AN: Let me know what you think. Seriously. I'm a review whore, and I am not ashamed. Review the hell out of this. Please.

Warnings:

Disclaimer: I don't own "Rookie Blue".

Chapter Two
Jerry Barber and Traci Nash

It's their six-month anniversary, and they've decided to do something different than hanging out at the house or relaxing at The Penny. Of course, none of them are particularly romantic in the traditional sense, they're not really acknowledging that it's their six month anniversary; trying to have a romantic dinner for three at an expensive restaurant sounds too complicated anyways.

So, they're at a club. A nice, dark, loud club where no one is going to notice or care if Gail is dancing with Chris and Dov, that her lips brush over their skin indiscriminately, that she's going to go home with both of them. Where no one will care if Chris's hands wanders over Dov's body just as often as they wander over Gail's.

It's been a really good night. Leo is at his father's, and neither of them needs to be in at work in the morning, the music is good, and the alcohol is ever better. Which is what she blames for thinking she just saw Chris and Dov gyrating together in the sea of sweat-soaked dancing bodies a second ago. Because Chris is still very much with Gail—he'd brought her flowers at work a few months ago for their six month anniversary, and Gail had rolled her eyes and called him an idiot with a smile—and Traci does not have homeboy down as a cheating asshole.

Except, no, yeah, that's Chris and Dov. And now they're kissing.

"Jerry, is that Chris and Dov?" Traci has to practically shout it in his ear to be heard, but he follows her pointing finger with amused eyes. Eyes that go wide for a second, before looking back at her as he nods his head.

Well, Traci is going to have kick their asses now. Don't get her wrong, Gail is hardly her BFF, but she doesn't deserve to have her boyfriend screw around on her with her friend—arguably her only friend. Traci had thought Chris and Dov were better than that. Then again, she'd also thought the boys were straight, so clearly she needs to get her character judgment recalibrated.

"I'm gonna kill 'em." Traci barks, and Jerry looks pretty resigned—and not all that unwilling—to follow suit. They lose sight of the couple as they try and move through the crowd, but Chris is wearing those tight white pants, and Traci manages to find him again pretty quickly.

He isn't with Dov when they reach him. Or, rather, he isn't just with Dov. Gail is there, dancing between the two of them. Gail has one arm wrapped around Dov's head, pulling his lips to hers while they dance, and the other palming Chris's neck while he presses kisses to her throat. The boys' pull their lips from her skin to meet over her shoulder, Gail's hands still on both of them. Chris's right hand moves from Gail's hips to lay over Gail's hand on Dov's neck. Traci can't even see Dov's hands, and she thinks this might be a good thing.

And, oh, okay, what?

Abort mission. Abort mission. This is some weird shit Traci does not want to be involved with.

Thankfully, the trio doesn't appear to have noticed their approach, their eyes closed as they dance and kiss all up on each other. Suddenly, Traci cannot wait to get out of this club.

"Let's just go back to yours."

Jerry gives a kind of shrug, then a wicked smirk.

Traci and Gail are riding together today. Of course they are. Because Traci can't even look at the blonde without seeing her sexy dancing, sandwiched between Chris and Dov, and the universe is designed to make all situations as awkward as possible.

"So…" It's been hours of silence already, painfully awkward silence slowly strangling her. She's just going to talk about it. It'd be a lie to say she isn't curious, but she's still not sure she really wants to know. That's assuming, of course, that Gail deigns to speak on the matter at all. She isn't exactly the open-book type, and, aside from that one stiff dinner invitation forever ago, Gail has never seemed to show much interest in being friends with Traci. Or even in being relatively friendly. And talking about the ménage a trois she might or might not have had last night is very much friend territory. "You do anything fun last night?"

Gail gives her a look, it's a special brand of Gail-look. One that asks why she's asking, with an edge of mind your own damn business, and a twist of something like hopefulness. "Hung out with the boys. You?"

"Date night with Jerry. We went to a club. Caprice."

A flash of recognition, followed quickly by suspicion and something…mean. "I hate it when people ask questions they already know the answers to."

"Seemed like an easier way to start the conversation than 'So, I saw you getting your dirty dancing on with Dov and Chris'." Traci shrugs, keeps her tone light. But this doesn't feel light; it feels dangerous. She isn't sure why.

"It isn't any of your business what I do off shift, Nash."

She's not wrong; it really isn't any of Traci's business. But Gail doesn't say anything else. None of the spitting venom, hostile barbs, precise insults she's expecting from the blonde. Her teeth grit together, knuckles white on the steering wheel, shoulders stiff and tense. And Traci realizes that Gail's waiting for the attack, the condemnation. The judgment Traci has no interest in doling out. She's been on the receiving end of that treatment—laughing in the halls, narrowed eyes and vicious rumors, disappointed eyes and angry frowns—she's not lining up to put someone else through that.

"You looked happy."

Miniscule loosening of Gail's fists, her jaw, her shoulders. "We are."

It makes Traci smile. Seeing Gail being, well, human for once. She thinks, maybe, it's her turn to try and make friends.

Jerry can't stop himself from staring at Diaz and Epstein out of the corner of his eye, waiting for the awkwardness. They're on desk duty together, and he's not seeing any kind of strange "I have now seen you naked" vibes off them. They're, well, they're acting the same way they always have. He wonders if it's because one of them chickened out last night, decided that, nope, not even Gail Peck was worth seeing his buddy's junk.

He sees Diaz swipe Epstein's coffee cup right out of the kid's hand without so much as looking up from his paperwork and bring it promptly to his own lips before pressing it back into Epstein's hand again. Epstein doesn't even blink, taking his own drink before setting it back down.

Well, that was…weird. Jerry's had several partners in his time at 15. He's even roomed with a few of them, once or twice in the beginning. He has never, ever, even thought about drinking out of one of their coffees. It's too...it's too…

Intimate.

It clicks into place then, and Jerry has to look away from the two not-so-new rookies. It's not a private moment or anything, they're right there at the front desk for any and everybody to see, but it suddenly feels like one. Like something he shouldn't have seen. Way more than the kissing and dancing of last night. That had been lustful, the same as everyone else in that club, a prelude to dim lights and too much to drink and decisions you regret in the morning. This is personal. Domestic, even. Something he wasn't supposed to have even noticed he saw.

Jerry shakes his head a little, clears his thoughts, turns back to his own work. They're good cops, the lot of them, anything else doesn't really matter. Not to him. It's none of his business.

Though, a little mostly affectionate teasing about Diaz still having those pants from the solicitation bust would probably be fine. And hilarious.

"Traci and Det. Barber saw us at the club last night."

"Oh."

"Saw that we were there, or saw us?"

"Us. I don't think it's going to be a problem."

"Explains why Jerry was staring at us for, like, the first half of the shift."

"Ah, yes, and how was desk duty?"

"Well, we both lack your affection for bureaucracy, so I don't think we enjoyed it as much as you would have."

"If by 'affection' you meant 'supreme talent', then, yes, I'm sure you're right."

"Yes, your blood is the bluest. Leave us pitiful common-folk to rot."

"You just want me to finish your paperwork for you."

"Yes. Yes, I do."

"No."

"But you love me. And paperwork."

"You can't prove it."

"Don't have to."

"Now, kiss."

"Shut up,"

"Chris."

AN2: In case there was some confusion in regards to Chris bringing Gail flowers for their six-month anniversary and then having Chris, Dov, and Gail out weeks later. It's simple, the three pairings within their trio all have different anniversaries.

Chris and Gail have theirs on the day they'd gotten back together the first time, after he'd been stabbed.

Chris and Dov have theirs on the date they'd had their first Boys' Night Out, a few days after Gail moved back in with them.

Gail and Dov have theirs on the day he'd confessed his love to her.

And the three of them have theirs on the date that Gail made them all man up and do it.