This story follows the scene set in 'The Three Faces of Fate,' so the timeline is 4th season-ish, with The Sams madly and gladly in love.
Night Moves, Palm Beach
True to her cop instincts, Rita unconsciously catalogued the two young girls who stood across the room, chatting with Suzanne Rickers, the acting administrator of Night Moves. They were approximately fourteen years of age, snowbirds by the look of their complexions, slightly disheveled and decidedly weary from their time on the streets.
A fellow coworker brought over their files, receiving a mouthed thank-you from Rita as she switched her phone from one ear to the other. Opening the folders, she scanned the contents: Gina Hartman and Jordan Lawson…age fourteen…Cincinnati, Ohio…reported missing by their parents the previous month…no history of abuse…
Rita breathed a sigh of relief. Abuse wasn't a factor in the pair's running away. Even as a seasoned veteran with countless such cases under her belt, she never found it any easier. She smiled as the girls approached her desk, motioning for them to have a seat.
"Thanks, Oscar, I appreciate it. Right. Yes, two bunks. Great, thanks again." Rita hung up the phone and addressed Jordan and Gina. "Okay, I've got a couple beds for you. Nothing fancy, but it's just for a couple of days. Try to hang tight till Saturday. Your parents will be flying in, and I promise to help you straighten everything out. Okay?"
"Thanks, Rita. See ya'," was the joint reply.
"Take care, girls."
The teens walked out of the main area, waving their goodbye to Suzanne as they passed her.
"Rita?"
"Hey, Suzanne."
"Rita, I want to introduce you to Alex."
"She's the architect who came in from Atlanta, right?"
"Yes, she has been gracious enough to volunteer her services to give Night Moves its desperately needed face lift. And she's really looking forward to co-chairing the carnival with you. She's just checking her messages in my office, can I send her your way when she's finished?"
"Sure, I just have to fill out my log and I'll be done for the night."
"Great, I'll let her know."
Rita was just adding her initials to her shift record when an attractive businesswoman in her early sixties approached her.
"Excuse me, are you Rita?"
"Yes, Alex?"
The two exchanged pleasantries, instantly clicking.
"Suzanne is quite proud to have you on staff here. I'm glad we'll be tag-teaming the fundraising festivities together. If you have a few minutes to spare maybe we can compare schedules and set up some times to brainstorm?"
Rita gathered up her belongings and checked her watch. Today was her early shift at the center, and it was only nine o'clock. "That sounds great. How about we go next door to the café?"
Lattes in hand, Rita and Alex chose a booth in the back of the café where they could spread out remodeling plans and paperwork regarding the carnival.
"I'm sorry I wasn't able to meet you when you flew in yesterday," Rita remarked. "I would have loved to have had dinner with you and Suzanne, but I was in the middle of a deposition."
"A deposition? Are you a lawyer?"
"No, a cop, actually. Homicide Detective."
Alex gave an elated cry. "But, that's fascinating, Rita! I have always loved police work; I completely admire your profession. About five years ago I was asked to redesign Hogan's Alley for the Atlanta Police Academy, and I've been an instructor at the Academy ever since."
"You teach architecture at the Academy?" Rita asked, her curiosity certainly piqued at the notion.
"Believe it or not, yes, I do. 'Knowledge of architectural structure as it relates to officer safety,'" Alex recited. "As cadets learn proper procedure in safely navigating their surroundings, I reinforce it with what they should expect when faced with different types of architecture, and how to turn architectural disadvantage into advantage. And for fun, I add the best places criminals would hide loot in various kinds of buildings."
Rita's face lit up as she listened to the explanation. "That's amazing, Alex!" she exclaimed earnestly. "Wow!" Then a thought struck her. "Would you be willing to give a seminar here? I know my Captain would love this, and Vice would definitely be interested."
They continued their conversation on law enforcement, each listening intently to the other's insight on their common passion. When the subject matter generalized to careers, the youngest woman in Palm Beach history to earn a gold shield, and the only prestigious woman architect of the 1950s, realized they shared a similar drive, strength, and philosophy in their male-dominated professions. This knowledge helped to advance a growing respect of each other.
As the topic finally strayed toward Night Moves, they discussed their reasoning for volunteering. Deeply personal information was revealed, yet the normally private individuals found no discomfort in their respective disclosures. A bond of understanding loss was established, continuing to solidify the newly laid foundation of friendship.
"Many of these kids are so distrustful of adults – and most of them having every reason to be. It's a privilege to show them that not all adults are out to get them. And it's incredible to earn their trust, show them they are worth protecting, and watch them beat the odds and succeed in life. We're lucky at the Atlanta Night Moves that a lot of our younger staff are alumni." Alex smiled proudly. "They are my family." As explanation she quietly mentioned, "I almost had a family of my own once, but my child was stillborn, and my husband was killed trying to make it to the delivery. With the
long-term programs I run at Night Moves, I get to be a mom. These kids appreciate honesty, and I'm able to relate to them that I really do understand the difficulties life throws at us."
Rita nodded in agreement, suddenly finding her coffee cup very interesting. "It's easy to connect with them when you recognize the same scars, you know? I know what it's like to feel alone. My mom died when I was born, my dad when I was seven, and my foster parents died a few years back. When I come across a case where 'home is safe,' I love watching the teen work things out with his or her parents and get off the streets. It means we've won."
A comfortable silence settled between the duo, until Rita glanced at her watch once more. "Oh my gosh!" She looked to Alex and laughed, "It's midnight! We haven't even set up times to meet yet!"
Planners were hastily opened and a series of lunch and evening meetings were arranged, along with the last-minute details for the remodeling of Night Moves headquarters.
As Rita and Alex walked to their cars, they exchanged a warm handshake once again, offering their appreciation for the wonderful chat. Both were looking forward to lunch the following day.
Rita unlocked her apartment to find it illuminated by only the light of her television. She could just make out Chris' slumbering form, stretched out on the couch. The sight warmed Rita's heart, and she quietly re-locked the door and tiptoed over to him. Settling herself on the floor next to him, Rita just watched him.
God, how she loved him.
Their intimate relationship was still new, adding a special dimension to eight years of solid friendship and four years of decorated partnership. Rita continually marveled at how this one man could complete every facet of her life. She wouldn't have it any other way.
Rita placed a kiss on Chris' forehead and raked her nails through his jet-black hair, causing him to stir. "Hi," she called to him softly.
"Hey, Sam," he mumbled sleepily. "I waited up for you."
Rita giggled. "I see that. Come on, Christopher, let's go tuck you in."
Chris stretched, and pulled Rita to lay on top of him. "Okay, goodnight, Rita." He closed his eyes again and tried to hide his grin.
Rita allowed herself a moment to enjoy his hard body beneath her and his muscular arms wrapped around her. Then she poked him in one side, then other, watching him squirm and grin broader.
"You are a mean woman, Sammy."
Breaking free from his grip, Rita stood up, turned off the TV, and pulled on one of the arms that had held her captive. "I know, I'm sorry," she purred. "I'll make it up to you, I promise."
At that, Chris cracked one eye opened and allowed himself to be dragged off the couch.
As Rita pushed him at arm's length up the stairs, he inquired about the time.
His question earned him another snicker. "It's about one. I've been finished at the center since nine, but Alex and I got to talking and we totally lost track of time."
"Alex?"
"Yeah, the architect who's fixing up Night Moves. Remember? We're co-chairing the carnival together?"
"Oh, yeah, Alex…"
As Chris flopped on the bed, Rita gave – what seemed to him – a mile a minute rundown of her chat with Alex. Fighting sleep, he could barely keep track as she zipped from the bedroom to the bathroom, getting ready for bed.
"She's amazing, Chris. We have so much in common…"
Chris faded out briefly, shaking himself awake at the realization.
"…Did you know that in the '50's she was the only female architect to be well-established? Isn't that fascinating? I think –"
In the doorway to the bedroom, Rita stopped at the sight of Chris, propped up against the headboard, snoring lightly. "All right, Lorenzo, I'll retell this story in the morning when you're conscious." Shaking her head, Rita set the alarm clock and turned off the lamp. She guided Chris down to his pillow, and pulled the covers over them both. "Goodnight, Sam," she said into the darkness as she laid her head on Chris' chest, letting the rhythmic beating of his heart lull her to sleep.
Chris and Rita drove in together to the Palm Beach Police Department, so that Rita could have the chance to share the details of her conversation the night before. For falling asleep on her the first time, Chris bought her breakfast.
The Homicide Division proved to be dead that morning, suggesting that the citizens of Palm Beach were not dead. With downtime comes paperwork, and the Sams were swamped. But boredom swiftly set in, causing Chris and Rita to play a wide variety of desk games: paper football, tic-tac-toe, and catch.
"Five, four, three, two, one…lunchtime!" Rita announced with glee as the neon-outlined clock struck noon. She got up from her chair, and tossed the red and blue stress ball back to Chris a final time. "Take care, partner, I'm outta here."
"You know, all you've been talking about is this Alex. When do I get to meet the infamous Alex?"
"Well, how 'bout I invite her back here after lunch?"
"Sure, sure."
Rita nodded and picked up a file off her desk. Before handing it over to Chris, she used it to shield her face from the rest of the office, and blew her love a kiss. "See ya', Sam!"
Chris watched her saunter away, and slyly grinned in appreciation. "See ya'."
"Well, I met with Ocean Park officials and toured the grounds, and there is space in both the main promenade and the midway for our extra booths. I reviewed the banners and promotional posters – all looks fantastic – and the Park will drop them off to me at the center with the distribution logistics in a couple of days. How are we doing with Departmental help?"
"Great," Rita exclaimed, thumbing through her notes. "The blues are going to take the kids out in patrol cars to deliver the posters, so when you get specifics on the times, I can relay it on to Dispatch." A Cheshire cat grin slowly spread across Rita's face. "Now, Homicide has volunteered to man the dunk tank, and we have more than enough officers who are willing to take the plunge. But, my Captain wants no part of it. He is absolutely certain he will catch his death by pneumonia."
Alex blinked. "Seriously?"
"You don't know Captain Lipschitz," Rita laughed, waving off the need for additional explanation. "He will, however, be joining Vice at the pie throwing booth, compliments of his wife, Frannie, who assured him that no harm will come to his nasal passages from such small doses of whipped cream and other such pastry products."
Continuing to process through this enlightening information, Alex dissolved into laughter, while Rita could only shake her head and giggle in return at her friend's reaction to the Cap's endearing quality that made him, well, the Cap.
"The final blow came when Frannie batted her eyes at him and reminded him that it was for the children."
"Wow," was the only comment Alex could make.
"Oh, yeah. My partner? He had to leave the room at that one."
Rita and Alex stood up, collected their paperwork, and wove their way through the maze of the outdoor café. As they reached Rita's powder blue LeBaron, Alex inquired, "you mentioned your partner, how long have the two of you been a team?"
Rita beamed unconsciously as she considered the timeframe. "Almost five years now."
"It must be incredible to trust in someone so completely that you trust him with your life," Alex remarked with reverence.
"And with your heart," Rita added to herself, just as reverently.
Rita pulled into her assigned parking slot and chuckled at the sight of her beloved partner, who was apparently deep in conversation – the kind requiring the swing of an imaginary baseball bat – with two uniformed officers.
"Chris!" Rita called across the parking lot, smiling as he said goodbye to his friends and jogged over to her and Alex. "This is Alex. Alex, this is my partner, Chris."
"Nice to meet you, Alex." Chris paused, his mind alert with recognition. "Uh, have we met before?"
Alex cocked her head and concentrated on the handsome face in front of her. "I don't believe so… When were you last in Atlanta?"
"It's been a while. Never, actually." Chris flashed her a patented grin. Changing the subject, he stated, "Rita's been talking non-stop about you and the project the two of you are working on."
"Well, I deny everything, except that we're having an absolute ball. And yes, I've heard a lot about you as well. It's a pleasure to meet you. Will you be playing with us at the center tomorrow?"
"'Michelangelo' is my middle name. Just make sure that Rita doesn't take any calls when she's supposed to be holding the ladder."
Rita jumped in, "and make sure that Chris doesn't climb to the top step of the ladder I'm not holding because I'm taking a call." The Sams exchanged trademark smirks, opting for a customary, nonverbal end to their ribbing. "Listen, Chris, I'm going to give Alex a quick tour around. If George happens to call before I get back, can you just tell him that Wednesday is fine for trial prep?"
"Will do. Ladies, enjoy your tour; Alex, it was great to meet you."
"Likewise, Chris, thank you."
As Chris turned and walked toward the station, Alex regarded him with great interest.
"Rita, if I may be so candid, I'm going to venture the opinion that that man is not only your partner, but he is also your best friend and the love of your life."
Rita blushed instantly and smiled shyly. "What makes you say that?"
"Intuition."
"Well…yeah…he is," Rita finally stated, her tone turning affectionate as she somehow found it easy to share such personal information with her newfound friend.
"Hmph," came the triumphant reply.
As Chris pulled open the door to Night Moves, he was greeted with a blast of construction noise, chatting and laughing volunteers, and a blaring radio. He made his way around sheets of drywall and sanders, looking for Rita and Alex so he could report in for painting detail. He finally found them in what used to be a conference room.
"I'm gonna have a stern chat with that paint department. What were they thinking?!" Alex stood up and held out with disdain the paint can she had inspected, fully intent on removing it from her sight. As Chris entered, she greeted him warmly. "Hello, Chris!"
"Hey, Alex. Trouble in Paint World?"
Alex laughed and shook her head, depositing the contemptible can out in the hall. "A four-year-old could have mixed the color better. Thankfully, your lovely partner is batting cleanup for me, and re-mixing these other two gallons so I do not become a homicide suspect, chatting with you both in an interrogation room at your station."
It was Chris' turn to laugh. "Speaking of batting, Alex, that's some shirt," he commented, referring to her Atlanta Braves jersey. "Wait a minute, that's not a replica! That's a real player's jersey!"
"Told ya' he'd notice, Alex," Rita piped in. "Wait till you hear how she got it, Sam."
Chris looked expectedly at Alex.
"Well, the guys gave it to me after we worked a benefit together last year."
"The guys. As in the players, themselves."
"Yes. I had met them earlier, during the season, when management was showing the plans my firm had drafted for a new stadium. Wonderful guys, they are. Would you like me to see if I can get you a jersey of your own, Chris?"
By now, Chris' jaw was on the floor. "You could do that?! You wouldn't mind?"
"Of course not. I pass 'the Launching Pad' every day on my way to work." As Alex dispensed brushes, rollers, and full trays to her painting team and they began to work, she continued the baseball chat. "So, Chris, did you catch Mercker's no hitter to the Dodgers? And how about that Braves' victory against Chicago, huh?"
Before Chris could answer, Rita mused, "yes, ask about the Chicago game. He talked about that one for an entire week." By day seven Rita had tired of the talk, but she never grew weary of watching the excitement that lit up her love's face – even if it was only attributed to a baseball game.
Chris sent a playful cocked head, narrow-eyed glance her way. "Back-to-back-to-back homers, 19-5 victory, hah!"
"An Atlanta record, I might add," supplied Alex, proudly.
"You do realize don't you, Alex, that you've made Chris' life? You've met his Braves, you can get him a jersey, you are in!" Rita splayed a hand on Chris' chest as she spoke.
It was a few seconds before Chris realized the graceful handprint that remained on his shirt. "Sam!" He streaked a finger through the paint that coated the fabric, and transferred the liquid to Rita's nose.
"Oh, so that's how we're gonna play it!" she exclaimed, and proceeded to rake her still wet hand down Chris' face, from hairline to collar line.
For a moment, Chris was too stunned to respond, but he quickly recovered and swiped Rita with his brush.
And the paint fight was on. The Sams soon took to fencing with their brushes, parrying and reposing each other's attacks, until an exasperated Alex decided to end the bout.
"Enough!" She took Rita's brush with her left hand and Chris' with her right. "Do I have to separate you two?"
The grown children in question stood still before simultaneously breaking into "he started it," "she started it," and pointing a finger at each other.
Alex lifted her eyes to the heavens as she transferred both brushes to one hand. Looking back and forth at the mischievous duo, she feigned seriousness and shook the brushes at them stating, "I pity your Captain, I truly do."
Alex arrived at Rita's apartment early the next morning, her rental car filled with the promotional posters and banners that advertised Night Moves' fundraising carnival. She and Rita would be heading to the Palm Beach P.D to meet up with the uniforms and adult volunteers who were bringing the kids, and decide delivery routes and partnering.
"It was so amazing watching you in action yesterday, Alex," Rita remarked. "The place looks absolutely fantastic."
"Well, amidst the paint and the sanders and the plans, I am truly in my element. But, I can't take all the credit," admitted the architect. "Those kids! I was amazed at how many participated! They all did such a wonderful job, and they were so proud of their work."
"Well, it was so much fun for them, and it really gave them a chance to feel useful. I'm just glad that Night Moves had made a strong enough impact on them so they wanted to help with its remodeling. We must be doing something right."
Rita welcomed her friend further into her home. "Make yourself comfortable, Alex. I just need to grab my jacket."
With a professional eye, Alex approvingly scanned the colorful living room. "This is a great apartment!" she complimented. She looked with keen interest at the pictures adorning the table near the front door. As Rita descended the stairs, Alex asked, "are these your foster parents?"
Rita glanced at the picture in question and smiled. "No. Not legally, anyway. This is the infamous Cap and Frannie." She paused, and softly added, "they are family, though."
Palm Beach Police Department, Homicide Division
"Sure, Chris," Rita promised diligently.
"Sure, Chris," Alex echoed. "Bye, Chris."
Amused, Chris watched their retreating forms and shook his head. He had the keen suspicion that he had just been given the smile-and-nod routine. Rita and Alex hadn't even left the bullpen yet and they were already laughing and plotting about something.
"Yeah, I'll bet you'll stay out of trouble," he thought to himself. He turned his attention back to the report in front of him, signed his name with great flare, and tossed the folder onto Rita's desk.
And that's when he saw Alex's purse.
He glanced over to the still-swinging door of the department; if he hurried, he could still catch up with Alex.
Chris stood and made a quick grab for the bag, but in his haste he only sent it toppling over the edge of the desk.
"Arg!" He maneuvered around his own desk and bent down to pick up all the objects that had fallen out. Mere centimeters away, he froze dead in his tracks. What he saw stopped his heart.
Dazed, Chris retrieved the items and slowly placed the purse on his desk. He slumped back in his chair, lost in thought. It was impossible…yet he had no doubt.
He knew he had seen her before.
Did Rita know? She couldn't have, she would have said something. Chris' cop instincts waved a red flag. Just what were Alex's motives regarding Rita? Was he overreacting?
He really needed to talk to Rita – no, maybe not Rita. He looked to the Captain's office. Conflicting loyalties battled within him: could he justify breaching Rita's confidence for the sake of protecting her? Chris really needed to talk to somebody.
"Hey, Cap, got a sec?"
Harry glanced over the top of his glasses at his detective. "What? You bored already, Lorenzo? Join the club. I'm getting sick of my own name." He motioned to the looming stack of files that seemed to be taking perpetual residence on his desk. "Have a seat. So, what's on your mind?"
Chris sat down, but hesitated to speak.
"Does this involve a girl?" the Captain asked, not bothering to wait for the explanation.
Chris made an attempt to laugh. "Yeah. Yeah, it kind of does." He relayed his findings and their possible implications.
Harry had never witnessed anything quite like the fervent bond that thrived between his two favorite detectives, and he now understood Chris' delay in passing on his information.
"Does Rita suspect anything?"
"Well, I don't know. I don't think so. She would have said something to me, Cap."
"She's gonna have your head if you leave her out of the loop."
"Yeah, probably. But she really likes Alex, and I may be completely wrong."
The Captain considered this. "Okay, I'll authorize the background check."
"Thanks, Cap," Chris exclaimed as he stood up to leave.
"And Chris?"
"Yeah, Cap?"
"Listen to me, Chris. Just be careful. You don't know what you're going to find. Take this one step at a time. And, think with your head." Harry emphasized his final point with a look over the rim of his glasses, ending his conversation with Chris the same way he started.
Chris recognized the Captain was right on all accounts, though it was difficult to adhere to his advice when it involved the most important person in Chris' life.
One step at a time, one step at a time…
"Hey, Cherie," he called to the uniformed officer who would become his accomplice. "I need a favor. I need you to run a background check on this name here. Get me everything you can, okay? Thanks." With that step taken, he was free to complete a little computer searching of his own. Chris went back to his desk and opened his laptop.
His findings offered many mixed emotions.
Time to call in another favor.
"Medical Examiner's Office, this is Keisha."
"Keisha, it's Chris."
"Uh-oh. To what do I owe the privilege of this call?"
Chris laughed. "I'll buy you lunch at the Roach Coach if you tell me you have friends at Holley State Hospital who would be willing to do a little digging for me."
"The Roach Coach…"
"Hey, after that 'Stones' prank you pulled you should be glad you're not buying me lunch."
Keisha, fully aware that Chris was right, sighed dramatically. "Fine, be that way. Yes, I think I can arrange a little digging for you. What exactly are you hoping they find?"
As Chris explained the situation, Keisha acknowledged the repercussions of Rita finding out prematurely. Protection was best afforded with her unawareness.
With their business settled, the two friends volleyed additional barbs back and forth before agreeing they both needed to get back to work.
"Oh, and Chris? Tell Rita that her dream came true."
"Her dream? What do you mean, Keisha?" Chris listened to the cryptic clue he was to give Rita, which did nothing to ease his curiosity or further his understanding.
"Just do it, Chris. Rita will explain."
"All right," Chris grumbled. "See ya'."
Rita entered the Homicide Division to find her partner walking out of their superior's office. "Hi'ya, Sam. What's up?"
"A special assignment with Vice." Chris opened a drawer of his desk. "Here, I think Alex might want this back."
"Thanks," she said as she took the purse. "We were halfway across town before she realized she'd left it. I told her I'd drop it off at the center when I finished up today." Focusing on his mention of a special assignment, Rita eyed Chris suspiciously. "Is this a ploy to get me to do your paperwork?"
Her accused appeared wounded, and with an air of total innocence explained that it was nothing of the sort. "I hold valuable information that I simply cannot keep from our brothers in Vice. But that does not mean that I won't have ample time to sit here with you going through form after form…pen after pen…"
"And will this assignment be requiring your services at night?" Rita dropped her voice to a low purr, careful not to be overheard by anyone other than Chris.
Chris narrowed his eyes. "Definitely no," he promised with a smoldering look, "my nightly services will be right where they belong."
"Good."
Since there were hours left to go in the workday, there was no sense in torturing themselves with the promises of later.
After completing another stack of forms and reports, Chris stood up and stretched, ready to begin his investigation. "Well, Sam, it's time for me to go hit the pavement. Get some real detective work done."
"You be careful, Christopher," Rita requested sincerely, not liking the fact that she wouldn't be watching his back.
"I will," Chris assured her. "I love you, Rita," he added in a whisper, wishing he didn't have to hide his investigation from her.
"I love you," was the empowering response that made him feel he could accomplish anything.
"Get him out of my sight!"
Chris' muffled order reached the Homicide Division from outside Interrogation Room 3, which was down the hall.
Rita looked up and a few seconds later Chris came storming through the doors.
A fury that was barely contained radiated from his hard stare, and he ripped his sports jacket off his chair and slammed his laptop shut.
"Chris?" Rita ventured quietly, rarely having seen him so affected by an interrogation. But as he shifted his gaze to meet hers, her heart stopped cold. There was pain behind his anger…
Pain she somehow realized he felt for her.
Before Rita could blink, Chris had hidden the emotion.
"Don't worry, Sam," he mumbled. With that, he stalked back out of the Division, leaving a very puzzled and very concerned partner in his wake.
Rita waited an impossibly long five minutes before getting up to follow him. She knew exactly where to look, and sure enough, she found Chris lost in thought, sitting on the back-entrance steps of the building. She took a seat next to him, but remained silent. When she finally spoke, she softly asked, "you wanna tell me what this is all about?"
"I can't," came the equally soft response.
"The Vice assignment?"
Chris slowly closed his eyes at Rita's choice of words, and nodded.
Aware of his position, Rita asked no more questions, but simply offered her hand to him, which he took between his own and stroked gently.
