A/N: It's been a while, but work and education take precedence over writing and adding this. Enjoy, reviews welcome.

oOo

DCPD Police Substation 1st district
500 E Street SE, Washington DC, Thursday 08.30 AM

'Good morning', Myles said as he walked over to Rashawn's desk amidst the hectic environment of the police station. 'It better be.' The black detective looked up. 'Hey, Myles, didn't know it was you.'

'Why, Michaels I'm disappointed: you didn't recognize the more upper-circle timbre, the Bostonian accent amidst the vulgar pandemonium.' Rashawn started to grin broadly. 'Well, now you mention it...I thought for a second there was something funny about it.' Myles smiled and gestured questioningly at an empty chair. 'Hey, it ain't no design chair, but at least you can sit down in it', Rashawn said.

'Where are the others?', he asked.

'At the Bureau. But I thought I'd walk by to see if I can do something.'

'Thought it was a non-Bureau thing?'

'It is, but this has more personal notes than I wish it would have had.'

Rashawn nodded. 'Appreciate it, though.'

'I know.'

The telephone on his desk rang. He picked it up.

'Yeah? Who? No, he's off that case, give it to Berkman.' He listened.

'You deaf or somethin'? It ain't my problem he messed up, give it to Berkman, Berkman! that's B-E-R-K-M-A-N, you got that? Sounds to me you're dumb enough to get shit...' He slammed the phone down. 'Hey, man. You want coffee or something?'

'You're sure it is safe?'

'Not here, the rot-gut they're pouring here is like arsenic. No, I mean proper, grade-A tarmac.'

He got up and got his coat. Myles got up too.

oOo

In a little shop, called the 395 Coffee Bar with the slogan 'We Serve you 365 at 395!' prominent in the shop window, just on the corner of 8th Street and Pennsylvania Ave SE, they sat down. The Mediterranean looking man behind the bar mustered Myles, but shook Rashawn's hand. 'How you, man?'

'Ain't misbehavin'...', Rashawn commented. 'Ah, good song!', the man said, looking proud he knew the great 1929 jazz-standard of Thomas 'Fats' Waller. 'You want same as always?'

'Sure, Hisham.' Hisham looked at Myles. 'You want too?'

'Ehm, cappuccino would we good.'

'Of course my friend, of course. You friend?'

'Colleague.' Myles waited for his cup and nodded his thanks.

He sat down at the simple Formica table with a stained green and white cloth. He took a sip of his coffee. 'Hey, this is quite extraordinary.'

'Place may look like crap, the coffee sure isn't', Rashawn responded.

'About last night, any news?'

'Darryll Grant. Known crack-head for ages. Latifah Browne, did use, has been clean for a while.'

'And the little boy?'

The face of the detective hardened. 'Has died this morning.'

'Damn it!', Myles said. He clenched the cup and put it down with force. A bit of coffee spilled over the edge and started to drip down the cup on the table.

'Word. I don't care shit for this guy, but if a kid gets hurt...'

oOo

He got interrupted by Hisham. 'You want more coffee?'

'Sure, pump it up.' He turned his attention to Myles again.

'How's your girl doing?'

'Okay, terribly shocked. But physically okay. Psychological, I don't know. Maybe this has been a good lesson, how awful it might have been.'

'To quit using dope?'

'I hope. These days, it seems you're only 'cool' when you won't distance yourself from anything related to narcotics. Using XTC has become 'normal'.'

'What's her name?'

'What?'

'This girl, what was her name again? I forgot', Rashawn said.

'Deanne', said Myles.

'You think she's using?'

'Time will tell.'

'Could be too late by then. Why wait to find out the hard way?'

'I have her blood checked for substances, they took a sample when she went to the hospital yesterday. But I'm afraid I already know the answer.'

'It's a bitch, right?'

'Excuse me!' Myles said, shocked.

'Not the girl, I wouldn't insult you, man. Never. It's just an expression. Life can be a bitch.'

'Ah, yes, of course. There was me thinking...'

'Just blame my Southeast roots for the language.'

'Don't worry, I already have.' They laughed.

'You haven't, now have you?', Rashawn said grinning. 'You still haven't adopted to the more 'down-to-earth' style?'

'I think my Bostonian soaked genes wouldn't allow such degradation', Myles smirked. 'It would have serious ramifications.'

'Jesus, man. All the ten dollar words, it's unbelievable. I've heard more of 'em being with you for half an hour, then during a full month here.'

'It has come naturally with the upbringing.'

'Lucky you...'

'Guess again', Myles said, his lips were still holding a faint smile, but his eyes had lost the twinkle.