then I'm done, too." His words escaped his lips before he realized. "If you go, I go." That is what they promised. Her dark eyes stared at him in defiance.

"Hunter, don't even go there. You will always be a cop, with or without me. You are not going to quit."

"I promised."

She knew exactly what he was talking about. He heard her heave another exasperated sigh. Men could be just as difficult, and he was bound and determined to show it.

"I just need time."

"And you'll get it. Charlie has not accepted your resignation, which according to police regs, must be in writing. So, technically, you're still a member of the LAPD."

"Since when did you start reading the rule book?" she asked incredulously.

He was getting to her -- and ignoring her at the same time. "So, consider yourself on a leave of absence." He looked out of the corner of his eyes to see what kind of reaction he was getting.

"Lookit, McCall. I am taking today off. You and I are going to do whatever it is you want to do. You just name it. Tomorrow, I'm going back to work. And next week, you'll make a real decision. That's all I ask."

He fully expected her to fight with him. He didn't get one. A-ha! It was working.

"A whole day off? To do anything I want?" She eyed him suspiciously, the look in her eyes the one he fell in love with years ago.

"Yep."

She thought about it a while as she drained her mug. "Okay. I want breakfast at Sid's. Followed by an afternoon at the beach, followed by a lobster dinner--with wine--and then a movie, and not a rental." She eyed his attire. "And you have to change first. I should have burned those jeans when I had the chance."

"Not a problem. I'll pick you up in an hour." He left as soon as he said the words, fearful that she would change her mind. He heard her soft laughter behind him. Yes, it would be a beautiful day.

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

Her wishes were his command. He followed her into her house at 11:30 p.m. Breakfast was horrible, the beach was great, dinner was delicious, and the movie, although a chick flick, was also good. Was it possible to fall in love with the same person every single day? Certainly. He was sure of it.

"Rick, I just want to thank you for everything." He loved it when she called him by his first name. It sent shivers down his spine.

"Not a problem."

"You have always been there for me."

"I always will."

"I haven't changed my mind." He figured as much.

He held her steady in front of him by gripping her shoulders and looking at her directly in the eyes. "I'll see you tomorrow. I told you this morning, we won't have this discussion until next week. Next week is a Friday. Promise?" he asked, trying to give her his best impression of puppy dog eyes.

"Okay." He picked up her hand and placed a gentle kiss on the top. He held it for a moment and then drew her to him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek.

He turned to leave and hesitated at the door when he heard her whisper his name again.

"Rick?" He looked into the gentlest brown eyes he had ever known. "You know I love you, don't you?" He simply nodded his head.

And that was crux of the problem . . . the curse of it all.

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

Hunter was yet again on another mission. Today was Friday. He had given her a week to officially make up her mind. His conversation over a cup of coffee with Andy's daughter that morning confused him.

First, it shed a lot of light into the situation between McCall's mentor and his so-called family life, and why things happened the way that they did. Suddenly, everything made sense to him. And now, it was up to him to make sure McCall did, too.

How did McCall let herself get set up for this? Usually, her instincts were dead-on. She should have bee able to see through Andy's facade quicker than he did. But she didn't --- she let her heart get in the way --- and now, she could be giving up her entire career over a lie.

Hunter spoiled her all the previous week. Not a day went by that he didn't see her or talk to her. They even had chowder night last night. He grinned with the recollection. It had been so long since they had hung out together, as friends. They spent an evening at the beach, one night at her house watching old westerns (she lost the coin toss) and another going out for pizza and beer at a country western bar where they had their first undercover stint together six years earlier as brand-new partners.

Hunter stopped the Monaco at their favorite park. With no answer at her house, he knew she would be here. He was drawn to her like bees to honey, and found her on the bridge in the center of the park, watching the ducks paddle down the little man-made creek. It was a place where she sought peace and solitude. A place where she would decide yes or no. A place where she could let her guard down.

It was time to make it or break it. And he was prepared to fight to the death to keep her. He was going to pull out all the stops.

McCall wasn't surprised to see him. "You always did know where to find me."

"That's because you don't hide so good."

Her face was overpowered with indecision. Today was the day. And Hunter decided he would go full throttle, pulling out his best weapon.

He handed McCall Andy's badge. He watched as her face shadowed reactions of grief and surprise simultaneously, her dark hair blowing in the slight breeze. He told her of his conversation with Andy's daughter, and how she wanted McCall to have Andy's badge. She stared at it as his words registered in her brain, how he gently explained that she had been taken in by Andy's lies and untruths. How her mentor had managed to pull one over on her, taking advantage of her loyal heart for his own gain.

Now it was time to go in for the kill.

"It wasn't the job, it was the man. If you don't want to be a police officer any more, that's fine." It killed him to give her an out. Fuck. But it had to be her decision, not his.

"But do it for the right reasons." He took out her badge, the one he had been carrying clipped to his dress shirt pocket since she threw it onto her desk two weeks ago, as close to his heart as possible. He looked at it and then offered it to her.

"You have a life, McCall. You have your friends. You have me." He gulped as an unfamiliar feeling of tears burned his eyelids. "I'm sorry for treating you the way I have lately."

He was rewarded with a look of brown-eyed surprise.

He was on a roll. The words suddenly began to erupt from his mouth like Mount St. Helens on fire.

"I haven't been a very good partner to you lately. I've taken you for granted, and I sincerely apologize. I just wish it hadn't taken something like this to realize it. You can kick me in the ass any time you want. Please, tell me when I'm being a jackass next time . . . although I'm gonna try not to be one ever again, at least where you're concerned."

"I don't wanna do this job without you, Dee Dee. I will do anything in my power to fix whatever I need to fix. But please, please don't leave me because you think you don't have a life beyond this job. I'll fix it, I swear." He paused for effect.

Tears formed in her eyes as she digested what he told her. She looked away in an effort to keep them from rolling down her cheeks. Finally, she took hold of her badge, and he wrapped her hands in his.

"You still owe me a lunch," she informed him, which was her way of saying, "I heard you. And I still want to be your partner. I still want to be a cop." Her sweet smile made his heart turn over as he breathed a sigh of relief. He saved her. He saved himself. He saved their partnership.

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

Hunter couldn't stop the smile that had been pasted on his mug for the past three months. He and McCall were kicking ass and taking down names at a pace worth noting at every departmental meeting. Procedures were followed, they broke no rules -- well, at least not too many -- and they were so in sync that he swore their hearts were beating at the same exact rhythm.

Once again, they were fearless. The car chase the previous week brought fits of laughter from McCall when they had to have the Dodge hauled to the precinct by a tow truck. The stares they received from their brethren who knew them from the "old days" as the crunched front end was surveyed by the city auto mechanic warmed their hearts.

The recent tongue-lashing they received from the Commander in Devane's tight-lipped, Mylanta-bearing presence also brought them warm feelings. Okay, so they were a little out of hand. Hunter's choke-hold on a robbery suspect on top of the Dodgers' dugout in the middle of the 7th inning stretch, which just happened to be a nationally televised event, didn't go over very well, and neither did McCall's on-air comment of "We're just doing our jobs, even if we are off duty."

The Head Hunter and the Brass Cupcake were back, in full force. It worked for them.

Until that fateful day in April 1990. The day that the gods above decided to put them to the ultimate test. The day when their world was turned upside down and inside out by the return of the one and only, Megan Malone.

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

"What are you hungry for?" Hunter asked his partner as they cruised through the west side of L.A. It was a beautiful day, yet another in a string of perfect days over the past few months. And it wasn't just the weather that made Hunter smile.

"You can pick," she replied, checking her watch. "But something we can take out. It's too nice to eat inside." He grinned. He loved stopping at the park to eat lunch with her, enjoying each other's companionship.

Her wish was his command, and he pulled up to their favorite hamburger joint on the corner. He took her cheeseburger, fries and soda order, shaking his head with disgust. McCall still had a penchant for the all-American artery-hardening fare.

Uh-oh. The radio crackled to life. A robbery and shooting only four blocks away. Her eyes registered the standard commitment . . . the job came first, lunch being the last on the priority list. "Let's take it," he told her, the thrill of the chase already making his nerves sharpen.

As the Monaco raced down the street, the speeding van in the opposite direction caught their trained eyes. It was the one they were looking for. With a quick turn of the wheel, they found themselves chasing the van to an abandoned warehouse. Shit - - how did they always manage to get themselves in the worst places possible? He directed the beat cop who backed them up to go to the rear while he and McCall checked out the van.

There was no one in it, a fact they both fully expected. They followed what they assumed was the path the man had taken, leading them into the bowels of the building. He could barely see McCall's pale complexion in the darkness, her lips now forming a frown at the musty odor and the drip-drip-drip on the watery, puddled floor. While her mind was surely on the task at hand, he instinctively knew that his impeccably dressed partner was already thinking about how much it was going to cost to get her wardrobe dry cleaned after lurking in this hell hole.

"You go left, I'll go right," he told her. "Watch your step." Like clockwork, they attempted to surround the suspect and flush him out of his hiding place. He could hear her quiet footsteps to his left as he squinted in the darkness. He couldn't see a blessed thing and every sound echoed in his ears.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. His vision was obstructed by the cavelike conditions as he relied on his hearing for clues to what was happening. He pulled the safety off of Simon as he felt the blood pulse in his trigger finger. The suspect was right behind him, he could tell. In a well-trained fluid movement, he pointed Simon in the direction of the noise -- and stared the barrell right in between the eyes of his brown-eyed partner.

Fuck! What was she doing there? He in turn stared down the barrell of her .38. Jesus H. Christ. He could have killed her. Or she him. For a fleeting moment, he thought about bending over to pick up his heart that had jumped right out of his chest cavity and putting it back inside under his ribcage where it belonged.

"What are you doing? I thought you were going to go left!" Hunter screamed a whisper.

"I heard a noise behind you," she whispered back. Her explanation didn't mean jack shit.

"You heard a noise? That was me! You heard me!" He couldn't mask the fact that he was now thoroughly pissed off.

"This place is like an echo chamber." Her excuse meant nothing. Hunter turned around to the other officer who informed him that the suspect was no where to be seen. He whirled around to McCall and shot her a look of disgust. She fucked up royally. A mistake that he hadn't seen her make in the six years they had been partners.

Suddenly, a very familiar noise of a car trying to turn over interrupted his thoughts. No way. The gods above were testing him again.

"Come on," Hunter growled at McCall. She chased him up the stairs just in time to mimic his squint in the afternoon sun, watching as the suspect drove the now hotwired and stolen green Dodge Monaco.

"What a day it's been, huh?" he said to her as he holstered Simon. She glared back at him. "Kiss my ass, Hunter," was what he read on her expression. The look on his partner's face was one he would remember for days to come, because unknown to him, he would not see her smile again for quite some time.

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

In due time, he managed to regain his sense of humor. The Dodge was still at large, as was their suspect. This too, would pass. McCall was keeping her distance. He figured he'd let her fester for a while. She DID fuck it up, he reasoned with himself.

He chuckled as he watched McCall explain her error to Devane. Charlie didn't seem too concerned. Everything would be in the report, including the car, which he just found out was recovered.

He watched McCall. She was doing everything and anything to avoid him. As Hunter pondered what kind of flowers might persuade her to give him reconciliation for being so critical, he noticed a long pair of legs that suddenly appeared on the scene, attached to a professionally dressed torso capped off with a head of long, blonde hair.

Megan Malone. Now a lieutenant, thanks to McCall and the D'Angelo bust of almost 3 years earlier. What the hell was she doing there? Now assigned to robbery in the Hollenbeck division, she inquired about their suspect. Hunter's brows came together as he studied the mug. Yep, it was the same guy. And he now had a name . . . Streiber.

While he respected Malone as a police officer, Hunter was not the president of her fan club. He participated in her repartee where the suspect was concerned, but suddenly felt a chill in the hot Los Angeles afternoon. And it was coming from his petite brunette partner.

She had retreated further away from their conversation, whereas normally, she would have jumped right in. Her dark chocolate eyes were full of . . . what was the word to describe it? Hatred? It was too strong of a word, but probably not too far away from a better descriptive. He was suddenly puzzled. While he knew he was probably out of line for chewing her out earlier, it was unlike her to hold a grudge or take it out on someone else. His partner, the one who could find one ounce of good in every human soul, looked like she was on fire.

Exit Megan Malone. Enter one thoroughly ticked off partner. She refused to ride from the scene with Hunter. Her words sliced through him like a knife. Basically, "Screw you, Hunter" was what her body language was saying. She slammed the door of the black and white while Hunter chewed on his toothpick. What the hell was wrong with her? Charlie's puzzled gaze didn't help the situation either.

Screw it. She'd get over it by tomorrow. Wouldn't she?

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

Hunter hung his head the whole way to the precinct. He had driven by McCall's house to pick her up as was the usual routine and saw that her sleek yellow Mustang was missing from its usual spot. Goddamn women, he thought. She was taking this way too personally.

He indeed felt remorse. He shouldn't have made such a big deal. It WAS dark, and it WAS an "echo chamber." Shit happens. He would get down on bended knee, begging for her forgiveness. Her car was in the Parker Center parking lot, but she was not at her desk. He ignored the look of dismay from their coworkers, the gossipmongers that they were, who were waiting to see if they had made up yet.

He felt her presence before she even walked in. She headed straight for the coffee machine, her head held high, feigning ignorance on his behalf. As far as she was concerned, Hunter wasn't even there. He had practiced his apology all night and the entire drive that morning. He had a number of different versions, and hoped the one he chose was the one she would accept.

"Lookit, what happened at the warehouse yesterday - it was a big misunderstanding. I'm very sorry." Short, sweet, to the point.

"No problem." Her lips were saying it was accepted, but her eyes were telling him to go fuck himself.

He decided to let it go and get to the business at hand. Perhaps putting their minds on something else would make it go away. "Oh, Megan sent over all her information on Streiber."

"How considerate of her," McCall murmured, her voice dripping with sarcasm. She wouldn't even look at him.

Now what did he do? "Is, um, is something bothering you?"

"Just making a statement." She refused to meet his gaze. He thought back a little. Hmmmm. PMS was at least a week or so ago, so that was not a contributory factor, not that it ever was. He couldn't remember the last time she was this moody.

While pondering the situation, Devane sauntered over and made a suggestion. A suggestion that would finally break the camel's back. "You know, I think we're going to need some help on this Streiber case," he announced. "I was thinking about asking Lt. Malone to join us."

Hunter watched as McCall became the first to speak up. "She's been working on the Streiber case for what, two months now, and she hasn't gotten the guy? So, I think we can just read her reports."

Charlie looked at Hunter. "What do you think?"

What Hunter was really thinking was that McCall was turning into an absolute bitch, but he certainly wasn't going to go there. He was in enough trouble as it was.

"Well, I disagree. I think that Lt. Malone's a very good police officer, and we do need all the help we can get on this case." He hadn't agreed with her.

McCall's mouth fell open after Charlie left, taking Hunter's side, to call for Malone's assistance.

"What's going on with you?" Hunter inquired, trying to keep his voice down. The rumor mill didn't need any additional turns of the crank. It was unlike her to turn down any offer of help . . . it was so much easier on the workload.

"There's nothing 'going on' with me. Can't I have a different opinion, other than yours, without it becoming a big deal here?" She had finally met his gaze, her brown eyes blazing.

"I just asked a question," Hunter countered.

"Well it sounded more like an inquisition to me."

Hunter felt his heart begin to beat faster. He had apologized, hadn't he? And hadn't she accepted? What more did she want from him? "Well maybe you're not listening to me clearly."

"I suppose like yesterday?"

"Look, I didn't say that." Now she was putting words into his mouth. Goddammit, he wasn't going to get out of this one without battle scars, that's for sure.

"It's exactly what you're thinking." Now she was thinking for him, too. That was it. He'd be damned if she was gonna walk all over him. If she wanted a fight, she'd damn well get one.

"You know, come to think of it, it was a very standard tactical procedure that you blew yesterday." He heard the decibels in his voice rise even higher. He could feel their coworkers' surprised stares.

"What are you talking about? 'Standard tactical procedure'? Right! 'I'll go in this way, you go in that way'. That's textbook strategy right there."

Suddenly all was quiet. Hunter put his head down, his eyes darting around to gauge how much of a spectacle they had made.

"Look," he said, in a calmer voice. "Let's not discuss it, OK?"

"Fine. Drop it."

He'd be a son of a bitch, that's for sure. Yep, he was going down. He couldn't ever remember a fight between them like this one, and he would certainly take the fall. He was the man, after all, partners or no partners. Yep, he was now the A-1 Prick of Parker Center.

"Hunter! McCall!" came Charlie's voice, booming over the crowd of coworkers who had gathered to watch the fight. He was screwed on both ends, now.

He watched as McCall gave him one final sneer and threw her pen on the desk as she answered the summons. Yep, he was fucked over for sure.

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

Hunter hung his head in her wake, hands in his pockets like a naughty schoolboy, as she strode to the window on the far side of Charlie's office. Oh yeah, he was in trouble now. Hunter watched her closely. She absently picked at her fingernail, as she continued to look out onto the city's horizon, oblivious to the looks she was getting from both him and Devane. Hunter immediately thought about his days in elementary school . . . girls on one side, boys on the other.

"Alright, you two have been fighting like a couple of alley cats. What's going on?" Devane inquired. Fuck if I know, Hunter thought. He almost told Charlie he'd give him the last $20 in his wallet if Charlie could figure it out, but knew McCall would find no humor in his answer. However, he'd be damned if he was going to take the blame. A brilliant idea . . . he'd try to cover it up and protect them both. He'd be a hero.

"There's nothing going on." Hunter smiled at his own lie. Sure, she'd rather go along with him than get a dress down from Charlie any day. Right?

"Oh, crap!" Charlie didn't believe that one for a second. "I want both of you to sit down." Hunter glanced at McCall. Judging from her body language, Charlie would have a better chance of seeing ice water in hell before she'd sit down. And if she wasn't, he sure as hell was not.

"Alright, I've read your report. And whatever this is, it has nothing to do with losing that car. Something happened at the warehouse yesterday. I want to know what it is."

Time for more brilliance. There was no way Hunter was going to spill it. And he was not going to allow his and McCall's personal differences, mostly hers, it seemed, which he was sure was the root of the evil, get in the way.

"Look, all we had is a little miscommunication at the warehouse, that's all." Brevity was going to be the key, Hunter thought.

"We almost shot each other," her voice said from her oasis. Hunter snapped his head McCall's way as his jaw hit the floor. Fuck. So much for brilliance. What the hell was she trying to do? Get them both suspended? Or on a leave of absence? Mental health days? Thoughts of being surrounded on four sides by a padded room as he sat in a puddle of his own drool ran through his mind. Charlie would think they were both nuts for sure.

"Alright, I want you to listen to me," Charlie said, his voice coming down a few decibels. "Consider this . . . if you had actually fired shots yesterday you'd be required, by departmental policy, to see the psychiatrist."

"But you see, we didn't do that," Hunter argued. He already knew where this was going and he was having no part of it. Psychiatrists, pscyhologists, whatever. Let's not go back to the days of Commander Cain. He hated the entire mental health field. No fucking way.

Charlie continued. "Obviously you didn't do it, thank God! But I don't see there's any harm in you talking to the departmental psychologist."

"We're fine," McCall finally chimed in. Sure, now she wanted to join forces with him. A little too late, McCall.

"It doesn't look that way to me. Now, I need the two of you to be focused."

McCall was incensed. She came closer to Hunter and glared at him, and then chased away the gawkers outside of the office who had stopped their work to see the show with another glare.

"Look, I cannot speak for you," McCall said as she pointed a finger at Hunter, "but I am just as focussed as I have ever been." Hmph, Hunter thought. He'd be the judge of that. She sure weren't focused yesterday. "So with all due respect Captain, this is something that I'm just not interested in, OK?"

Hunter watched her mannerisms. It was so unlike her to be this . . . pissed off?. . . at him. Charlie was right. Her behavior had nothing to do with losing the car or the warehouse. If it was, they would have dealt with it and moved on. He knew her . . . and this was now personal.

He finally realized they were looking at him, waiting for his final decision on visiting the head shrinker. "Well, me either!" he blurted out. Wasn't his answer obvious?

McCall was ready to get the hell out of there. She used the case as an excuse to leave. "Well, we have a lot of work to do on the Streiber case. So..." she said as she made her hasty departure, parting the gawkers who had gathered outside the office like the Red Sea.

They watched her head to her desk, her movements so quick that her dark hair fanned out over her shoulders. "Something is wrong here," Charlie told him. No shit.

"Yeah." Hunter patted him on the back. "Don't worry, we'll figure it out." Hunter wished he felt as good about it as he sounded. Something big was wrong, and he could feel the unease clear into the pit of his stomach.

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

They weren't speaking. Hunter could see she was on the verge of tears any second. He hated to see her cry, so he figured he'd just let it ride. They studied Lt. Malone's reports, their coworkers watching them in hushed silence, waiting for the next battle. He watched her dark head, bent over the mass of paperwork, her small fingers clutching the pen as she made notes to herself.

Shrinks. What was he so afraid of? Perhaps the head-shrinker would help him figure out what was wrong with her. He could not bear to lose her. The fact that he was even thinking about visiting this guy made him uneasy. Maybe he needed the shrink more than he cared to admit.

"I'm going out for lunch," she informed him promptly at noon, bringing him out of his thoughts. He watched her stand and straighten her jacket. He nodded his head, stunned that she didn't invite him to go with her. His heart flipped over and deflated. He watched her leave, her back ramrod straight and her footsteps quiet.

He suddenly realized another fact. What happened to the skirts she used to wear all the time? She was dressing much more conservatively than in the past. She had traded her hose and her just-above-the-knee skirts and blazers for pantsuits and flats. While he was certainly a professional and always treated her as such as related to work, he missed seeing his partner's shapely legs and feminine body with all of the curves in the right places, now hidden by loose clothing. His groin tightened at the thought. It had been way too long.

He remembered commenting to her about it, and he remembered her excuse. "It's too hard to chase the perps in a dress and heels."

Since when? She was the brass cupcake. The same woman who nailed King Hayes way back in '84 wearing 5-inch stilettos. Who was she trying to fool? Not him, for sure. She was in tremendous physical shape, and at the young age of 33, was certainly not ready for retirement.

So many changes. And things he should have noticed a long time ago. He was losing her. He could feel it. He wearily stood up and pinched his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Time to put out all the stops -- she had him by the balls. He picked up his phone and dialed the number he thought he'd never use.

"This is Sgt. Hunter. I'd like to make an appointment as soon as possible, per my Captain's orders."

That would speed up the process.

"Great. Thanks. I'll be there at 1:00."

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

Hunter stood staring at the door with his hands in his pockets. Damn head-shrinkers. Good grief, he hoped she realized someday what lengths he was willing to go through to save their relationship . . . partnership . . . whatever. He'd settle for anything as long as she was his again. His palms began to sweat as he stood there waiting until he heard the click of the door bring him out of his thoughts.

"Hello, I'm Norman Tate," the thin man with curly graying hair and neatly trimmed moustache said to him. Hunter squelched a neanderthal-like grunt and shook the man's hand.

Settled on the leather couch, he tried to appear nonchalant and relaxed. This was about McCall, not him, and he'd be damned if this guy was gonna turn it around and make it all his fault.

"Have you ever been to a therapist before?" the moustache asked him. Hunter almost said yes, but figured Tate didn't need to know about Dr. Bolin and the Commander Cain fiasco. That was irrelevant information.

"No. You see, there's nothing a shrink can do for me that a good game of golf can't." When was it that he last played a round? A smile suddenly appeared on his face. He and Brad Navarro played a four-man scramble with Charlie and Ortega about a year ago. Was it really a year? He remembered the coin toss with McCall . . . and she lost. She was his very own caddie for the day, just as O'Hearn was for Navarro --- and the designated cart driver, beer fetcher and ball girl. He also remembered wrapping his arms around her after the game when he tried to show her how to tee off, and how the feel of her body at his front made him want to get off.

Tate was in no mood for hesitation. "You're pretty emphatic about that. Does being here bother you?"

Here we go . . . standard shrink talk. If it bothered him why the hell would he be there? Tate was proving Hunter's theory faster than originally thought. Hunter decided to cut to the chase. It was about McCall, not him.

"No. Look, I'm sure you're a very good doctor . . . helped many, many people. I'm here because my partner has a problem with us - therefore I have a problem with us. Now I'm here to try to make some sense of it - try to solve the problem. Normally she's quite reasonable about these things. But lately it's become, well . . ."

"You're afraid it's going to get in the way of your work."

Way to go, Einstein. "You're right."

"You've been partners for six years now. Maybe you two are on burnout."

He and McCall on burnout? Tate had to be kidding. No way. Burnout was NOT in their vocabulary. Hunter shook his head. Admittedly, the thought had occurred to him very very briefly. Nope. Not even a possibility.

"Has she ever been like this before?"

"No." Wait a minute now, perhaps he was too quick to answer. She was being a downright bitch on wheels. So very unlike her. He suddenly remembered . . . there was one other time she was like this to him. "Except for the D'Angelo case."

Hunter saw Tate's eyebrows raise. "What happened in the D'Angelo case?"

"That was the year McCall took the FBI's forensic course at Quantico, Virginia. Another detective was temporarily assigned as my partner."

"Who was that?"

"Megan Malone." Hunter could tell the name struck a chord with Tate. Very interesting.

"How did that work out?" Tate questioned.

Why the hell should Tate care? It was totally irrelevant. Oh well. He would be damned if he was gonna give Tate a reason to say he was uncooperative in therapy.

"Sergeant Malone had a knack for making things happen . . . which explains one of the reasons she's a lieutenant today." Hunter didn't have much else to say on the matter, or her in particular. She was the typical man-hater. Always had to get ahead in the male-dominated police force for the sake of her sexuality. Hunter always thanked the heavens that McCall was nothing like her. McCall never let anyone forget that she was indeed, female.

McCall's behavior at the time in question, however, was very peculiar. "I think McCall felt guilty about being away. I mean, especially after we opened up the D'Angelo case - that was her case.

Hunter suddenly felt compelled to tell Tate how she acted when she returned from Quantico. Suddenly, the proverbial light bulb went off in Hunter's head. In the words of his partner, he added 2 and 2 and got 4. Brilliant police work.

"Dr. Tate, do you think Sgt. McCall could be behaving this way out of professional jealousy?" He grinned inwardly. He didn't need a damn shrink to figure her out. The answer was suddenly right in front of him.

"How so?"

"Well, I mean, Megan did solve a case she couldn't."

"It's possible. It does seem to strike me as more than just coincidental that Megan was around both times you noticed your partner acting strangely." Hunter noticed a conniving look cross Tate's face. "Would you and McCall consider talking about this together? You could do it here." Tate's thin lips curved into a smile.

Hunter shook his head as he deteminedly made sure the laughter in his chest stayed there. Tate was off his rocker. There was no way that McCall would go in there and hash it out with him like an old married couple. He'd have a better chance of seeing Mother Theresa sitting there before he'd get McCall on Tate's couch.

"You're not gonna get her to come in here, Doc. Not in a million years."

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

Hunter triumphantly exited Tate's office. Hands in his pockets, a soft whistle at his lips and a fresh stick of gum, he was practically giddy. He figured it out. And it had taken less than an hour.

He found McCall at her desk, he dark head bent down as she went through Megan's reports. She didn't look angry, but she didn't look too happy either. Her chocolate eyes met his as she heard his footsteps.

"Where ya been?" He would go to the grave before he told her. What business of it was hers, anyway? She didn't have the courtesy of telling him her lunch plans, right? He thought fast. A lie would have to suffice because the thought of getting into another argument with her was the greater of two evils.

"Hospital. Seeing a sick friend."

She stood up. "Well, come on. We've got a lead on the guy who might take us to where Streiber is." She stood up and made a hasty exit, not waiting for his response. Usually, her 5'6" stride was doubled to keep up with his. On this particular day, however, the extra energy in her steps kept him tailing her.

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

They pulled up across from the mechanic shop in question. Earl Bingham, Streiber's known associate, was supposedly gainfully employed there.

In her place in the Monaco at his side, Hunter avoided her gaze as much as possible. No matter what happened, or what he said, he would be the sonofabitch, so he figured he'd just stay quiet. Suddenly, her voice broke the silence.

"How's your friend doing?"

"He's doing just fine," he answered quickly. Fuck. He'd better think of a name just in case. She was a detective for godsake.

"What's wrong with him?" The talk-show-host in his partner began to emerge. Why did women have to ask so many questions? She would have made a great reporter.

"Got a bad liver. Had to take it out." Yep, that sounded plausible.

"What do you mean 'had to take it out'?" Jesus, why couldn't she just stop when she was ahead? McCall was so high-maintenance sometimes.

"Just what I said. He has a bad liver and they had to take it out." He glared at her in the process.

"You can't remove someone's liver." Who the hell does she think she is? Okay, so she was pretty damn smart. Damn . . . he chose the wrong organ, didn't he? Too late now. He'd ad-lib this as well as he could.

"Yeah, you can. They do it all the time. Medicine can do incredible things now."

"What are you, crazy?" Yep, and my brunette partner is making me that way.

"Medical science has proven that you cannot live without your liver!" her voice said, now escalating into a higher soprano. Without looking, he knew her hands were talking as well.

Frustration with a capital 'F'. "So what are you, the Surgeon General? Okay, they didn't take his liver out at all! They took everything out, except a little piece of it. He now has a liver the size of a hamster's, okay?"

Her demeanor changed in an instant as she spotted their suspected associate. "There's our guy." Thank God! He had to get out of the car before he strangled her. Hmph . . . McCall either needed a bottle of Midol or she needed to get laid, and he was assuming it was the latter. He shook his head, not seeing the look of dismay from his partner as he exited the car. She could see his lie a mile away.

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

Hunter hung his head in shame. He dumped her, blew her off, left her behind . . . to go chase a lead with Megan Malone. McCall's dentist appointment was just way too convenient and easy. He seized the opportunity to let himself off the hook and get away from her with a good excuse. He thought for sure that it would have blown over by now, but it hadn't. The air between them was thick enough to cut with a knife. But he also felt overwhelmingly guilty. Her dark eyes reflected extreme hurt -- surprise even -- when he strutted off with Malone and blew her off in the meantime.

They hooked up later on, Streiber still on the loose and Malone hovering over the case like a commander-wanna-be. Hunter watched as McCall practically bristled with every mention of Malone's name or any time she was near the driven lieutenant.

The silence was definitely uncomfortable, but Hunter was just thankful it was silence and not the heated exchange of words that they had been trying to control for the past few days. The entire precinct was hushed and uncertain, another source of McCall's hostility.

Hunter's fine ears heard McCall being beckoned from the officer on desk duty.

"Dee Dee! You just got a call from a Dr. Tate." Huh? THE Dr. Tate? Hunter chuckled on the inside. He had underestimated McCall. She caved! "He wants you to call him."

Hunter watched her lips form a tight line as she quietly shot fire out of her eyes to the poor officer just doing his job. Burying her attention to a report in an effort to be nonchalant, Hunter could not resist the best temptation he had had to goad her in years. He could swear there was a little red devil sitting on his left shoulder saying "do it! do it!"

"Dr. Tate?" Hunter quipped, unable to hide a grin. He could barely contain his glee. "Gee, would that be the department psychiatrist?"

He watched his partner try to blow it off. "I just made an inquiry." How nonchalant.

"Oh, 'an inquiry'. That inquiry wouldn't be yesterday's dentist appointment, now would it?"

For a brief moment, Hunter thought for sure that he had gotten her. He savored the moment . . . until that all-familiar knowing look came from his partner's eyes. "How do you know that Dr Tate is the departmental psychiatrist?"

"That's common knowledge." (Good answer! Good answer! Hunter realized he had seen way too many episodes of the Family Feud.)

"Really?" she asked, her eyes slowly dancing with a hint of mischief that he hadn't seen in a very long time.

He wouldn't give her the satisfaction yet. "Yeah."

"Even though he's filling in for the regular psychiatrist who is on vacation?"

Hunter hesitated. Shit. How did she know he was lying? After six years, he should have known better. Might as well pile it on before he began to shovel out of it. She would be the victor. "I'm very well informed," he replied.

McCall decided to call her hand. She looked at him deadpan, her voice dripping with the sarcasm he so loved . . . the same tone of voice that belonged to the brass cupcake of old. "How's your friend's liver?"

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

"Wait a minute now . . . you really saw Tate?" Hunter asked. He had ushered her into Charlie's office in an effort to keep the eavesdroppers at bay. The pool on how long their quarrel would last was growing and remained just one more source of irritation to both of them.

"Yes, I did. So what's the big deal? So did you," she said accusingly, pointing a finger at him.

"I'm just surprised, that's all. What happened to "This is something I'm just not interested in?" he retorted. He got no reply, just the ball back in his court.

"Well, I could say the same thing to you. You were just as against it as I was." True.

"So, now what? Did you come to any big revelations?" he challenged.

"No, not really. Did you?"

His lack of response was all the answer she needed, and he could see it troubled her. He watched her leave his gaze as she ran her hand through her dark hair.

"What's wrong with us?" she asked, her perfectly manicured brows raised questioningly in parallel with her hands.

His shoulders slumped. "I dunno."

"Well, I don't know either," she countered. They stared at each other in silence.

"We're worth fighting for, aren't we?" McCall asked him, her voice suddenly pleading. Hunter nodded his head slowly and turned to pick up Charlie's phone. His fingers did the walking automatically as he dialed a number. McCall's eyes widened when she heard his end of the conversation.

"This is Sergeant Hunter. Please tell Dr. Tate that Sergeant McCall will be joining me this afternoon."

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

Hunter found himself on one end of Tate's couch with McCall sitting primly on the opposite end, separated by a silence neither one was familiar with. He couldn't believe this was actually happening -- he and McCall -- their future to be determined by a profession which Hunter utterly despised. If someone had told him this years ago before stalking her down on Fifth and Los Angeles that they would be seeking professional counseling, he would have never believed it.

"I'm sorry my phone message let the cat out of the bag," Tate said to them, mostly McCall. "But I'm very glad you decided to come here and work this out together."

Neither one spoke, so Tate moved forward. "You know, it's interesting you both chose to discuss the same events. In particular, the first time you worked with Megan Malone. Why is that, do you think?"

Immediately, Dee Dee turned her head and looked at Hunter with disbelief. "You talked about Megan Malone?"

Hunter was quick on the defense. "Yeah. What's the big deal?"

"It's not a big deal. I just . . . I didn't think she was that important to you."

He knew it. His previous conversation with Tate pointed at Megan Malone being the reason for McCall's horrid mood. "She's not that important to me." It was the truth. He could tolerate her as a cop. But as a man, he certainly was not interested. She was a ball buster and not his type. His type was sitting only a few feet away from him, with a look on her face that told him she didn't believe him.

Tate didn't let her respond. "We might get further if we pick up where you left off, Dee Dee."

"Yeah, where was that?" Hunter said as he continued to look at his partner who was now visibly incensed. What the fuck was her problem?

After Tate (that bastard) cut him off, Hunter reclined a little further into the leather and listened as McCall regaled into the tale of how Megan Malone took over the D'Angelo case and received sole credit for solving it, including receipt of a promotion to Lieutenant.

Tate questioned McCall's feeling about Megan getting all the credit for the bust. Hunter watched his partner intently as she responded sharply.

"Well, you know, we did a lot of work on this case together. I'm not saying that she didn't deserve her promotion . . ."

Hunter couldn't contain a deep chuckle when he heard her last few words.

"What does that mean?" she asked, referring to his laughter.

Hunter couldn't believe it. He was absolutely right about McCall being jealous. "You see, it's clear to me now. This whole thing is about you being jealous of Megan Malone."

He was not prepared for her verbal onslaught. "What? I am not jealous of her!"

"Yeah, you are." Was she blind? She was acting like a teenaged schoolgirl, jealous of the object of her wannabe boyfriend's affection.

He was also unprepared for the searching look in her eyes and in her voice. "What is it with you? Are you asleep or what?"

"What are you talking about?" Goddammit, she was pissing him off. What was he supposed to be? A mindreader?

Her porcelain skin began to take on a red hue as she responded to his inability to enter into her thoughts. "You know exactly what I'm talking about! Think back for just a minute. Think back to what happened three years ago."

Three years ago? What the hell was she referring to? The longer he tried to rack his brain, the more he could see her heart break throught her beseeching eyes.

And then, a thought came to him. An image he tried to banish from his memory forever. The one of the night before she left for Quantico. The same image that reminded him of how she felt in his arms as he made love to her. Twice. Oh, how he tried in vain to forget.

"Oh, now he gets it," she said to Tate, knowing they had finally connected without verbally doing so.

He finally realized what this was all about. Megan Malone had been attached to his hip, as much as it annoyed him, the entire time when McCall returned from Quantico. Sure, she was jealous. But it wasn't professional jealousy . . . it was female jealousy. Hunter suddenly realized he had some explaining to do. A man of action, not words . . . he was tongue-tied as he tried to explain.

"I . . . nothing ever happened between Megan Malone and me."

"I don't care if it did." Bullshit, he thought. If it didn't matter, they wouldn't be sitting there on that very couch.

He looked straight into her eyes as she went on. "This is about . . . after what happened . . . I leave for six weeks . . . I come back and I needed to talk to you. I couldn't! There you were with Megan everywhere you went. You both were together."

Yeah, they were together. He couldn't shake Malone at all. And it wasn't like he hadn't tried. He remembered thinking only of McCall and how he had desperately wanted to talk to her ---- alone. Malone's presence obviously had disturbed his partner when she returned.

And Malone showing up on scene after their blowout the other day over Streiber had brought back all of the feelings she had obviously been carrying around for three years.

"I needed to talk to you. I needed to connect with you after what happened," she pleaded with him. His heart filled. She had wanted to talk to him! It had meant something, hadn't it? He grinned on the inside before Tate tried to reign it in.

"After what happened?" Tate asked.

Hunter wasn't playing the game. "Just a second, please." He looked at McCall as he tried to console her while at the same time putting up his own defense. "Lookit, I called twice a week. All you ever talked about was Quantico this, Quantico that, your work. You never once brought it up!"

"Bring what up?" Tate asked.

McCall ignored Tate as well as she devised her own explanation for her actions. "Well, you know, on the phone you didn't exactly sound like you . . . wait a minute, what do you mean, me bring it up? Why didn't you bring it up?" she asked him accusingly.

Duh! "Because I didn't think you wanted to bring it up." What was he, a soothsayer?

"Why wouldn't I want to talk about it?" she asked, her voice turning into an incredulous squeal.

Hunter was stumped. There was no way he was gonna figure this out.

"You see? Why is it that a woman always has to carry the ball in an emotional involvement?"

Oh, for chrissake, Hunter thought to himself. The talk-show-host partner of his was turning their past into a soap opera right before his very eyes.

"You still haven't told me what you're talking about," Tate replied.

Their eyes met, neither one thrilled to tell Tate what in the hell they were talking about. McCall shot him a final glare before she took on the responsibility. "Alright, I'll tell him." She paused a moment and then began the explanation. Brevity, McCall. Brevity. "After ."

Hunter heard her say it and then hesitate. No, McCall. Leave Fredericks in the past. That's another session in itself. He breathed a sigh of relief as she changed her word.

"Before I left for Quantico . . . we slept together."

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

Hunter watched Tate's stunned expression. Obviously, Tate was not expecting McCall's revelation. Tate glanced at Hunter and then at McCall, repeating the eye pattern for quite some time, waiting for either another confession or an elaboration of some sort. Hunter craned his neck to the left, trying to steal a glance at her with a fleeting look. She refused to look at him or Tate, her eyes darting everywhere but at the men.

"Are you willing to talk about it now?" Tate finally asked them.

Hunter watched McCall squirm like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. Her brown eyes met his, her dark eyelashes lowering to fan her cheeks as she looked away again. Hunter took the cue and let her off the hook.

"It just sort of happened," he revealed, his voice softening. He wanted to reach out for her but didn't dare. He was still on her shit list, he was sure. It was true . . . neither one had initiated it or expected it that night. It just . . . happened.

"Yeah," McCall finally agreed. "It just . . . happened." For a brief second, Hunter swore he could see a soft smile at the edge of her lips as she reminisced. With that minor look, his heart fluttered. It meant something to her. Certainly . . . and suddenly, he realized it had meant a lot more to her than he thought.

Hunter quickly tried to decide how to explain without signing his name on the dotted line to agree to a year's worth of therapy. Their relationship was one that no one would ever understand. Brevity. It was the only way.

He thought about what had happened before that night, how she had been trying to emotionally deal with the aftermath of the Fredericks case and physically heal as well. How depressed she had seemed, finally admitting to him that it wasn't Fredericks at all, but was missing Steve something terrible. She hadn't mentioned the Fredericks case, so he decided he wouldn't either. What Tate didn't know wouldn't hurt any of them.

"Well, we were both working kind of hard, especially McCall. She was getting ready for her trip and all. It was her wedding anniversary and she seemed a little down, so I thought I might take her out to dinner. We started the evening off talking about Steve - that was her late husband -- he was killed in the line of duty some years ago." Hunter witnessed her wince at the sound of Steve's name.

"It seemed to help. By the end of the evening she was talking about her trip to Quantico, and the mood was really up." Usually a man of few words when it came to emotions, Hunter was shocked at his own repetoire and how the words streamed out of his mouth.

Suddenly, he remembered it all as if it were yesterday. How beautiful she looked, how her eyes danced in the candlelight as they shared a bottle of wine, how he had made her laugh. "We were having a lot of fun that night. We didn't want it to stop. So, when I took her home and dropped her off, she invited me in for a cup of coffee. We came inside and we just talked . . . talked more than most married people do." Every word he said was true. He would have traded his life to have that night begin just one of a zillion.

"Just this once, it all seemed to hit me. It hit her, too." Her dark eyes had fascinated him that night, and he remembered how he had hesitatingly reached out for her and gently kissed her. And he remembered how instead of chasing him out her front door, she had taken the lead from him and practically leaped into his arms, wanting more.

"The next morning you left for Quantico?" Tate finally asked McCall.

Hunter looked at her, and he could swear he saw her eyes watering as she remembered as she nodded her head, unable to speak. "How did you feel?" Tate finally asked McCall.

"Great. I felt great. It was really nice having him . . ." she began before she remembered that Hunter was still sitting there with her. She turned her face to him and looked into his eyes as she recalled the next morning. "Having you there in the morning, you know, waking up together. I knew that it wasn't going to be a pattern, or anything." Hunter's heart flipped over when he heard her say that. If it was up to him, it would have definitely been a pattern. "That was probably the only time that that would happen. But still, it was . . . it was very special."

Hunter chuckled as she went into the tale of his poor attempt at breakfast, a feat which he had perfected over the years in case it ever happened again. He could see it now . . . "Omelettes a la Hunter" complete with a banana smoothie beverage would thrill his always-ravenous-in-the-morning partner.

"Did you two talk about it?" Tate asked. Obviously not . . . they wouldn't be there if they had.

"What about later?" Nope. Never.

"You never talked about it?" Get to the point, Tate.

McCall finally launched into what she thought was a plausible explanation for their ridiculous actions. "Maybe we were just both too afraid to say anything. I was busy packing for the airport. Probably conveniently busy, you know what I mean? He helped me pack, and we drove to the airport. We kissed goodbye, and I left." Oh yeah, that kiss. It melted his heart.

Her gaze met Hunter's again, and all the pieces finally began to fit together for him. "And six weeks later, I walk in and I see you with Megan, who's sitting at my desk, and I felt like I was looking at my replacement. And you didn't even seem to care that I was back, or that I was even there."

Hunter was stunned. How could that even be possible? How could she even think that he didn't care she was back? He had marked every single day until she would return with a red "X", like a kid counting down the days until Christmas.

"Oh, but that's not true," Hunter said finally. It killed him to know that she thought he didn't care.

"But that's the way I felt."

"But you know I never meant that."

"And after Megan left?" Tate asked.

"Well, after she left it was like we turned the clock back. It was as if it never happened at all," McCall said, a soft, resigned finality to her voice. A voice full of disappointment and extreme hurt.

Now it was Hunter's turn. How to explain this?

He echoed her words. "I felt great. I'm glad it happened. But as time went on I just pushed it aside."

He looked at her and tried to explain it, as if Tate wasn't even there. "Look, what happened between us just evolved. I just didn't think it needed to be explained at the time." The last thing he had wanted was to hurt her, or think she was a notch on his belt. It had meant so much more, and truthfully, he had done the stupid thing by waiting for her to bring it up first. Total miscommunication, so unlikely for the partners who at any other time could read each other's minds.

"The more time that went by, the more I pushed it away, the more I got afraid of looking at it. I didn't want to lose my friendship with you. I didn't want to lose my partner."

Tears welled up in her eyes as she reached her hand out for his, a small smile begging to be released.

It would be okay. He was sure.

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

Finally, Malone was out of their hair. Right after they left Tate's office to answer Megan's emergency call, they busted the Streiber case wide open, thanks to McCall's brilliant police work. He smiled as he recalled McCall chasing Streiber down the alley at full speed. Kicking ass and taking down names. It warmed his heart.

She had declined his offer of dinner. So he agreed to finish the report with her instead and take her home afterward. They finished it in comfortable silence, with McCall putting on the finishing touches of dotting all the "i"s and crossing all the "t"s.

Their comfortable silence became more and more awkward, the closer the Monaco got to her house. Hunter could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He walked her to her front door, and he heard her voice reach out to him in the dark. Thank God she took the initiative to speak because his throat felt like there was a basketball stuck in it.

"Been quite a week," she offered.

"Glad this case is over with," he managed to say.

"Me too."

She unlocked her front door and then looked at him with the eyes he got lost in every time. It was time to make it or break it.

"Look," he began. "I want to apologize to you again. This should never have happened. This is a monumental blunder on my part, and I should have confronted the issue from the outset." He was inwardly pleased with his impromptu apology.

"I had my part in it too, you know?" she conceded. "I'm sorry. I apologize."

There was no way he was going to let this happen again. "We have to make a pact," he offered. "Anything like this ever happens again, we speak up immediately."

McCall was quick to agree. "Absolutely. No matter what it is, no matter what comes up . . . confront it, and talk about it right then, OK?" Dee Dee held out her hand.

"It's a deal." He held both of her hands in his, suddenly realizing that today could have been the end of their partnership. Her eyes met his beseechingly once more, as she asked him a question that he never thought he would hear come from her lips again.

"Want to come in for coffee?"

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

The unfinished business that wrapped itself around Megan Malone opened up an old wound, one that would have probably begun to heal if they hadn't . . .

When she asked him in for coffee after he apologized to her for the entire Megan Malone incident, he knew it was a coded question for something else. She had the same look in her eyes that she had that night almost three years ago. The look that drugged his soul. The one that made him turn over heaven and earth for her.

"Want to come in for coffee?" she asked, her eyes as dark as a black cat, a passion lurking behind them that he swore he had only seen once before. He hesitated, knowing that if he stepped through her front door, coffee would be a thing of the past and neither of them would even make it into the kitchen.

He was going to say no. It was too painful. He didn't know if he could stand the heartache. Until ...

"Please? Don't leave," she pleaded, her voice almost a whisper. Her words undid him. The word "no" was no longer in his vocabulary.

He had no answer, only a slight nod of his head as she continued to hold his hand as they walked through the threshold, as if she was afraid to lose contact with him; afraid of abandonment at a time when she needed him the most.

He followed her into her house and watched her drop her purse and her keys onto a table. She turned to him and looked into his soul through her gaze into his blue eyes. There were no words spoken. She came to him willingly, her lips curving into a sweet smile, reaching for his other hand, and slowly retreated backward as she led him to her bedroom, never breaking eye contact with him, for fear that if she did, he would disappear.

She slowly edged his jacket off his shoulders and laid it over a nearby chair. That was his undoing. In mere milliseconds, he had gathered her into his arms, meeting her for a kiss that electrified his entire being. It was even sweeter than he remembered.

They made love again, as if the three years in between had never happened. The first time was swift and urgent. He was almost ashamed at how quickly he had taken her. But she hadn't asked to slow down, and in fact, she beat him to the finish line.

And four hours later, she woke him again for a second round. He could never get enough of her. The second time, he rolled her to her back and as he made love to her, he told her exactly how much he loved her. He loved her for over an hour, slowly, passionately, properly. It was pure magic. Tears glistened in her eyes as she told him that she loved him, too. But . . .

Damn, there was a 'but' in there somewhere. His heart shattered.

He held her in his arms as the dawn slowly creeped into the windows of her bedroom afterward, absently playing with the stray curls of her hair that were tickling his chest. "I love you, Rick. I will always love you. But I can't give you more than that."

Her words were like small stab wounds. Not enough to kill him, but enough to make him bleed, enough to put him in constant pain.

He could see her regret written all over her face the next morning. They came through with their mutual promises . . . to talk it out, confront the issue at hand. They talked all through the morning and later along the beach through the afternoon, as they had promised they would the night before on her stoop. He wanted her to be more than his partner. He told her he loved her. He wanted everything with her. And she knew that. He didn't have to tell her.

"I can't," she pleaded with him, in an effort to make him understand.

"Why not? You can't or you won't?" Hunter asked her with disgust.

"I can't be with another cop. I just can't. I can't go through that again," she whispered.

"Why are you so sure that I'm gonna die and leave you alone?"

"How can you be so sure that you won't? Steve made me the same promise, and look what happened." Her comeback echoed the finality of the situation.

Fuck you, Steve.

No matter what he said, she wouldn't budge. Finally, they acquiesced. They would remain partners and friends. Sex between them would never happen again. NEVER. They would continue to love each other, he was sure. That would never change. Life sucked.

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

Hunter's heart almost stopped when he heard the shotgun blast holes through the withered door. His attention immediately turned to McCall, who had been standing in front of it. She dove to the floor, escaping the onslaught.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," she yelled as she scrambled to her feet and caught up with him to chase the perp. Hunter got him with a full round from Simon. One more day in the life of Rick Hunter.

He was quiet on the way back to the precinct. So was she. They had been real quiet lately. Their conversation two weeks ago, the one that took a full morning and afternoon, until they were all talked out and reached a mutual agreement, still weighed heavily on his mind.

It had been two weeks since "after Megan." Hunter was thoroughly pissed off. McCall lied to him. "I will always love you," she had said. Bullshit.

She proved the lie with Alexander Turnan. A name he had heard off and on in the six years he had known McCall. The good doctor was sweeping his partner off of her feet and Hunter couldn't do a damn thing about it. Alex was also screwing up her head. She couldn't think straight. Her mind wasn't on her work. And that in itself was a dangerous combination.

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

He witnessed the heated exchange between McCall and Alex after Hunter left her at the clinic. Alex looked furious. Hunter had seen the same emotions from men whose wives or significant others were police officers, and he didn't like what he saw. She got a little banged up, but she was tough. She'd be fine. Hunter had to beg her as it was to get her shoulder checked out in the first place. Instead of going home to rest after being knocked onto her ass, McCall met Hunter at the scene. Her mood was as foul as Hunter's, and the more Hunter tried to calm her down, the angrier she became, finally turning and walking away from him.

"What's wrong?" he pleaded with her. She ignored him. "McCall! What's wrong?"

"I used to know exactly what I wanted," she said in between torrents of tears as she pushed him away. Hunter was shocked, and so were the others who were standing around at the scene. She had never broken down like this in front of anyone, especially at work. "But even I don't know any more," she said, a sound of defeat in her voice.

Between the circumstances behind his friend's murder, and McCall acting like a lovesick teenager, Hunter was in the foulest mood he had ever been in. He was in no mood for bullshit, either. It was time to take the bull by the horns, so he decided to pay Alex a visit at the Bel Aire hotel.

"McCall is my partner. I need her. You're screwing her up. Back off!" Hunter ordered. Alex was in no mood.

"I love her," he told Hunter.

"So do I!" Hunter responded. A look of dawning showed on Alex's face. It all became suddenly clear to him. Two men were fighting for the love of one woman, and only one would be the victor.

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

"I just want to apologize for yesterday," McCall's told him, out of the blue as they drove in the Monaco. He looked sideways at her as he tried to keep his eyes on the road at the same time. The troubled look on her face worried him. His partner had not been herself the past 48 hours. He saw her hesitate, almost shrink back into the corner of the passenger seat.

"I guess I should have told you what was going on, but the time was never right," she explained.

"What IS going on?" Hunter wanted to know. His bad mood remained.

"Alex asked me to marry him." It was all he could do not to drive head-on into a brick wall. The pieces fell together rather quickly now. He had known for years that McCall had a soft spot for Alex over the years. He never imagined that Alex would give up his life of travel for her.

Alex and McCall had run ragged, a whirlwind through LA as they reunited. Hunter had been busy running through the streets as well in his "blues," chasing down the sonofabitch murderer who killed one of his best friends. His mind had been preoccupied, and never once did it dawn on him that a true romance was brewing once again between them.

"Well, what'd you say?"

"He wants me to move to London. But after yesterday, I don't know if it matters any more." Hunter smiled to himself. Good. Maybe Alex will go the hell home. That was certainly the message Hunter had given him the night before.

Their brief conversation ended as he pulled up to the warehouse. He zipped up his windbreaker and took to the front, McCall backing him up. The chase for the perp ended up with Simon blasting holes in the rear of the getaway van. They got 'em. Hunter checked for a pulse on the accused's bloody arm, fully expecting not to find one. All part of police procedure, and one more cop-killer on a one-way trip to hell.

And then he saw it. McCall's look of regret. Just one more dead body on her list. For the first time in six years, he saw her giving up. She put her arms down to the side, her 9 mm. barely hanging from her fingertips, and walked away, her head hanging in disgust.

Hunter went after her. He found her, behind the warehouse. Her eyes brimmed with tears, the second time in 24 hours that he found her in tears at the scene. "I can't do this anymore, Hunter. I hate this. I hate seeing all of this death, the violence . . . just all of this. It makes me sick." She couldn't even look at him. "I'm sorry, Hunter. I just can't do it anymore."

She was beaten. It was over. She hit the wall, and it blindsided her. He could see it happening. It took over six years, but it had gotten her. She brushed him aside and made her way to the car. They drove back in silence. He dropped her off and he went about his business, silently mourning the loss of their relationship. He was now too tired to fight what he instinctively knew was a losing battle. The LAPD was losing McCall.

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

He found her, staring out at the twinkling lights of the city, out of Charlie's office window later that night, when no one else was around.

She told him that she was going to London. She was going to marry Alex. Her mind was made up, and dammit, she could be so damn stubborn. Hunter felt as if he had been slapped. He was losing her. He could now accept her leaving the force, but he could not accept her leaving his life. She was his life. And he wasn't going to let her go without a fight. He didn't invest over six years of his life loving her to end the battle waving the white flag as he watched Alex ride with her into the London sunset.

"Don't do it, Dee Dee. You don't love him. Not the way you love me." He fully expected her to get defensive, and she did.

"What are you saying . . . that I don't love him?"

"Are you blind or what? You're running away from something that will not happen as long as I can help it. Marrying Alex Turnan is NOT going to fix this, make it go away, or stop how you feel."

She stood silent, her dark eyes beginning to burn with anger.

"You're making a big mistake, McCall."

She glared at him.

"Hunter. I need you to be supportive. I really want you to be with me when I marry Alex. I want you to give me away. You're my best friend." She had to be kidding. Or insane.

"You have a better chance of seeing Jesus Christ walking you down the aisle than seeing me stand silently by, watching you fuck up your life. You told me you loved me. You weren't lying when you told me that. You meant it. Your problem is Steve McCall, not me."

His words struck her straight in her heart.

"You have exactly two seconds to take that back, Hunter."

"No. I meant every word. You've been holding on to that son-of-a-bitch ex-partner of mine for seven goddamn years. Don't get me wrong . . . I loved Steve like a brother. You are so afraid of being hurt again that you won't let yourself have any happiness. That is exactly what Steve didn't want to happen! I can give you everything you want. But I won't give up being a cop. That is who I am. If you want to throw your life away, go ahead. But don't expect me to stand silently by and watch you do it."

She had no response for the first few minutes. He watched her, trying to come up with a comment, biting her bottom lip, her chest heaving.

"Fuck you, Rick Hunter!" she screamed at him as she pushed past him on her way to leave. In seven years, he had never, ever, heard her say that word.

"You already did. Four times, I believe."

His words, again, hit their mark. She whirled around and glared at him. He wasn't going down without a fight.

"I can't believe you just said that to me." Her tears began to fall in full force. She was so angry, or was she hurt? She could barely speak to him. "Is that all it was to you? Is that all I was to you? A roll in the hay like all the other women you've slept with?"

Her words were angry and hurtful. Her hands were shaking, and suddenly, Hunter felt his heart drop. Certainly, she was in a class by herself compared to the 'others.' Didn't she know that?

He should have controlled himself. By all means, she was special. She was the only one he loved.

Hunter was unprepared for the level of hurt that his words waged on her. "Hunter, you are the only one I . . . since . . ." she began to say, not finishing her sentence. His heart shattered. For real? She hadn't slept with anyone else since Steve? Nah, he didn't believe it.

But her eyes told the truth. He used it against her.

"See what I mean, Dee Dee? You have only slept with people you have loved. You haven't even slept with your future husband yet. What does that tell you?" he asked her as he crossed his arms over his chest in a final triumphant jubilation. He already knew he lost the war. But he would be damned if he would let her go without seeing the awful truth.

"How could you?" she whispered, her voice a combination of disbelief and anger. She suddenly wiped the tears from her face and took a deep breath, steadying herself. "I never thought in a million years that we would end our relationship -- our partnership -- this way."

"We're not ending anything. You are." He was going to have the last word if it killed him.

"Goodbye, Rick."

He found himself watching her leave, and this time, he had not intentions of stopping her.

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

McCall promptly set the wedding date for two weeks later. Alex left to arrange things in London while McCall used her time to tie up loose ends at work and pack up her house, her home now for sale. Their comrades were stunned by the turn of events. Hunter and McCall ignored each other, but maintained a level of professional politeness when it was necessary to exchange words.

Two weeks was going to be a slow, painful death for him. But as each day brought McCall closer to her wedding day, she began to subtly change. She seemed nervous and uptight. Bothered even. The dark circles that tended to appear under her eyes when she was troubled resurfaced.

Hunter used the two weeks to think. McCall certainly knew how he felt about her. And he knew how she felt about him. It was no secret. But she was going to marry Alex anyway--all because she was unwilling to have a relationship with another cop. Hunter knew he could not tolerate sitting through her marriage ceremony to another man. Not without being taken in a straightjacket. Not without his heart jumping out of his chest and dying right there on the altar as McCall said "I do."

It was time to be a man and take it like a man. He couldn't in good conscience let her leave without a proper farewell and parting of the ways.

Hunter performed his own surveillance on his partner, sitting in the Monaco in the Parker Center parking lot, toothpick in his mouth and sugarless gum at arm's reach, waiting for McCall to leave the building. Upon spotting her, he forced his leaden legs to carry him across the hot pavement to the woman who stole his heart years ago. McCall was on her way out, fumbling through her purse for her keys, totally unaware of his presence. He grabbed her by the arm and forcefully retraced his steps across the lot, escorting her to her Mustang, ignoring her pleas to release her.

"Hunter! Let go of me," she seethed, her voice practically a hiss. "I have an appointment and if I'm late . . ." she told him, unable to finish her sentence.

"Not until we clear the air," he said. He turned her to face him, putting her between the Mustang and his body, placing his arms on either side of her and resting his hands on the top. There was no way she would escape his personal prison.

"What's wrong, Dee Dee?" Hunter asked, his voice audibly softer. "I know there's something going on." Wedding or not, she was troubled.

He watched her swallow as her dark eyes became downcast. He tipped her chin in an effort to make her look up at him.

"Everything's fine. I'm just gonna miss this sorry-ass place," she said. He didn't believe her, knowing it was a feeble excuse. McCall should know better . . . after all these years, he knew when she was telling a lie. But there was no point in arguing the matter. She didn't say one more word, and he couldn't think of anything in response. The few seconds of silence seemed to last hours.

"Lookit, McCall. Tomorrow is your last day. I'm not gonna make this any harder than it has to be, and I'm not gonna be there to watch you pack it up. I'm being honest here . . . I don't think I can take it . . . watching you leave. I'll never have another partner like you. I already miss you so much that it hurts." Tears began to burn his eyelids. "So . . . good luck, McCall. Take care of yourself," Hunter told her, watching her eyes well up with tears. "And if you ever need me, you know where to find me. I'll always be here for you." He watched her lip tremble, her wide-eyed stare totally undoing him.

McCall was still caught between his arms, so he decided to do it anyway. Something he had wanted to do every day since they parted ways after Megan Malone.

He gave her a quick kiss, his lips gently touching hers in a final farewell. He pulled back to gauge her response. Her facial expression was one as if to say "how dare you," her body rigid and her arms straight down at her sides. But her eyes were the windows to her soul, and they gave her away every time.

The magic was still there, and he felt it course through his body. He pressed his lips to hers once more, forcing her mouth to open. He snaked one arm around her waist as his free hand tangled itself in her dark hair, pulling her head back gently as he probed her mouth with his tongue. Her stiff response was no match for him, and he felt her body begin to submit to him, to relax in his grasp, finally responding to his kiss with an urgency he remembered all too well. It electrified him.

Finally, he pulled away, both of them gasping for breath, her reaction a mixed bag of emotions that he could not determine.

"Goodbye, Dee Dee. " He strode to the doors of the building, finally turning to see what was left in his aftermath. She was in the driver's seat of her car, her head leaned against the steering wheel, her face buried behind her hands, her shoulders shaking from the quiet sobs that he knew were escaping her body. .

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

One day before the wedding. One day before Hunter would cease to exist as he once was. His life, as he knew it, would be over. He hadn't seen or heard from McCall since their impromptu kiss in the parking lot.

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK

Hunter heaved the sports section he was reading, or at least the pages he was holding, as he seemed to be reading the same lead sentence for the past two hours, to the floor. Who the hell was bugging him a day before the real mourning would begin?

Dr. Alexander Turnan. Eyes full of sorrow. Something happened. Hunter's world suddenly seemed a tad brighter.

"She called it off." No hi's, no hello's, no how are ya.

The four words that Alex spoke to Hunter made his heart leap.

Alex didn't wait for Hunter's invitation to let him inside. Brushing past him, Alex put his hands on his hips and turned to face Hunter.

"My flight arrived less than 3 hours ago and Dee Dee was waiting for me at the airport. She told me to turn around and go home. She canceled the wedding. She said she couldn't marry me."

It took a few seconds for Alex's words to sink in.

"I've gotta be honest, Hunter. I was having second thoughts myself." His shoulders slumped in defeat.

Alex continued his confession and his pacing path in Hunter's carpet. "It took her too long to say yes. I mean, anyone else I know said that when they asked the love of their life to marry them, it was an instant yes answer. Dee Dee took two days to answer me! Was it that hard of a decision for her? And you know why it took her so long? She couldn't find the right time to tell YOU, for godsake," he revealed, raising his hands in the air, to no one in particular. "While I was away, I started thinking that she was marrying me to escape her past, her job . . . you."

Very likely, Hunter thought. Alex was not only a good doctor, but he must have also paid attention in his psych rotation.

"She didn't give you a specific reason?" Hunter asked finally, unable to find the right words to say to the man who was obviously distraught.

"No. Just that she couldn't marry me," he said dejectedly. "And like I said, she wouldn't say exactly, not for a lack of trying to get it out of her. You're her best friend. She loves you very much. She even told me so. I thought perhaps she said something to you. I thought perhaps you knew what the real reason was . . . maybe she had confided in you." He searched Hunter's eyes. "I guess you really don't know, do you?"

"Lookit, Alex. Like I said, McCall and I have barely spoken. I could tell something was bothering her the past week, and yesterday, I tried to get it out of her. She wouldn't tell me. I tried."

"Hunter, you need to go talk to her. I think she's really hurting. I still love her, but I think we both realized it wouldn't have worked out. At least we realized it before it was too late." Hunter's heart thudded in his chest. Had she come to her senses? He was dying to find out.

"You told me you love her. You better prove it," Alex challenged, pointing a finger at him.

"Where is she?"

"I haven't the slightest. She took off from the airport before I could say anything else. I have to go because I was able to book a return flight that is leaving in a couple of hours."

Hunter shook his hand and bade him farewell. On to the mission of finding McCall . . . and Hunter knew of only one place to look.

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

McCall must have lost every game of hide and seek as a child. As usual, she didn't hide very good.

Hunter found her at the park, on their bench. The same one where he told her she'd make a great parent to the baby she wanted to adopt, and the same one where he invited her out to dinner to celebrate her wedding anniversary almost three years ago . . . the same brilliant move that landed him in her bed and turned their partnership into a gradual highway to hell. The same park where he salvaged their partnership six short months ago. It was uncanny how this park represented the major changes in their lives.

She was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt and tennis shoes, looking more like a teenager than a grown woman, watching the hoardes of children clamoring on the playground equipment nearby.

He sat down beside her, not knowing what to say. The scent of her perfume wafted toward him, making him ache to take her into his arms.

She looked at him, and he swore she wasn't surprised to see him. "Hi," McCall said to him, as if it were any other day. As if she expected him to show up there. A sense of serenity emanated from her being.

"What's up?"

She shrugged her shoulders. No response. It was going to be harder than he thought to get her to open up to him. The entire ride to the park, Hunter had fantasies of her leaping into his arms, telling him she had come to her senses, had seen the errors of her ways, and that she would be by his side forever. That she loved him, cop or no cop.

He frowned. There was no leaping.

"Alex came to see me. He told me what happened . . . that you canceled the wedding. Wanna elaborate?" he asked, trying again for a response.

McCall rolled her eyes. "I should have known he would go to you," she said, shaking her head. She drew her feet up in front of her on the bench, bending her knees and wrapping her arms around them, hugging herself as she shook her head. "I couldn't marry him," she stated simply, matter-of-factly. She rested her chin on her knees as she stared in front of her.

Hunter's frustration deepened. She was stalling. "Yeah. Alex said that. Why?"

"A lot of reasons." Her words were chosen carefully as her gaze finally met his. He looked at her closer. Her eyes were red from crying, the dark circles underneath them more prominent than ever. Her attention wandered to the playground again.

"Why don't you give me one of them," he prodded.

He heard her soft laugh as she shook her head again, her eyes gazing at him with a flicker of amusement. "Oh, I'll give you one all right." Her eyes filled with tears as her mouth opened to tell him something and then closed.

Hunter was suddenly worried. He knew every facial expression McCall had, and this one he had never seen before. "Come on, Dee Dee, what's going on? I know something's up, and I can tell there's more to it than what you told Alex, so spill it."

She swallowed and then the words came out like small pieces of a jigsaw puzzle -- making Hunter struggle trying to piece it all together. Her words came out in between choked sobs.

"I couldn't marry Alex . . . because you and I . . . when we . . . after Megan . . ." she sighed, wiped the tears from her eyes, and then looked at him squarely and serenely.

She took a deep breath, and then blurted it out. "I'm two months pregnant."

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Now, this was certainly newsworthy.

He honestly felt that the proverbial saying "you could have knocked him over with a feather" was certainly appropriate at that time. Say what???? He shook his head at her revelation. Wait a minute now, did he hear her right?

While arithmetic was not his best subject, addition and subtraction was certainly doable. His very basic knowledge of the female body and how it worked told him that 'two months pregnant' meant that 'it' would have happened around six weeks ago, before Alex rode into town on his white horse. Hunter found himself holding the winning ticket.

The gods were certainly putting him to the ultimate test. He gulped and then asked, "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Definitely." Her eyes clouded over. "I found out for sure the night before last . . . after you stopped me in the parking lot."

A huge Hunter grin crept over his face. Hot damn. He got one past the goalie without even consciously thinking about it. His heart filled. He watched for her reaction to the ecstatic one he could not hide.

A torrent of tears began to roll down her cheeks. Wait a minute . . . she wasn't happy? Wasn't this her heart's desire? Hunter immediately acted on instinct and moved toward her, embracing her, taking her into his arms.

"Please, don't cry," he whispered into her ear as one hand crept around her waist and the other stroked her dark hair. He hated to see her cry. Suddenly, he was now worried. Perhaps he had misjudged her. Perhaps she didn't want it. The thought made his chest hurt. Certainly, this was unexpected, but surely not the end of the world.

McCall pulled away from him and then shook her head as she wiped her eyes with her fingers. "I can't help it but to cry. That's all I've done for days. I just canceled my wedding because I'm pregnant with another man's child! Please, don't tell me not to cry."

McCall's sense of morality was getting the best of her.

Hunter's excitement was dashed by sudden anger at her last few words, and his defenses raised their angry heads. "Well, I'm sorry if I literally fucked up your plans, McCall. However, I distinctly remember someone else being there besides me when this happened, or is this the modern version of the immaculate conception?" he challenged her.

Her dark eyes blazed at him. Her mouth opened for a comeback and then she must have thought better of it because she clamped her mouth shut. She remained stone silent, refusing to speak.

Hunter continued to look at her. He should have seen the signs. He attributed her constant fatigue and uncharacteristic lack of appetite to the stress of her upcoming nuptial planning and the subsequent move over the Atlantic. He scrutinized her perfect body . . . she still looked the same. Perhaps he should have paid closer attention. But wasn't it she who demanded he stay away? He drew in a deep breath and let it out as his hand absently trailed through his ever-receding hairline. This was not the time for a knock-down, drag out argument. Like the one they had two weeks ago.

"Lookit, let's not make rash decisions here. Let's talk about this later, when you feel like talking. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, always. I'm not going anywhere." Hunter stared into the brown eyes of his partner.

She drew in a long breath, turning around to stare at the playground again. She hesitated and then turned to face him again.

"Okay. I'll call you. In a couple of days, okay? I just need to be alone . . . I just need to figure some things out."

Figure some things out? Like what? A horrible thought dawned on him, and he tried to banish it from his brain. No way, she wouldn't . . . would she? What the hell . . . he had nothing to lose by asking.

"Dee Dee?" he began, before his faltering heart began to make his words stumble. He walked up behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He felt how tense she was. He turned her around to face him. "You're not thinking of . . . I mean . . . you wouldn't . . . you'll have it, right?"

She stared at him in surprise before her eyes clouded over. For once, her annoyed reaction pleased him because it gave him the answer he wanted to hear before she even said it. "Yes, of course," she said softly, bringing her hands up to cover her heart. "Rick, I could never, ever . . ." she began before he stopped her.

"That's all I wanted to know." He pulled her toward him and kissed her forehead before he wrapped his arms around her, and this time, she returned his affection, slowly relaxing in his arms. "We'll figure this out, I promise." Another thought occurred to him.

"Where are you gonna stay?" Hunter asked. Her house had been sold fully furnished at a high price in exchange for the buyers being able to move in the day before. She had no house, no furniture. She was staying at a hotel, her car and belongings already on its way to London on a ship. It would be months before she would get any of it back.

She shook her head and threw her hands up in the air. "Dammit, I don't know. At the hotel, probably," McCall said, and then laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "Alex was supposed to stay at the Bel Aire until the wedding, and now he's gone . . . I'll probably stay there since it's paid for."

Alex. Poor schmuck.

"Does Alex know?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. I couldn't do that to him. It would have killed him. You know what? After I told him I couldn't marry him, he told me that he had been having second thoughts anyway. He said it took me too long to accept his proposal." Her eyes filled with tears. "He actually looked kind of relieved."

Hunter shuffled his feet. He knew. He also didn't want her staying by herself. Not now, when she obviously needed him but was too damn stubborn to admit it.

"Don't stay at the hotel . . . come home with me. I'll stay out of your way, I promise. I'll sleep on the beach if it will make you feel better." He received the soft smile he was hoping for. "I won't take no for an answer."

She looked at him skeptically, her eyebrow raising in the process. "Really? You're sure? I mean, I don't think I'll be the best houseguest right now."

"I insist," Hunter told her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the car.

Yes, the gods were testing him. But this time, Hunter was determined to pass the test with flying colors.

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Hunter sipped an iced tea while he watched McCall lean forward against the deck rail, staring at the ocean. The slight breeze moved through her dark silken hair, her eyes closed as she breathed the sea air deeply through her lungs. He recalled the many times in their past that she had done the same thing, usually at times when she was troubled or in deep thought.

Hunter was worried. Certainly, her revelation was not something that he had planned or anticipated happening. They had been careless, he admitted finally. Instead of intelligent, mature, responsible adults, they had acted on impulse like two virgin teenagers in the back seat of a car. He could still remember the feel of her hands along his body, how she had wanted him, and how easy it was to forget. How they had not taken precautions.

It had been too easy, too strong, too urgent. He could not get enough of her, he remembered. He recalled at how quickly she responded to his touch. How he stopped for just a second to remind her that he was unprepared . . . but she had remained silent, except for her dark mysterious eyes that were full of passion and desire. "Please," she breathed as she pulled his body down toward her. "I want you." He could deny her nothing.

And how the second time, when she had woken him in the pre-dawn hours, he had loved her slowly and properly, how it seemed like a lifetime of stars had passed over them, how magical it was. He smiled at the memory.

What was the most puzzling is that he knew how much she wanted a child of her own, but she did not seem as overjoyed as he would have thought.

He thought some more. He was scared, he admitted to himself. Was he ready for this? He was elated. He had helped create a piece of their own immortality. He was worried. What did their future hold? Would she want to get married? He certainly would, no doubt, but perhaps she would misread his intentions as ones of obligation, not of love. So many emotions. If he felt that way, her own thoughts must be 100 times more confusing. And as the other participant in this new creation, she was not talking. So uncharacteristic for the talk show host of the LAPD.

"Walk with me?" McCall asked, holding her hand out to him. Her demeanor had softened considerably since they arrived at his beach house, and through the course of the afternoon into the early evening, the bitterness left her voice. She slept on his couch for most of the afternoon while he had made dinner for her, most of which she just picked at, finally pushing the plate away as the color on her face took on the same shade of green as the salad.

She was a mess, he recalled, remembering her mad dash for the bathrooom, and was amazed at how a short time later, she seemed like herself again.

They headed to the surf, hand-in-hand and barefoot, silently skimming the soft sand. The whitecaps gleamed in the moonlight, and Hunter knew that somehow, the beachfront tranquility would open her up.

The surf crept up to the hard sand where they stood, the sea's cool foam tickling their toes. Hunter stood close enough to her to catch the scent of her perfume. As he watched her, he saw the tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. Dare he touch her? Dare he try to comfort her?

Consequences be damned, he moved to stand behind her and wrapped his arms around hers in a big bear hug, and to his delight, she leaned back against him, her head against his chest as she struggled to keep her emotions in check. "So, how've you been feeling?" Hunter asked. He pretty much knew the answer already, but he was at a loss for anything else to say to get the conversation going, and he figured a safe question would be a good way to start. Besides, he was deeply concerned for her. He felt her take a deep breath and watched her wipe her eyes and force a smile before she spoke.

"Like crap. Exhausted. I feel like I could sleep for a month. Food is a turnoff, that's for sure."

"Anything I can do?" he asked politely.

McCall laughed and then playfully poked him in the chest. "Oh, I think you've done enough," she kidded. McCall looked up at him and met his smile.

"How long have you known about this?" he asked. He figured she had known a lot longer than she had let on. That in itself disturbed him . . . being kept out of the loop was not a customary place for the all-knowing Hunter.

She paused for a few seconds, deep in thought, and then told him. "With everything that was going on, I guess I sort of lost track of things . . . dates," she said shyly, glancing at him. He nodded his head in understanding, realizing what she was getting at. Some things should just remain sacred, he figured.

"But, I guess I sort of suspected it right after Alex left for London . . . just out of the blue, I just felt so tired, no matter how much I slept. And then I started getting sick," she explained slowly, shaking her head in disgust.

His heart lurched. She had been suffering a lot longer than he thought, and never once let on to him.

Her soft laughter brought him out of her thoughts. "You know that little party they threw for me last Friday?" she asked, her eyebrows raised at him.

"Yeah. What about it?" he asked, rather sarcastically as his eyes narrowed. He sure as hell knew about the little office party . . . and he also remembered that those bitches in the precinct that were McCall's friends didn't invite him to attend. Bunch of conniving women, they were.

"I threw up three times between the beginning and the end. All that food . . . yuck." Hunter felt her shudder at the recollection. That would sound the alarms right there . . . McCall not willing to eat? Especially at a party? Definitely a cause for concern.

"That's when I pretty much knew. I took a test, and lo and behold, two pink lines," she said. "Two very -- bright pink -- lines," she added. She looked out over the ocean at the sunset, shaking her head again, almost as if she was still not believing it. "I went to my doctor and she said that it is for sure. She said it'll be in January," McCall said softly and matter-of-factly.

"And everything is okay, though, right?" Hunter asked. He wasn't accustomed to not being in the know.

Her expression brightened as a smile curved at the end of her lips. "Yes. Everything is as it should be, or so I'm told," McCall informed him. "Please, try not to worry."

He wished he had been there for her. He wished she had confided in him. But what was done was done. He would have been there to hold her, to help her, to share in either her joy or her sorrow, whatever it was. He was still unsure of how she felt about the entire situation . . . and that scared him more than being on the receiving end of a double-barreled shotgun.

And then suddenly, her facial expression turned somber.

"I'm so sorry, Rick." God, he loved it when she called him by his given name.

His heart thudded. "What are you sorry about?"

"For putting you through all of this." She shook her head. "For a long time, I hated myself for falling in love with you. I swore I wouldn't. I wanted it to never, ever happen. But it did. And no matter what I did, no matter how I tried to distance myself, I couldn't stop loving you."

"I'm not sorry. You have given me more happiness than I ever could imagine."

Her eyes became downcast as she traced lines in the soft sand with her perfectly manicured toe. "I have to tell you something before we go any further with this," she said, finally feeling comfortable enough to turn around and look at him.

Hunter's heart dropped. He was prepared for the worst.

"First, I'm terribly sorry if I scared you today. Now that I look back, I guess I came across that maybe I didn't want the baby, or that I wouldn't see it through." He was lost in her voice as she spoke the words he so desperately wanted to hear. "When I found out for sure, I knew at that moment that no matter what happened, I would put the baby first above all else." She took both of his large hands in her small ones, rubbing the tops gently with her fingers as she looked into his eyes for effect. "Rick, I want this, with all of my heart."

Unfamiliar tears smarted in his eyes. He loved her so much at that moment he thought his heart was going to burst with joy.

"And Alex." She breathed deeply as she looked away, shaking her head. "I did love him, in a different way. But I realized that I wanted to marry him so that I would be able to forget you, and forget how much I loved you. But then this . . ." she said quietly as her eyes glanced downward.

"Have you ever been in love with three people at the same time?" she asked. "I didn't think it was possible, but it is." She thought carefully as she stared out in the distance before she continued her explanation.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but I am still in love with Steven. I will always love him. That will never, ever change. And the love I shared with Alex . . . like I said, it was a different kind of love. But I started to realize after he left two weeks ago that I began to resent him for having to give up my life here and go to London. And I hated being like that. But I swore that I would marry him and be happy."

"And what about with me? You know I will always be there for you. And I can certainly make you happy."

She smiled. "With you, it's exciting, like a rollercoaster. Thrilling and dangerous . . . passionate. The kind that makes my heart overflow, the kind that takes my breath away and makes my heart skip a beat every time I see you." He was amused at how her hands started moving through the night air. "The kind that makes me think about you the moment I wake up in the morning, and the last person I think of before I fall asleep at night. Do you know how I first realized I was in love with you?"

He shook his head. As usual, he was clueless, too caught up in the essence that made up Dee Dee McCall.

"When you would come to me in my dreams. When I no longer woke up thinking of Steve, but you, instead. When I would lie down in my bed at night, wishing I was lying in your arms, and not his."

Her eyes looked directly into his.

"The way I love you is the way that I loved Steven, but it is even more powerful. It consumes me so much that it scares me. I am powerless over you. Rick, if something would happen to you, I would never survive it. It would kill me. Losing Steve almost did . . . but somehow, you saved me. And I promised myself that I would never put myself in that situation and let myself love another cop."

Her gaze left his as she looked down at her feet again. "And now, this baby will change all of that. When I found out for sure, I was just so worried about how I was going to tell you, what your reaction was going to be, what to say to Alex . . . what to say to 100 people who were expecting prime rib or chicken cordon bleu tomorrow." She looked at him again. "Steve would have been so disappointed in me." Her bottom lip began to tremble.

Hunter silently cursed his former partner under his breath. Time to put you to rest, buddy.

He grabbed her by her shoulders and stared her down. He found in the past that was the only way he could get her to think clearly. "I am not Steve. I will never be Steve. You are allowed to love him, but you have to let him go, Dee Dee."

She looked at him questioningly.

"Remember a long time ago when I told you about what Steve told me to tell you when he died? What he promised me to tell you?"

She nodded her head.

"There was one more thing . . . something he told me, that I never told you."

"What?"

"He made me promise to take care of you. He said he didn't want to die knowing that you would be alone."

Tears sprang to her eyes again. "What? He said that?"

Hunter nodded. "But something happened that he and I didn't count on. I fell in love with you. I fell in love with my best friend's wife. I felt so guilty. I think I fell in love with you from the first moment I saw you, when you answered the door that night. Like you, I kept trying to keep you at a distance. Somtimes I felt like I betrayed him and our friendship by falling in love with you. But finally, I realized that Steve had given me the greatest gift I could ever have. He gave me you. He was insistent that I understand what he was asking. I really think he wanted us to be together, as if he was giving me his blessing. He must have known. This is a gift, Dee Dee. It's Steve's gift to us."

She didn't respond to him verbally, but a new dawning suddenly overtook her soulful eyes. She seemed to understand, the same way that he did. It took almost seven years for her to get it, but she did. He wrapped his arm around her waist and leaned over to nuzzle her temple. "We are going to be okay. I promise."

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2 months later . . .

Hunter watched her from his perch under a big oak tree about 50 yards away. She told him she needed to do something, and yes, he could go with her, but to stay respectfully away. He obliged.

It was a beautifully sunny day. The sky was a brilliant blue, with big fluffy white cumulonimbus clouds hanging in the sky like cotton candy. The diamond engagement ring Hunter had chosen for her from Mr. Hong's little jewelry store glittered on her left hand. He had surprised her the day before by introducing her to the small Chinese man who was like a member of the family.

"Ahhhh, so you are the one," Mr. Hong told her as he pointed to the diamond solitaire that was hanging around her elegant neck. "You have excellent taste, Mr. Hunter. You were right, she is very beautiful." Dee Dee blushed and looked at Hunter questioningly as Mr. Hong nodded his head in approval.

"Now, we pick out ring, right Mr. Hunter?" the old Chinese man asked as he pulled out a sapphire blue velvet tray of sparkling diamonds for their inspection. Mr. Hong smiled at Dee Dee's surprised eyes and shook his finger at Hunter. "I say to him when he buy necklace . . . next year, we pick out engagement ring." Mr. Hong shrugged his shoulders. "So he is a few year late. That's okay."

She refused to pick out the ring, saying there were too many to choose from, and it only took Hunter a few seconds to do it for her. A huge round diamond solitaire surrounded by smaller ones on a band of gold.

"Excellent choice, as usual, Mr. Hunter," Mr. Hong told him as he bowed to Hunter as was common fashion.

And now, Hunter found himself watching her from a distance with a smile on his face.

The late afternoon sun was at her back, as if it was shining directly on her from heaven, illuminating the only-in-recent-weeks-became-visible pregnant shape of her body under the pale pink dress that she was wearing.

She had a small bag in her hand, although she wouldn't tell him what was in it. "You're a detective. You'll figure it out," she said with a smile playing at her lips.

He watched her bring out a small garden trowel from the bag, and she proceeded to crouch down in the soft lawn in front of Steve's grave, the skirt on her dress billowing out around her like a soft cloud. She dug a small hole and then laid the trowel to the side.

Inside the bag was another item, a small velvet bag, which Hunter recognized as the one given to her seven years earlier on the day they had buried Steve. She drew out two gold wedding bands and held them in her hand, looking at them as they glinted in the sun. She looked up to the sky and then smiled, kissed the rings sitting in the palm of her hand and then dropped them into the small hole in the ground in front of her.

She smoothed the dirt back over the hole, and then laid a small bouquet of wild flowers on top. She stood up and stepped back, surveying her finished task.

Drawn to her like a lizard to the noon sun, Hunter walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her. "He's happy for me," she acknowledged, pointing to the headstone in front of her. "He's happy for us," she stated a few seconds later, correcting herself. "You were right, Rick. Steve gave us each other."

She had finally let go.