A/N: This was almost not finished tonight, due to a scare where I thought I'd stumbled into a scary campfire story with robbers and knives involved. But it was, and here it is! This is another in-between chapter, with Rick and Kate both dealing with the fallout. Enjoy!

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Rick picked up the phone, and started to dial Kate's number.

Then he put it down again, and cursed under his breath.

He wasn't sure when things between them had become so... complicated. Their friendship was deep enough that when she wasn't around – which was all the time, these days – there seemed like an empty place where she used to be.

All those daytime soaps he'd been subjected to as a boy, with the endless string of bored, middle-aged nannies he'd been saddled with eating chocolates on the couch, came back to him. The way the couple would fight, they'd scream and argue and hurt each other, and then they'd come crashing back to each other. The man would rush to the airport, show up at her office with a bouquet of flowers, and apologise.

But there wasn't anything to apologise for. Backing down would be consenting to her throwing her life in front of a bullet.

He'd been thinking about that, every day since she walked out: about how she didn't seem to see it as dangerous, or vaguely suicidal; about that sense of purpose shining in her eyes that night, more determined than he'd ever seen her.

He had always thought of the police, the army, physically dangerous careers like that as noble and kind of awesome in the abstract. Hell, he made his livelihood from idolising fearless and canny detectives, the more perilous the mission the better. He'd just never imagined he'd be in this position. He'd always thought of himself as the detective, while writing, and never of how it felt to be the one waiting at home.

His new book was due in two weeks, and he was uncharacteristically intent on meeting the deadline. Gina'd wanted emotional resonance, a deep character for the audience to really connect to.

His new detective, Kendra Blue, was young. She was hurting from mysterious past wounds; she was cagey and sometimes a little blunt, but smarter than everyone else on the force.

She got herself into situations she sometimes couldn't solve, and she relied on others to get her out.

Her father waited at home for her: their relationship, his waiting for her to call him every night, to check in, was a major part of the story.

He didn't know when the fun was taken out of his writing, but he wasn't rollicking along, laughing at his own jokes, inventing gadgets and throwing in random one-liners like Bond anymore. That bouncy energy had been replaced by something darker and more intense.

Blue Moon, the first book in what he hoped would be an extended series, was sent to Gina with days to spare. His mother was startled when he called her on Monday morning, with the news that Gina had received a completed manuscript and was starting to read it.

Days later, Rick and Gina went to dinner to discuss it. They went to the same restaurant as before, but sat in the window, surrounded by people. This wasn't her trying to flirt him into submission, smile as she re-ordered his writing. This was business.

They both seemed more comfortable with that.

"It's a lot darker than your previous books." Gina said, after they'd settled in and ordered.

"I know."

"I still think you'd benefit from some hands-on experience – the action scenes and procedure still feel a little stiff..." she tossed her hair and smiled, a really genuinely pleased smile that forced him to respond, "But the emotion's there. The people feel more real this time, which is impressive." She narrowed her eyes, scrutinising, "Who is Kendra based on?"

"She's a fictional character, Gina. You said you wanted a fallible hero, there you have her."

"No, I'm not buying that."

"Imagine my surprise."

She smirked, and conceded the point, "I'm just saying that she feels more real than the characters you've written before. I was wondering if anything had happened to help that? Anything that the press might like to hear?"

He could feel the anger swelling inside him, and couldn't understand why. She was being nice, tactful, and even sweet. Something he'd never, in all the times he'd been bullied by her over the phone in the last months, thought she'd be capable of. Of course he understood her intention: a public infatuation with a beautiful woman, and the romance influencing his writing? Sales with middle-aged women and swooning teenage girls would skyrocket.

"No." he snapped, then sighed, apologetically "I mean, no. I made her up."

"Rick." She reached out a slender, pale hand and placed it over his, soothingly, "I'm not your enemy. You can tell me if something happened."

"Gina…"

"It was that brunette, wasn't it?"

He froze, deer-in-headlights look all over his face, "What brunette?"

"Ah ha!" she crowed, leaning back in her chair, "I knew it!" she took the olive from her martini and pulled it from the cocktail stick, crunching it triumphantly between her perfectly white teeth. "What's her name?"

He ran a hand through his hair, and looked at her. She was smiling expectantly, curious and bright and beautiful. And he was suddenly aware of how wonderful it would feel to tell someone about even just a fraction of the emotional meat-grinder he was going through. "Kate Beckett." He murmured.

"Wow." Her eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"What?"

"She's really done a number on you, hasn't she?"

"You could say that." He took a large gulp of his drink.

"What was it, a bad breakup?"

He had to laugh, although it came out a little bitter, "No, not that. She's… she was a friend. I don't know… I thought that, maybe, there was something else there." He didn't know how to phrase it properly: he barely had it straight in his head. "She had a lot of stuff going on, a lot of damage, and it got the better of her."

"What happened?"

"She joined up with the NYPD, and quit her education. She wasn't interested in my opinion, either."

"You thought it was a mistake?"

"You could say that."

"And she's Kendra Blue?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say that." It felt like a weight had shifted just a little bit off his chest. He smiled, "Anyway, off that bright and cheerful topic, what's next?"

Kate slammed her fist into her opponent's stomach, only to have her hand grabbed and her body propelled backward, her own momentum forcing her backwards. She recovered fast and swept her foot out, going for the knees.

His whole body crashed into the mat, and she stood over him, fists raised. "Yield?"

"Yield!"

"Cool." She reached down and helped him up. They shook hands, and she grinned.

"You're getting better." He noted.

"Hell yeah, I just kicked your ass pretty damn hard if I'm not mistaken."

"I let you win, you need the boost."

"Sure, of course you did." She nodded in mock agreement.

"Miss Beckett, are you laughing at your instructor and direct superior?"

"Yes."

"Good girl." Royce cracked a wide grin, and patted her encouragingly on the back. Kate ignored the huge burst of pride and happiness that rushed through her at the endearment, and hid her ecstatic smile behind a long drink of water from her sports bottle.

"Well, Beckett, I think we're done for the day." That was one of the things Kate really liked about Royce: he'd only ever called her by her first name once, and that was when they first met. It made her feel more professional, more like a grown-up. It was like soft, fragile, frightened little Kate could vanish behind a harder, stronger exterior. She could just be Beckett, a stern, hard cop who fought the bad guys instead of hiding from them.

It was like a legitimized version of how she'd felt in the alleyways. Like she was doing something; moving on after ten months of standing still, just staring into the abyss.

"I believe we are, sir."

"Oh, so it's 'sir' now, is it?" he teased, "Five minutes ago it was 'pansy-ass'."

"Well, we're off the mat now: I'm no longer allowed to wail on you."

He laughed, and she had to join in. His smile was one of experience, every line on his face earned and worked for over a long and hard career. His laugh was a reward, a sign that they understood each other, and it was a compliment in and of itself. "If I wanted to win, I'd win."

"Sure, sure."

They'd reached the doors to the changing rooms, and they just stood, grinning at each other, "So, what're you going to do with your night off?"

"I was going to go home, take a bath, catch up on some reading." She was re-reading Rick's whole collection, and had got up to Death of a Prom Queen. She hadn't seen him or heard his voice in months, and reading his words made her feel somehow connected to him.

She missed him more than she should. So much more than was good for her heart or her focus on her training.

She looked up at Royce, smile still plastered all over her face, and felt that rush of joy she had whenever he smiled at her like that.

It was comfortable, loving him, because he was so much older; because he was her trainer, her mentor, and her teacher at the Academy; because he looked at her like a younger sister, like a little girl in the schoolyard. He'd never make a move on her, and he'd never even think of it.

"Sounds like a plan."

"How about you, sir?"

"I was hoping to take a beautiful girl out for a drink." He raised his eyebrows at her expectantly, and she felt her heart beat faster.

But no matter how much he flirted with her, it was always entirely innocent. She could wallow in her schoolgirl crush, and her feelings were entirely safe.

"Who?"

"And you want to be a detective."

"I'm just saying, I have a night planned."

"A beer with your trainer to discuss your latest performance on patrol will still leave you hours and hours of reading and bathing time."

"Okay, fine. One beer and then I'm going home."

"Great."

She was walking on air as she showered and changed, not even minding the havoc the Academy gym's hairdryers played with her hair. She combed it out, taking extra time to make it presentable, and even re-applied her mascara and lipstick before throwing her gym clothes into her bag and leaving.

He was already waiting for her when she got to the lobby, and they walked together out onto the street.

Things were going fine, as they discussed her fellow police cadets, the rigors of her new training regimen, and regaled her with stories from his own Academy days. She was having fun, bouncing along beside him in her new high heels, laughing at his jokes and beaming up at him.

Then she looked across the street. A tall, dark-haired and broad shouldered man was walking toward them, holding hands with a short, busty blonde.

He froze the same moment she did, and Royce took another step before he realised Kate had stopped.

"Hey, Beckett, what is it?"

"Um…" Rick met her eyes, for just a moment. Then he looked down at the blonde beside him, and they turned to go into the café beside them. "Nothing. Sorry, it's nothing."

"Okay…" he frowned, scrutinising her for just a moment, before shaking his head and starting off again. She didn't follow, still frozen, choking back the sudden tears that she couldn't explain. "You coming?"

"Yeah!" she was startled out of her revere, and followed after him.

She wasn't the same for the rest of the night. She'd seen Rick – she knew it'd been him: her eyesight was 20/20 and she'd recognise him anywhere, even if it were pitch dark. And he was with someone, a pretty woman. After three months, she'd guessed he'd move on.

It wasn't even like they'd been together. They'd kissed twice, held hands a few more. Then they'd pulled back, and been just friends. And she still didn't know why.

Royce didn't mention the episode, and she didn't bring it up. That was another thing she loved about him: no personal questions.