Author's Notes: One night I had a glimmer of an idea that developed into a fun writing challenge: two overworked partners who spend a grueling month together on the job. They finally get a day off away from each other, but their friendship pulls them back together again for a 27th day. :)

*These are two separate stories- they do not overlap. This is sort of a "choose your own adventure"- Chapter 1 is a story about Rita needing Chris, and Chapter 2 is a story about Chris needing Rita. (In reality, they need each other in both stories, but I digress!) The only two elements in common are the number of days and the timeframe in which it takes place during Season 3. Let me know what you think- it's my first attempt at this style! *More author's notes at the end of Chapter 2.

27 Days, Story 1: Let It Be

juliagulia6

Chris was bothered.

It was a beautiful Saturday in Palm Beach, his first one off in weeks. Homicides seldom took a weekend hiatus, and he had his fill lately of overtime hours and missed opportunities to enjoy the atmospheric life of his coastal city. Friday night was spent reconnecting with a few buddies from Vice, and he woke up with a decent, unexpected hangover. A tonic of water and aspirin failed to cure the dull headache invading his temples, and he slightly regretted having too much fun the night before. He didn't want this day to be a waste.

His thoughts drifted to his partner, and he wondered what Rita's plans were on this gorgeous day. Since they had a relentless few weeks together, spending way too many nights hovered over their desks eating lukewarm Chinese food, not seeing her this weekend wasn't out of the ordinary. In fact, it was a necessity. They each had tons to catch up on at their places and needed time to decompress and regroup. Their recent caseload was so heavy that just being in each other's presence signaled exhaustion. They loved each other, but the difficulties of the job as of late had strained their mental and emotional capacities in numerous ways. Having this day off alone was a good thing, he reminded himself.

Yet, Chris was bothered.

This feeling didn't appear often, but when it did it was difficult to shake. Ever since Tricia Veil's murder and Rita's close call with Brent, the darkness would creep in when he least expected it. It was hard to pinpoint what it was, exactly. Sometimes it was panic, sometimes worry, and sometimes he just plain missed her. Seeing Rita less than 18 hours earlier, he chastised himself for acting like this about his fiercely independent partner. He considered making an appointment with the department psychiatrist but knew that he just needed time. We aren't joined at the hip, for crying out loud, he thought to himself. She's fine.

He looked at the clock and grinned; Rita was most likely out on the beach doing her eight-mile run. A day off for Rita meant a day of frenetic, organized agendas. She probably had every minute meticulously outlined. Not that Chris was lazy by any means, but he didn't have the stamina to keep up with his partner most days. He accomplished his physical fitness routines much later in the day, and preferred his mornings relaxed, enjoying coffee and a lingering breakfast. Unless, of course, a woman occupied his bed, and then he willingly adjusted his physical plans. Today there was no woman, except for the one he couldn't get out of his mind.

Chris never felt this hesitation before with Rita. If he wanted to call her, he'd call. Stopping by each other's places unannounced was par for the course. That's just what best friends do, what they did. However, he knew how overprotective he'd been towards her lately, and he felt her pulling back a little, acting vague about her plans, not inviting him over. He knew she was subtly telling him to ease up a bit, and he respected that. She needed time as well.

Today felt different, and he couldn't ignore it. This was one of those moments where he wondered if the universe was trying to tell him something. He felt in his soul that she needed him today. He double-checked his pager, cell phone, and home answering machine, just in case he had missed a message from her. Nothing. Glancing at the bakery bag on his counter, he smiled. When he stopped into his neighborhood coffee shop that morning, he had grabbed her a blueberry muffin without thinking twice. After working together 26 days in a row, he picked it up blindly, routinely, as if it were a typical workday before heading into the shop. Maybe he would just run it over to her apartment as his excuse to say a quick hello, and then leave her to go on with her day. Just to get a look at her, make sure she was alright. She'd kill him if she figured out his true intentions, but it was worth the risk.

Rita was bothered.

She had a spectacular morning. With gorgeous sunshine and low humidity, she breezed through her eight-mile run along the shore. Back at her apartment, she had been happily buzzing around, listening to a local "hits from the decades" radio station and cleaning up the mess her apartment had become over the past month. She was grateful to have some time to hopefully reenergize for the workload waiting on her desk come Monday.

It's funny how all it takes is one small thing to stop a person in their tracks and change their mood. In Rita's case, it was a song. As "In My Life" echoed through her apartment, she stood frozen, listening to the soulful ballad. Immediately, she was transported to faraway memories, and she regretted not playing her trusty CD changer to bask in the safety of Madonna, Prince, or even Chris' beloved jazz. Dammit.

Donald Fontana loved the crooners. Frank Sinatra, Frankie Valli, Tony Bennett, and Sammy Davis, Jr. were some of the many that Rita knew well. She grew up listening to these standards, and her father would sing choruses to her at bedtime. After he lost everything, he stopped listening to his favorites. Rita would race home from school and find him listening to newer bands (The Beatles included), drowning his sorrows, tuning her out, removing himself slowly from her world. She was too young at the time to understand what being drunk meant, but she knew something wasn't right. Her daddy wasn't her daddy anymore, and she felt uncomfortable and sad. After his suicide, these songs always brought back impressions of abandonment and loss. To this day, she had to work hard to not think of her father every time a Beatles song played.

She could have easily changed the station, but the opening chords of the song already had her transfixed. The lyrics held so much meaning, reminding her so much of the past that it almost stole her breath. Suddenly, her limbs were heavy and she felt incredibly tired. She plopped on the couch, lost in memory. She tried to push through it, to not let emotions get the best of her, but tears were already spilling down her cheeks. She just had to "feel the feelings" as Dr. Neff would say, and she could resume her day.

However, when the song ended and a Taylor Dayne pop song blared in its place, Rita still sat, reflective and mesmerized. She blinked a few times to rid her eyes of remaining tears and center her vision from the blurred wetness. Today, it wasn't going to be that easy to shake off the melancholy permeating her mood. Maybe it was everything: the stress of their caseload, Brent's suicide, Kim's death, and Chris' overprotectiveness that was forcing her to remain in this funk. She stood up and made her way to the stereo- might as well go all in, she thought to herself. She opened her CD player and popped in a mix of songs to make her sad, and maybe eventually make her smile. She attempted to resume her day, to finish sweeping the floor at least, but her eyes drifted back to the couch and she felt the pull to sit again. On her way, she grabbed her faded photo album from her youth, ready to revisit the past.

Her thoughts drifted to her partner, and she wondered what he was up to, and if he'd want company. She quickly dismissed the idea, knowing he needed some time away from her. Life was hectic lately, early mornings turning into late nights at their desks. She knew he went out last night; he was probably nursing a hangover at this early hour. She had also made it known that she didn't want to see him this weekend, not out of malice but pure exhaustion. Right now, however, all she could think about were his sympathetic shoulders to lean on. She sighed and flipped through the album.

As Chris approached Rita's stairwell, he heard music echoing from her apartment. He paused for a second, suddenly worried about dropping by unannounced. She could have company, perhaps a guy from the night before that she didn't tell him about, and he felt intrusive. As he got closer, he heard a distinctive melody, and the detective in him went into high alert. Rita hated The Beatles. Well, he had no proof of that, she never actually said so, but he had noticed subtleties over the years. One late night at work when she had her radio playing quietly, she abruptly changed the station when "Sergeant Pepper" started. Another night they were out with friends when someone decided to start a Beatles medley on the jukebox. Rita all of a sudden made excuses and left. Chris never pressed it but was definitely curious. Why was she blasting it now?

He exhaled slowly and tapped on her door.

Rita heard knocking and swore at herself for having the music so loud at the early hour. She quickly turned down the stereo, her brain full of apologies to whichever neighbor was coming over to complain. She threw the door open and froze.

"Hey Sammy, I'm sorry for stopping by- whoa!"

Rita cut off his apologetic greeting, throwing her arms around him in a grateful hug. How did he know?

"Shhhh…" Chris reciprocated her greeting, stroking her chestnut waves, worry clouding his brain. "Hey, what's going on?"

Rita sighed into his neck. "Nothing." She released him and looked into his eyes. "I'm glad you're here."

Chris laughed to lighten the mood. "I don't remember you hugging me at all the last 26 days in a row that we've spent together. In fact, I'm pretty sure you scowled at me a few times yesterday."

Rita giggled. "I'm sorry. It wasn't you."

"I know. It's been a rough month. Well, a rough couple of months, honestly."

Chris walked into the room, taking in his surroundings. A broom leaned against the counter, scattered belongings on her coffee table. It looked disheveled and interrupted, and very unlike Rita. However, he did just show up unannounced on her day off. He figured he better own up to his visit. "I, uh, accidentally grabbed you a muffin this morning. Wanted to drop it off before it got stale." He sheepishly grinned. Even he wasn't buying it.

Rita smiled with perceptive, glistening eyes. Excuses, excuses, but she didn't care. She was willing to go along with the charade.

Chris placed the bakery bag on the counter and picked up the broom to sweep. "What are you up to today? How was the run?" She looked like she had been crying, but he didn't want to ask.

Rita stood, watching Chris clean her apartment. He never ceased to amaze her. "It was good. Come here." She took the broom out of his hand and led him over to the couch. Silently, she handed him the photo album.

"What's this?" Chris said, absentmindedly, before realizing what was in front of him. "Oh wow, Rita, is this you and your dad?"

"Yeah. I wasn't planning to take a trip down memory lane today, but I heard a song that reminded me of him."

Chris nodded with new understanding, as he flipped through the book. "A Beatles song." Rita eyed him with curiosity, and he shrugged. "I sort of picked up on your dislike of that band over the years."

"I love them, but sometimes it's just too much. Too many memories."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I guess there's nothing to talk about. We all have things about our lives that we'd like to forget. I just wish it was as easy to remember the good times as it is to remember the bad."

"Would it help to share some of the good things you remember?"

Rita desperately wanted to. She wanted to share the fleeting memories she still had of her father that made her smile. And, specifically, she wanted to share those stories with Chris and Chris alone. Today, however, sadness was winning out over nostalgia, something that happened all too often when his face consumed her mind. "Honestly, no." She tilted her head onto his shoulder and felt him instinctively wrap an arm around her. "It's hard to separate the two sometimes, the good and the bad. It's complicated. I can't talk about the happy parts without remembering how awful it was at the end." He nodded but remained silent as he examined the pictures.

She snuggled into his side and closed her eyes. She enjoyed having this time with him. The last couple of months were full of frustration, heartbreak, anger, and exhaustion. She missed Kim, could still see Brent's brain matter when she closed her eyes, was reeling from her brief suspension and Robin Curry's death, and had a sinking notion that even more was on the horizon. There always was. She knew she wasn't the easiest to work with lately, and Chris' tease about her scowling at him wasn't wrong. She silently admonished herself for taking the stress out on her partner. He didn't deserve it, and yet, here he was, checking in. Using lame excuses like mistake muffins to veil his concern. After 26 days of seeing each other, he missed her. That's okay, she missed him, too.

Chris balanced the book on his lap, turning pages with one hand while the other was securely fastened around Rita. He saw so much happiness in her face back then before the cruelties of the world invaded her soul. Other than the Cameron case and when her friend Roxanne's husband died, she rarely spoke about her dad. He seemed like such a doting father, and Chris' heart broke thinking about Rita finding him that day in the bathtub. He wished he could take away all of the pain from the past, but instead he could do his best to make sure that her present was bright and full of love.

"Well, you, my friend, were a cutie back then." He looked down at Rita's head as he closed the album. "I guess you still are, even though you haven't showered today." He gave her a playful nudge.

She met his gaze and laughed. "Well, I wasn't expecting a visit from the muffin fairy." He gave her a guilty glance as she tentatively continued. "So, partner, what are your plans for today?"

Her head was back on his shoulder, so she didn't see the warm smile appear on his lips.

"Well, I'm going to finish sweeping while you shower, and then I'm taking you to lunch. That is if you don't mind spending a 27th day with me."

She smiled. "As long as it's not Chinese food."

"Ha! No, I'm thinking burgers and fries at the beach. Best hangover cure around."

"Ouch, poor baby." She gave him a playful, pouty lip. "Chris, don't you have things you need to do today?"

"They'll keep until tomorrow."

She half laughed, half sighed. "We'll probably get another homicide tomorrow."

"Eh, so be it."

She grabbed his hand. "Thanks, Sam."

They both stood up, and Rita went to walk towards her bedroom when Chris pulled her back.

"Chris, what-"

"Shhh… listen."

Rita had ignored the low, shuffling selections while they were talking, but now truly heard the song that just began. Oh, Darling, please believe me, I'll never do you no harm… Chris pulled her into a familiar rhythm. She loved these impromptu moments and relinquished control to his strong arms. She giggled as he increased the pace into a lighthearted spin around her living room. Neither one accomplished singers by any means, they playfully lip-synced the words to each other as they twirled and dipped and swayed and laughed. When the song ended, he planted a sweet kiss on her forehead.

"Thanks, partner. I'm gonna go shower."

"Want me to turn off the music?"

"No, let it play." She gave him a shy smile before walking away, thankful for this new memory to tuck away into the depths of her soul.