A/N: Wow, it's been far too long since I updated. I admit to encountering some serious Writer's Block with this one. I guess the series finale put more of a damper on my plans than I thought. Extreme thanks go out to Andorian for pushing me to continue this; I wouldn't have updated at this moment if not for her prodding. This chapter hopefully advances where things should be going with Donna and Hank; it's by no means the end of the story. Hope you enjoy, and I apologize for making you all wait for so long.

Chapter XIV

"You guys come here often?" Donna asked Hank and Pete, when there was a lull in the live music being played by the house band. The three of them were seated in one of the booths inside the Ladybird Lounge, and Donna had to admit to being slightly surprised when Pete told her the jazz and blues bar would be their destination when they left the dance lesson.

"Every so often," Pete replied.

"Pete really likes the music," Hank said by way of explanation. "He even plays the trumpet on occasion."

"Here?" asked Donna, turning slightly and gesturing to the stage.

"Open-mike night, sometimes," Pete said with a brief nod, and took a swig of his beer.

"Good for you," Donna said, appearing suitably impressed. "I never learned to play an instrument."

"I grew up on jazz," Pete continued, feeling the need to elaborate. "All my friends would tease 'cause I was listening to guys like Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Dizzy Gillespie, and Herb Alpert, while they were listening to rock, heavy metal, country, and rap. I blame my dad, really; he's a big jazz fan and that's all he played in the house when I was growing up. As a kid, I had two choices: learn to love it and bond with him, or hate it and be disowned."

Donna chuckled. "And you chose the former. My dad didn't really play a lot of music when I was a child. It was mostly just what was on the radio in the car; Top 40 hits and such. I sort of just went with what was popular. I'm really not very musical."

"Well, what do you think of a place like this?" Pete asked nodding to the bandstand as the ensemble started up again. "I know jazz isn't for everyone..."

Donna noted his concern and gave an indulgent smile. "I don't mind jazz at all," she answered honestly. "I can appreciate the how it has all these different shades. It can be bright and upbeat, but it can also be dark and slow and contemplative, with everything in-between. I'm sure you could find a suitable jazz piece for whatever mood you're in."

"Bingo," Pete said enthusiastically. He grinned across the table at Hank. "I like this woman! Without even growing up with the stuff, she gets it."

"What about you, Hank?" Donna asked glancing to her left, wanting to shift the focus from herself to someone else. "Do you play an instrument?"

"I can play the piano a little." Hank gave a small, self-effacing shrug.

Pete made a snorting noise and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure," he said, feeling compelled to toot Hank's horn for him. "Donna, this guy's amazing. You should hear him."

Hank merely smiled and took a sip of his drink, choosing not to qualify Pete's ringing endorsement.

"So you can dance and play the piano?" Donna said in awed tones, playing up the moment. "What else can you do?"

"Well, let's see," Hank answered with a shy smile, reading the jesting tone perfectly. "I can wiggle my ears, recite the alphabet backwards, and make the 'live long and prosper' Vulcan sign, like Mr. Spock."

To prove his last point, Hank held up his hand and joined his fingers to form a perfect 'V', cocking one eyebrow in his best imitation of Spock.

At this, Pete held up his own two hands and tried to form the well-known Star Trek character's gesture, but met with little success. He frowned at his inability to keep the correct fingers together for any length of time. "How d'you do that, anyway?" he asked, looking up at Hank with a puzzled expression.

"Never mind," Hank said with a grin. "Clearly, it's a skill reserved for a select, talented few."

"Gee, thanks, buddy," Pete grumbled, "you're such a pal."

Donna smiled at the good-natured ribbing she was witnessing. Hank and Pete's friendship was obviously a very comfortable one. "So, how long have you two been such close pals?" She ventured to ask.

"Oh, boy…" Hank started, frowning in mock concentration, "a long time."

"Since we were kids," Pete put in.

"Right," Hank said. "We lived in the same neighbourhood, but didn't really get to know each other until we were in the same homeroom in grade 4."

"Wow, grade 4? You've known each other that long?" Donna asked. "That's great that you've managed to stay friends for all these years."

"Yeah…" Hank said as his face became reflective. "We've been through a lot together."

Pete simply nodded, but added nothing more. He merely lowered his eyes and took another swallow of his beer.

Donna looked between the two men, sensing a subtle shift in the mood. She was somewhat disquieted by their sudden silence as neither of them seemed too eager to continue the discussion about their childhood.

Did I say something wrong? She wondered. Something's going on beneath the surface that I've missed…

"I'm not probing too deeply, am I, guys?" she queried.

This caused Hank to perk up slightly. "Oh, no," he said apologetically, "nothing like that…"

Pete was quick to agree. "Yeah, no worries, Donna; we were just… you know…"

"We were probably both just thinking about stuff…" Hank added. "Pete's my best buddy; he's been there for me through thick and thin, good times and bad."

"I see," Donna said, nodding in a desperate attempt to show that she didn't want to prolong the obvious discomfort that had stifled the discussion. Some event from their shared past had clearly made both men suddenly morose, and it had nothing to do with the bluesy tune presently being played by the house band. Wanting to salvage the dying conversation, she switched gears.

"Hank, you mentioned you're in I.T., right?" she asked, taking a sip of her beer.

"Yeah," he answered brightly, seemingly relieved to be back in safe conversational territory. "Both Pete and I. We work for the same company and everything."

"CP Information Processing," Pete interjected. "We even got our computer engineering degrees at the U of T together, too."

"You guys sound like quite the inseparable pair," Donna said. I wish I could still say the same about me and Bill…

Pete and Hank clanked their beer bottles together as a show of their friendship and both took a long draught.

There was another lull in the music as the band was taking a break between sets, and Donna's attention idly turned to the bar. She was drawn to a man and a woman who were making preparations to leave together. Instantly, she recognized the man with his generous gut, jowly face and dark brown hair. Judge Jonathan Hopkins, thought Donna, recalling the last time she'd been in this very lounge. The woman he was with, however, was unfamiliar. The judge's date looked to be about fifty-five, ash-blonde, and fashionably dressed.

A small smile pulled at Donna's mouth as she watched Jon help the woman put on her coat and rest a supporting hand on her back while they ambled to the exit. Looks like he's gotten past his loneliness, Donna mused, and swallowed the remainder of her beer.

"Want another?" Hank asked, noticing she'd finished.

"Oh, no," Donna replied. "I'm one-and-done when I'm driving—and when I have to work in the morning."

"That's a good habit," Hank stated.

"Yes, it is," Donna confirmed. "I know too many people who've let alcohol come between them and their jobs and families. I don't want that to be me."

"I bet it's tough," Pete said, joining the discussion. "Being a cop and all…"

Donna shrugged. "Some things are tough. But like any job, there are good parts and bad parts. You just try to get through the bad stuff the best you can when it happens."

Hank shoved his now empty bottle aside. "Does the 'bad stuff' happen very often?" he asked carefully, sending her a look that was surprisingly full of compassion. "I just thought that since you had a rough day today something bad might have happened… I mean, you didn't want to interrupt the dance lesson tonight, and you seemed kind of down…"

Touched by his concern, Donna let down her guard a little. "Today wasn't a great day, to be honest," she answered. "I can't give you any details about what happened, of course; what goes on with my job is mostly confidential."

"I understand that," Hank said. "You don't have to tell me anything you're not comfortable telling me."

"My day started off fine," Donna continued, deciding she would tell a little of what had happened to account for her own sullen mood Hank had so rightly intuited. "We served some warrants, arrested some bad guys, and went on patrol. That's pretty standard fare, and it's always good to start the day by getting some of the scum off the streets."

"Absolutely," Pete commented agreeably, while Hank nodded.

"But then, we got a call involving the abduction of an infant," Donna sighed, uncomfortably remembering how she had very nearly rammed the fleeing SUV in their pursuit of the home invaders and kidnappers, Terry Dornan and Jessie Wyeth. The impact she imagined could have had catastrophic consequences for the infant inside. She squirmed uneasily in her seat, thinking of how Dornan had then scaled the tower with baby Liam in his arms, and of how Ed had later berated her for failing to take the shot when she had it.

"Did you get the baby back?" Hank asked tentatively.

Realising she'd paused in her re-telling of the story, Donna quickly replied that they had. "Yes, yes, he's safe. He's back with his parents…"

"Sounds like a win to me," Hank commented, frowning at the prospect that Donna still seemed unsettled.

"In the long run, it is," Donna said, "but how it went down, it's… complicated. Again, I'm not really at liberty to discuss the details, but things could have been better. I could have done better."

"I'm sure you did your best, Donna," Hank said, feeling the need to offer some words of consolation.

"I—I thought I did," she uttered ruefully. "At the time, I thought I did. My team leader had a different assessment. And he's right. As a part of that team, I'm still learning I need to follow orders before I make my own judgments. I guess I'm too used to just relying on me and my partner. Well, ex-partner..."

"So how does that work? Don't most cops work with a partner?" Hank asked.

"Depends on which department you're with," Donna replied. "I was partnered with other cops when I was a beat cop—I had a few over the years. Then, I was also partnered with someone for a time when I was in Vice. I'm with the Strategic Response Unit now, which is a team-based unit. We don't have partners per se, but we're often paired up during calls for reconnaissance and things like that. But it's not a 'partnership' that's set in stone."

"I see," Hank said slowly. "So you're with the SRU, huh? That's like S.W.A.T., right?"

"Mm-hmm. S.W.A.T., with a difference," Donna explained. "It's not like in the movies where we go in, guns blazing. We try to keep deadly force to a minimum. 'Talk before tactics' is our mandate."

"Okay, I'm dying to ask," Pete said, "but I've heard most cops never even have to draw their weapons throughout their entire careers…"

He stalled for a moment, possibly weighing whether or not it was appropriate to ask what he wanted to ask her. Donna sensed what was coming, because it tended to be one of the first questions she was asked once people discovered she was in law enforcement.

"So… Did you… ever have to… y'know… shoot someone?" Pete finally ground out.

"You know I would never actually tell you that," Donna chided. "I will say that we are authorized to use lethal force, and do sometimes find ourselves in those difficult positions where it might be necessary… It's not an ideal situation, but…"

"But there's got to be times when someone's just so rotten you just want to pull the trigger, right?" Pete asked.

"Sometimes, yes," Donna answered, and quashed the recollection of how upset she'd been at having to protect Peter Wilkins not so long ago. "There are people out there who probably don't deserve to live for the vile things they've done, or what they may be about to do. But being put in a position where I might have to kill them? It's not something I would ever wish on anybody. The psychological and emotional effects are very—can be very difficult to handle. We're talking about a human life, and uh… That's never… easy..."

"I can't even imagine," Hank said with a shake of his head. "I guess everyone knows that a cop's job is risky and dangerous, but SRU sounds like it's even more risky and dangerous than usual."

Donna pouted. "Yeah, we do take all the hostage calls and gun calls, which I suppose are inherently more dangerous than the mundane stuff, but remember any call always has the potential to escalate into something more deadly. You cannot assume just because something starts out simple and risk-free that it's going to stay that way. That's the kind of thinking that gets cops killed."

A pensive look came over Hank. "Have you ever been shot?" he asked carefully, anxious of the answer he might receive.

"Never," Donna said emphatically. "I've been shot at, but never actually shot."

Hank sighed in relief. "Good," he said.

"Oh, but I have been spat on, peed on, puked on, scratched, bitten, slapped, punched, kicked, slashed, and stabbed," Donna added.

Both Hank and Pete's eyes went wide.

"All right, I was just kidding with the stabbed part," she said with a laugh. "But I have had goons come at me with a knife on several occasions. You do your best to disarm those threats as quickly as possible. Knives can be just as deadly as guns, if not more so. In the time it takes you to pull your weapon, aim, and fire, a perp with a knife could already be on top of you, striking a deadly blow."

"Geez," Pete said, shaking his head. "That's messed up."

"Par for the course," Donna said. "That's what the extensive training is for: to make sure you know how to stay alive and defend yourself—and others—when the threats are high."

"My girlfriend, Kelley, could probably relate a tiny bit—without the crazy psycho criminals, though," Pete commented.

"Oh? What does she do?" asked Donna.

"She's a nurse," replied Pete. "So she also gets spat on, peed on, puked on, scratched, bitten, slapped, punched, and kicked."

"Yeah, I don't think I could be able to do that job," Donna remarked with a wry twist of her mouth.

"Well, you're both in the business of helping people and saving lives," Pete said. "You just do it in different ways."

"Very true," Donna said.

"She was actually supposed to join us here tonight," Pete said wistfully, taking a glance at his watch. "I guess something must have happened to make her work overtime."

"Ah, something else I have in common with her," said Donna. "My work hours aren't exactly the most predictable. I mean, technically, we're supposed to be on duty for twelve hours. A standoff with an armed piece of scum can quickly change that; scratch any plans you might have had for your evening."

"I don't think I could ever get used to that," Hank said.

"Some people never do," Donna remarked. "It can be so hard on relationships and family life when it seems like you're always away… anyhow, I don't want to bore you with the less-than-appealing parts of my job."

"Nah, that's okay," Hank said kindly. "It's nice to get to know a little bit more about what you do. Makes me appreciate even more the job police officers have to do every day."

"Well, on that note, I should probably go," Donna said after glancing at her watch. "We're on duty days right now, and I have to be up for the 5 a.m. workout. It was very nice chatting with you guys."

The two men politely stood as Donna did, and bid her good-bye as she exited the booth.

"See you next week at the dance lesson?" Hank asked hopefully.

Donna stopped to consider. She turned back to him and saw that he genuinely meant his question. "If I'm not held back by something, yes; I'll be there."

Hank's smile was wide. "Great!" he said happily. "See you then."

"See you then," she echoed, and exited the lounge.

On the drive home, Donna considered how easy-going things had been talking with Hank and Pete. It felt comfortable and stress-free, and she readily admitted she enjoyed the evening after facing the rotten call earlier, and Ed's scorn.

Okay, so I deserved Ed's beat-down, she thought. I shouldn't have questioned Greg's instructions. But the baby is alive, and unharmed. Ed said with this job I have to learn to live with my decisions, didn't he? And not taking that shot at Dornan while he had the baby in his hands? That's a decision I can live with.

She stopped at a red light and pondered the moment she noticed Judge Jonathan Hopkins and his lady friend. Donna smiled again at the recollection. Hopkins hadn't seemed at all depressed or down in the dumps as he had when she was working undercover as 'Melinda'.

Being alone is the pits, he'd said to her then.

Hank's face loomed in Donna's mind. What a nice guy, she thought, not for the first time. He was absolutely nothing like the men she worked with or had tried to date in the past, before the Vice job consumed her life; before policing, in general, had consumed her life.

Is this all I am? She wondered.

Am I going to be alone, "married" to the job for the rest of my life?

I don't want to be alone anymore. I want what Ed has; what Wordy has. I want to love somebody and be loved in return. I want to be more than just a career cop.

Hank seems interested... perhaps that's a place to start.

But even as she was thinking this, the old, nagging worry returned. But the hours I work… the crazy shifts… the stress… is it fair to subject someone to that? Someone who maybe expects to come home to his wife every night after work?

Stop it, she thought vehemently, realising she was only hearing Bill's voice in her head again. I won't let Bill's poor choices colour my life any more.

The light turned green, and Donna proceeded through it, convinced that she would make a serious effort to make it to next week's dance lesson. Only this time, it wouldn't be about entertaining a hobby.

TBC