Harry Lipschitz hung up the phone and looked through his door to the outer room. It was completely quiet and empty, though all the lights were still on. The clock on the far wall stared back at him, saying nothing, but testifying to the fact that it was almost six-thirty. He sighed - another drive home in the dark. He picked up the phone for the final time and dialed his home number. When Frannie answered, he told her he was just about done and hoped to be home by seven.

"Perfect! I hope you're hungry, because I made a pan of lasagna today and it's going on the table in forty-five minutes. Does that sound pretty good, maybe with some cheesy garlic bread?"

Harry, of course, had no objections. Her lasagna was outstanding. It was four layers of lasagna noodles with homemade sauce, ricotta cheese, and little mini meatballs scattered throughout. It took hours to put together and rolling more than one hundred marble-sized meatballs was painstaking work, but she considered it a labor of love. Harry considered each bite a little taste of heaven. She would bake it until the top was golden and the noodles on the edge of the pan were just a bit chewy. They didn't have it very often, so it was an incredible treat when they did.

He couldn't help but rib her just a little. "Frannie, that sounds fantastic, but you know the Yankees didn't win the World Series this year."

"Well, if that's the way you feel, I'll just give it to the neighbors. They lov..."

"I'm kidding, Frannie! And I'm out the door in ten. Love you..."

His wife laughed quietly. "Love you, too...oh, and Harry? I have two desserts warming up - one you will love, and..." her voiced turned a bit sultry, "...one you will really love. Bye..."

Harry set the phone on the cradle and leaned back in his chair with a big smile. It was time to go. He grabbed his coat and walked out, pausing for a moment at Rita's desk. He looked at it, eyes squinting and index finger absentmindedly tapping the surface, then looked over at Chris' desk, his eyes narrowing more. He looked away, deep in thought, then looked back at their desks again.

He had tried to corner Lorenzo on a couple of occasions, once indirectly at lunch a few weeks back, then directly in his office just the other day. He was certain that his two lead homicide detectives were romantically involved. He couldn't yet prove it, but circumstantial evidence was mounting. Chris and Rita spent a lot of time together, so it was natural that feelings might develop between them. Harry knew they cared deeply for each other. That was no mystery - everyone that knew the two of them knew it had been that way for years. But now there were signs the relationship was moving beyond that.

The two had become way more comfortable around each other, to the point of making him uncomfortable. They stood closer to each other, and there were little glances and touches that he was seeing. The hands, he thought to himself, watch their hands. Thinking back to the lunch he had with Chris, he had seen the two of them talking outside his office, looking at each other like love-struck puppies. He couldn't hear the conversation, but he thought he could feel heat radiating from them. After watching for a few moments, he got up and walked out to interrupt what looked like an impending kiss - right there in the office! He offered lunch to try and feel them out, but Rita begged off, so he took Chris, who immediately denied anything romantic. Harry left the restaurant even more skeptical than when he arrived.

The more he thought about the possibility, the more Harry could see little things that confirmed his theory. He had also eaten lunch with Rita a while back - the same day wild-man Todd Barnett was blown to bits in an explosion that nearly killed her as well. As they ate, he asked her about Chris, who was visiting Jillian in Boston to see what might be left of his relationship with her. Rita thought there was a chance for them, but considering everything he was seeing now, Harry wondered if he had been lied to even then. The 'trip to Boston' was probably little more than a ruse, a cleverly-disguised deception, perpetrated by two very intelligent detectives trying to throw their Captain off the trail. Rita said Chris still might have feelings for the surgeon and even questioned Harry's romantic intuition, but now he wondered if Rita had been feeding him a line. Chris probably never left Palm Beach.

Harry glanced up at the clock, which now read 6:42, and snapped back to his own situation, knowing the traffic would have to work in his favor to be home before 7:15. He shook his head, put his thoughts of Chris and Rita on hold, and focused on Frannie, a wonderful dinner, and...dessert.

"Two pans?" Harry could not believe his good fortune when he walked into the kitchen. He wondered - with only a brief bit of disappointment - if the extra pan was the 'second dessert' hinted at by his wife. He could eat on two pans of lasagna for nearly two weeks. "Wow, Frannie, I'll be eating this for days!"

"No, you won't. The other pan isn't for you. It's for Christopher. I actually made this up for him because his fridge is always empty, but a small pan isn't worth the effort, so I put together the other pan for us."

"Oh, I see. Make one of my favorite meals for someone else...and I get the leftovers. Hmmm..."

Frannie laughed before walking over and putting her arms around him. "Life is so unfair, Harry." She looked up at him with a devious smile, then kissed his cheek. "But remember," she planted several soft kisses on his neck, "Chris gets the lasagna. You get the lasagna...and dessert."

As they ate, the subject of the two detectives inevitably came up. Harry shared his concerns about their relationship, but she brushed them off with a wave of the hand. "Again with 'Chris and Rita', Harry? You've been on a crusade about that for weeks! You've asked them, and they've denied it."

"I've asked Chris..." Harry interrupted.

"Ok. You've asked Chris. He's denied it. You think he's lying to you? Is Rita lying?"

"Yeah, I think they're both lying! Here's the latest wrinkle; they came into my office this morning to talk to me about something, but then Rita jumped up like she had been shot from a cannon and bolted. Chris came back later, but I didn't see Rita the rest of the day. Chris said they would talk to me tomorrow. I have to tell you, Frannie, I'm very suspicious right now."

"You know those two kids love each other, Harry. They're both single and they've been partners since we got here. They were partners years before that, and I think they were made for each other. Both are attracted to each other and both are very attractive..."

Harry looked up from his plate to protest, but she pressed forward.

"Oh, grow up, Harry! You know you're the only man for me, but Chris is very good looking, and..." she paused before adding with a sly smile, "...he's quite the sexy dancer..." she finished with a quiet growl before laughing. "Rita is beautiful, too. I was a little worried about her being around you at first, but..."

"Now who needs to grow up?" Harry retorted, rolling his eyes. "Look, the department has rules about partners and relationships; you know that, I know that, and Chris and Rita know it. If they violate those rules..." his voice trailed off and he shrugged.

"So, you would actually split them up? Your best detective team..."

"It's out of my hands, Frannie."

"No, it isn't, Harry. You have a say in how the rules get implemented and enforced. I wouldn't be surprised if they are together. And truthfully, I think it would be great. The only reason we have these conversations about them is because they're so compatible. Any other pairing...?" Her voiced faded and she shrugged. "I think it's inevitable that they will be an official couple at some point in the future. I predicted they would end up together. Remember when I told you..."

"Yeah, I remember," Harry said with a sigh. "But rules are rules. If they are romantically involved, their partnership will probably end, no matter what I say or think."

Dessert, the first one, was a store-bought chocolate-raspberry cheesecake. Frannie said that it was a night to splurge and gave her husband a much larger-than-normal slice. Harry declared it almost as good as the lasagna. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, whispering, "...and the lasagna is almost as good as what's coming..."

Harry found out his wife was right...

Fran Lipschitz slipped quietly out the door just after 5:30 the next morning. Harry was still sleeping and would likely be out for a couple more hours. She, on the other hand, had a schedule. It almost always started early, and this morning was even earlier than usual.

She turned the key in the ignition and gave the car a minute to warm up, taking that time to turn on the interior lights and check her face in the mirror. Satisfied with her appearance, she opened her purse and grabbed the papers one last time, confirming she had them. Fran had been asked to speak at a breast cancer charity event - actually, she was one of three guest speakers. She had spoken in public on many occasions, but despite her familiarity with the process, she never wanted to lose her notes. And Fran liked to be early when she spoke. It was always good to stand in the room when no one was there, then go to the podium and speak to an empty space. It calmed whatever nerves she felt and allowed her a final bit of editing should that be necessary.

This morning's talk would be simpler than most. She was scheduled to speak for fifteen minutes as those assembled ate their breakfast, so everyone would be somewhat occupied, and less likely to hear any mistakes. Her last run-through yesterday had been timed at fourteen minutes. So, probably twelve to thirteen minutes, accounting for adrenaline. And that was perfect, because no one would be watching the time, and no one wanted to listen to a speaker drone on and on. Get up, deliver the message, and sit down.

But before any of that, she had one quick stop to make. Chris' loft was only a mile out of her way, so she would drop off the lasagna before heading to the convention center. She had delivered food to him many times, and he was never disappointed to receive a home-cooked meal - in this case, several meals - even when she dropped it off early.

Ten minutes later she arrived at his building, pulling into a spot in the front. She grabbed the aluminum pan and started to get out, but then stopped. The car parked directly in front of her looked familiar - a powder-blue rag-top Chrysler LeBaron. Actually, it was more than just familiar; Fran had occupied the passenger's seat of that car a couple of different times. There was no doubting the truth; the car belonged to Sergeant Rita Lance.

In a moment, a month's worth of conversations with her husband flashed through her brain. Unless Chris and Rita were on a late-night stakeout somewhere, he had been right all along, and she knew the two detectives weren't on a stakeout - Harry always told her when they were.

She sighed in frustration. What should she do?

On the one hand, she was angry with the two of them. Clearly, they had been lying to her husband for some time. Well, Chris had lied for sure and Rita probably had. Frannie hated lying, and their efforts to deceive her husband, both personally and professionally, were an affront to her. By extension, the two detectives had lied to her, too. She thought of them as children, and while they were too old for a whooping, it's what they certainly deserved; a trip behind the woodshed. If Harry found out, he would likely blow a gasket, and their partnership was probably finished.

On the other hand, she was thrilled for them. Ecstatic. Overjoyed. From the first time she met them, and the first time they came to her home, in the middle of the night, she had been rooting for them. Through various boyfriends and girlfriends and broken relationships, Fran always hoped they would realize how much they truly loved each other. When Chris nearly lost his life to a crazed woman's bullet - it seemed so long ago now - it had nearly destroyed Rita. She was a wreck. Fran knew then how Rita felt about Chris, but then there was that head-scratching relationship with Eric Russell. He was so old for her, but more than that, he was drunken mess. Frannie shook her head as the memory freshened. It was the same for Chris and the surgeon - it made no sense. Finally, she thought with a smile that replaced her scowl, finally, they had apparently admitted to each other what everyone else could already see. How long, she wondered? Then she laughed; Chris and Rita were having their dessert before the lasagna.

She looked at her watch. There was no way to finish this delivery. If Rita was there - and it looked like she was - it could be very embarrassing for Chris. If she left now and hurried home, she could get the pan back in the freezer before Harry woke up and still get to the breakfast with time to spare. She could quietly deliver it another time. His two detectives were probably shacking up, but she wasn't going to rat them out. There was no way she would lie to her husband, but neither would she just offer them up.

She pulled back in her driveway and checked her watch again - she still had almost an hour before the breakfast started - plenty of time to get there and rehearse. She quietly entered the house and put the lasagna at the back of the freezer, where Harry wouldn't notice it. She re-arranged a few things, moving it out of sight.

"Frannie...?"

She hung her head in the fridge when she heard his voice.

"Did you forget something?"

She tried to deflect.

"I thought you were sleeping, Har..."

"I was awake when you left because the garage door motor woke me. I couldn't get back to sleep, so I showered and was thinking about going in early."

Frannie turned around, wishing she could have had just thirty more seconds. One-half minute. She would have been gone in thirty seconds. Harry was standing there, freshly shaven in a tee and boxers with black socks.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I'm heading out now. Go back to bed."

"Why did you come back? You forget the pan for Chris?"

She wanted to lie but couldn't. Never once, in thirty years of marriage, had she lied to her husband...

"No, I didn't forget. I was putting it back in the freezer."

She would try to sweet-talk him. Sometimes changing the subject worked. She walked over and hugged him. "You were wonderful last night. What would you say to, uh, more dessert tonight?

Harry didn't bite - that second pan now held his thoughts. "If you took it, why did you bring it back?" He had already decided if she wasn't giving it to Chris now, he would lay claim to it.

"I couldn't deliver it."

"Why not? Was he gone?"

"No, he was there," she replied quietly, knowing she was busted.

"Well...?" he looked at her with a questioning look after a brief silence.

"Chris wasn't alone, Harry, and I didn't dare knock. So, I just brought it back for now. I'll deliver it later."

"What? So, you didn't deliver the food, and you didn't even knock, but you know he wasn't alone. I didn't know you could see through walls." He waited for a response and when she said nothing, he looked hard at her. "You're hiding something...what is it?"

He had her now, and she knew it. His mind was sharp. "I'm telling you the truth, Har..."

"Then explain how you know he isn't alone without even knocking on the door."

Frannie looked at Harry, knowing now that Chris and Rita were busted, too. A good deed she tried to do for a friend was going to get them in big trouble. Very big trouble. Huge trouble. The careers of Chris Lorenzo and Rita Lance were about to change forever...because of a pan of lasagna.

She spoke quietly, looking at the floor. "Rita's car is there."

At first, Harry didn't catch it. "Come again?"

"Harry, sit down and don't get angry."

"What did you say?"

"Harry, Rita's car is there. Her car is at Chris' place. I think they must be on a stakeout somewhere," she added quickly, making one final attempt to save them.

Her husband's eyes narrowed and his voice turned menacing. "I can assure you, Frannie, Chris and Rita are not on a stakeout."

"Harry..."

"I knew it, Frannie! Those two..." he said, the anger beginning to build. "All this time...I'm going to kill them!"

"Harry! You stop that talk this instant! Maybe she stopped early to drop something off. Maybe they aren't on a stakeout but are talking about a homicide. You said the other night they were working that girl found dead in the car."

"Franny, give it up! We both know what's going on. They both lied to me and that is grounds enough for a suspension - without pay. In fact, we have terminated officers for similar offenses."

Mrs. Lipschitz pointed a finger at her husband, her eyes narrowing in turn. "Your best detective team? Our kids? You wouldn't dare...!"

"I didn't say I would, but it would be within my rights, Frannie. You don't have to shelve your personal feelings, but as their boss, I do."

"Harry, have you forgotten about two other young kids that spent the first part of their relationship sneaking around?"

"That was completely different, Fran! We weren't working together and there weren't rules. There was just my dad, who didn't like you at first. And that all changed."

"But my point, Harry, is that we spent the first several months in an undercover relationship, realizing we might be in love but afraid of being discovered. Rita and Chris know they love each other - I've seen it from day one - and they have fought against this, probably for years, and now they've lost the battle. I think they desperately love each other, but like us, are afraid of being found out - and of the consequences that come with it." She looked at her watch. "I have to go, Harry, but I'm watching you. Be careful here. You work with them, but you live with me..."

Harry looked at her, a spasm of anger flashing across his face. "What is that supp..."

"You heard me, Harry. You know I love you, and I always will. I also know you have a job to do. You do it exceptionally well." She walked over with a smile and kissed his cheek. "But you need to be very careful with our kids. Think this through well... Talk to you later."

Harry sat at the kitchen table as his wife closed the door. He heard her car start and then fade away to just faint noise that disappeared. He was still sitting there when she returned, two-and-a-half hours later. She walked in, smiled at him, and patted his shoulder as she walked past, saying nothing. Fran could tell he had been struggling with the choices he had to make, but she had said what needed to be said. He didn't need more coaching or persuading. She left him to his thoughts and sat in the living room. Thirty minutes later, she heard him stir. He walked out and then upstairs. Within ten minutes, he had dressed, kissed her goodbye, and headed for the office.

Frannie smiled.