Connie signed her name and initialed the page. She had started with a foot high pile of paper work, and now it was less than two inches thick. She tried to blot the salty wet spots off the paper but they just smeared. Although, she did not really care if the papers were wet from her tears, they just needed to be filled out and signed. She did not go back to the LAPD after court—she could not take working on the Spencer case anymore. She, for the last couple of months, had been followed around by to different men. She needed to be home. Connie sat at her kitchen table, completing her work from the DA's office, crying. She was not sobbing but for the last few hours, she allowed herself to cry.

Knock. Knock. Knock…. Knock.

Her head jerked towards the door, "Murderers don't knock.", she told herself.

Her security detail was outside in their car. She quickly stood up and grabbed a nearby baseball bat.

"Who is it?", she yelled.

"Pizza boy!"

She instantly relaxed, walked to the door, and looked through the peephole, "I didn't order any pizza!"

"Well, I'm sorry, miss, but it says right here: a free large for the over worked and underpaid."

He made her laugh. She wiped her tears, hid the bat, and opened the door. Mike was there wearing a dark blue t-shirt, a pair of blue jeans, and holding a box of pizza. His stomach dropped, as he noticed she had been crying.

"Come on in", she said, widening the door for him to enter. He silently walked in, "I can take that into the kitchen", she said gesturing to the pizza, "It may be easier to take your jacket off."

"Yeah, thanks", he handed it to her. "I'm sorry to just drop in unannounced", he apologized, as followed her into the kitchen.

"I'm inclined to say it's fine, but this is the third time you have interrupted me doing paperwork—in the two days you have been here", she was clearly teasing him.

Mike could tell she did not want to talk about her being upset so he, too, pretended everything was fine.

He entered the kitchen and stared at the piles of paper on her table, "Dear Lord, Connie, I can't look at another piece of paper after Greene's mess. You're going to go insane!"

"Clam down, Mike, the larger pile is finished", she grabbed two plates and a cup out of the cabinet.

"Did you do that tonight?"

She gave him a small smile, "What do you want to drink?"

"Whatever you're having."

She got him some water.

"Okay…I was expecting something stronger."

"Yeah, trust me, I thought about it earlier, but it does not seem wise to be inebriated when you have a murderer after you."

"When you put it like that…water sounds great", he took his water and grabbed a piece of pizza.

"I'm not messing with these files, let's go to the couch."

Her apartment was small but had an open floor plan. The kitchen was separated from the living room by an eat-in island. Her kitchen table would sit two comfortably and she had it pushed against a wall to save room. The living room had a couch, coffee table, rocking chair, TV, and stacks of books flooded the floorboards in the corner.

"When did you eat? I know nine is late for diner, but I hoped it might have been a few hours...", Mike asked, getting situated on the couch with her.

"Uh…I guess I didn't."

"You guess?"

"I sat down to do paperwork when I got home, and I guess I didn't look at a clock."

"You need a clock to tell you when you're hungry?"

"I just lost track of time."

While they ate, neither of them wanted to talk about the Spencer case, so they discussed recent cases they had tried and Mike ranted about some outrageous decisions made by some judges.

"So, what have you been up to…outside of work?", Connie asked, even though, she was not sure if she wanted to hear his answer.

He sat his plate on the coffee table next to hers, "Well", he took a deep breath, "I got a cat."

She choked on some water she was drinking, "A cat?"

"Yeah, her name is Alley"

"I can't see you with a cat, Mike", she laughed at the thought.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and showed her pictures, "Here."

Connie took his phone and scrolled through his photos. Alley had long gold hair and big blue eyes. She got smaller the more Connie scrolled backwards.

She looked up at Mike and cooed, "Aww, Mike…she has your eyes!"

"Ha. Ha. Connie", he smiled at her.

"How did you come to adopt her?", Connie asked, seriously.

"I found her in an alley walking home from work almost a year ago. She had been abandoned—only three weeks old."

"Aww, that is so sweet, Mike."

"Who's taking care of her now?"

"An elderly couple who lives across the hall from me", Mike gave a small smile, "So that is what I have been up to."

She gave him back his phone and waited several moments before she spoke, "Mike, if I ask you something, will you promise me to tell the truth".

"You think I'd lie?"

"Considering I think you already have…"

"Oh, okay then.", he said, pretending to be hurt.

"Did Jack really authorize your trip down here?"

Mike paused a moment, "Define 'authorize'?"

She gave him an incredulous look, "Mike."

He knew he was caught. "Jack wouldn't approve the expenses…so I agreed to take my vacation days and pay the expenses. He just had to tell Hardin that I'm here with the full sponsorship of the office."

Connie was shocked and stated bluntly, "Which you're not."

"Not exactly."

"If Hardin knew…," she paused to process the information, "If Hardin finds out that Jack didn't feel that it was important enough for you to come out here that he wouldn't pay for it…"

"How would he?", he was not concerned.

"Mike, People know people! There are people in my office who have friends back in Manhattan. If anyone in the office knows about your and Jack's arrangement…" she let her words hang, "The fact that you would personally pay several thousands of dollars' worth of expenses, that Jack refused, and come all the way out here, on your vacation days, makes it sound like you have a personal vendetta."

"Well, again, when you put it like that-"

She cut him off and locked eyes with him, "Hardin would throw you out of town and completely dissolve any good faith relations with Jack..."

"That's why Jack told me to be discrete", Mike replied, sounding self-assured.

She stared down at the corner of the room and turned back to him, "Do you have a personal vendetta against Spencer?"

"No", he was surprised at her, "If I did, do you think Jack would have supported me at all?"

"No, but, Mike, you just don't do…what you've done…."

His eyes suddenly turned serious. Connie had not seen that intense look in his eyes in a very long time—it sent shivers down her spine. She sensed, in the back of her mind and the pit of her stomach, what that look meant, but she was not going to permit herself the acknowledgement.

Mike did not want his arrangement to seem extraordinary, "I know you would do the same for me…. It's what partners do", he tried to sound nonchalant.

She gave him a small smile.

He took a deep breath and repositioned himself so that he would be facing Connie—they were sitting inches from each other.

He stared at her for a moment and said, "Now, I would like to ask you something, and I would like for you to tell the truth."

"Okay", she responded.

"It's personal", His voice was low and his demeanor was relaxed.

She nodded her head for him to continue.

"Are you happy?"

His simple question caught her off guard and she echoed the response he gave her, "Define happy?"

His incredulous expression mirrored hers in response to him moments earlier.

"Am I that obvious?", she asked him flatly.

"Well, you've been…different, rather… passive about things.", he stumbled to find the right words.

She avoided his eyes and looked down at her hand where she was fiddling with a hair tie, "I…", she began, "I don't know…between work and my family I have been pretty stressed out."

She looked up at him and his eyes were imploring her to continue.

She took a deep breath, "I practically live with my parents. I leave for work at 6-am and stay until eight or so, at which point I go home and take care of my mother, with me trying to grab moments of sleep at intervals until my dad comes home around five."

She looked up at him and tried to give him a mischievous smile through some tears she was fighting, "I go to my uncle's, who lives about three blocks from my office, every day at lunch and grab an hour on his couch—hint the sleep lines you caught me with."

He gave a small laugh, "That explains a bit".

She continued, "I'm sure this will pass …. I'm pretty happy at work."

He nodded and there was a brief pause before he spoke, "Things haven't been the same without you".

They sat for a moment before he looked at his watch, "What? It can't be!", he straightened up.

"What?"

"It's one-thirty!"

"Seriously?"

Mike gave her a tired smile, "Yes...", he paused, "I should go, if either of us want to get any decent amount of sleep."

He began to slide off the couch when Connie grabbed his arm, "Mike…", she hesitated, "You can stay."

He stopped. And her eyes were begging him to stay. Connie could tell by his body language, that he was hesitant.

She stared at her hand on his arm, "I want you to stay", her voice was so low he could hardly hear her, "I feel better with you here".

Mike froze and his heart began to race. His mind went blank, as he tried to think of something to say.

Connie abruptly stood up and her demeanor suddenly changed, "No, I shouldn't have asked. Forg-"

"No. No.", he interrupted her, as he stood, "Um… I can stay."

"You really don't have to, Mike…. This couch is not that comfortable", she was speaking a little faster than normal.

"You haven't seen my hotel room. This couch would be an upgrade."

She gave him a small smile and awkwardly stood there for a second, "Um…alright then... I will go and get you a pillow and cover"

She disappeared down the hallway and Mike looked around her apartment. It was not what he expected. It was haphazardly lived in and did not even have a single picture or painting hung on the wall. He knew, through their work together, that Connie was an organized person but her apartment looked like the antithesis of personality.

"Mike?", her voice broke his thoughts.

"Yeah", he replied, turning around. She had her arms full with a pillow and cover for him.

"Is this enough cover? It doesn't get too cold in here."

"Huh… yeah, that will be fine, thanks."

She nodded and placed the items on the couch.

"This wasn't what I expected your apartment to look like."

She laughed, "Well, I'm not here much. So…."


Mike studied the old and new case files. None of it made sense to him. Why was Kyle Spencer targeting Connie? That question is what kept him from sleeping. He could not figure out why Spencer would wait five years and then follow her across the country. If Spencer was seeking revenge on her, because of her part in prosecuting him and turning his sister, why did he wait so long, and why would he not just hire someone to kill her? And who was it that was following her in those pictures?

Throwing the crime scene photos from Spencer's wife murder on the coffee table, Mike leaned back on the couch and frustratingly ran his hands through his hair. He took a deep breath and stared at the ceiling. He could not believe that she had asked him to stay. She must be a lot more worried than she let on because, even when she had a drug cartel threatening her several years ago, she did not let Jack remove her from the case and, at the time, she would not let any fear show. Furthermore, it was unsettling to him that her protection detail was several floors down and across the street. How could they protect her from down there? However, Mike knew, the only way they could be closer was if they stayed in Connie's apartment with her, and she was not about to allow that. He stood up and began to pace the dimly lit living room. The apartment was deafly silent save for the distant tick of a clock in the kitchen. He walked to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of water. He was not particularly thirsty, but he was restless. Back in the living room, he placed the glass of water on the coffee table and continued to pace the quiet apartment. A noise from Connie's room caught his attention and he slowly inched his way to her closed door.

Mike stood there for a moment listening for another noise. He was not sure whether he had imaged the noise in his tense state, or if it actually happened. Then he heard her blow her nose. He let out a sigh of relief—it was not an attack. He began to step back when sounds of her sobbing stopped him. Mike leaned in closer to the door. More sobbing. He did not know what to do. Connie was a proud woman and she probably did not want him to see her cry—but he could not walk away.

He gently knocked on her door. The sobs immediately stopped.

"Connie", he softly called out.

He got no response and knocked again.

"Con-"

"I'm fine"

"May I come in?"

He could hear her take a large uneven breath through the door.

He slowly inched the door open, "Connie?"

"Go back to bed, Mike, I'm fine"

She was not fine. She could hardly choke out the words.

He did not listen and, very slowly, entered her room. His eyes were not ready for the dark and he just stood waiting for them to adjust. He could hear her try not to cry, but she did not tell him to leave, again. He was slowly able to make out her silhouette on the bed. She was sitting up and her legs were crossed in front of her. He walked over and sat on the edge of the bed. She fervently wiped the tears from her eyes.

Mike grabbed her hand that was resting in her lap and whispered, "It's okay to cry, Connie."

She tightly grasped his hand, "I don't want to…, but these damn bastards are getting to me".

"I wish there was something I could say or do"

She fell into him and began to cry into his shoulder. It caught him off guard. He was not expecting her to give in to him. He firmly embraced her and rubbed his hand up and down her back.

Mike was not sure how long she had cried, but her sobs were finally subsiding, when she finally spoke again.

"Stay", she mumbled into his chest.

He did not reply or make any movements.

Connie pulled away to consider Mike's non-reaction. She could not quite read his expression. His eyes were very intense but, at the same time, seemed soft with concern. He reached up and wiped a few of her tears with his thumb, and caressed her cheek with the back of his fingers. She closed her eyes and leaned in to his touch. When he began to pull his hand away, Connie thought he was getting up, but when she opened her eyes, she saw that he was nodding his head. She scooted over and lifted the covers for him to climb in. He laid down next to her and she moved to be closer to him. Mike turned on his side to face her and grabbed her hand.

She wanted more contact. She wanted him to hold her.

Connie rolled over so that they were nose to nose. She placed his hand on her hip and she ran her hand up his arm to his side. Mike hoped that he understood what she sought. He pulled himself close to her and completely encircled her in his arms. It was not until then, that she felt his legs and noticed that he was not wearing his pants.


A/N: I know it's been a little while since the last update but I've been busy. Busy, including staying up late to watch a Linus Roache early 1900s time period drama tv-movie: The Making of a Lady. It's up on YouTube, in eight or so parts, if anyone is interested. I'm still trying to figure out how I feel about it... But who doesn't like Roache in his British accent.