Title: Where It All Began
Fandom: NYPD Blue
Pairing: Tony/Rita
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Everything up to the end of season ten, which is interesting considering I've not seen that far - Alan's site rocks!
Notes: For the LiveJournal Writer's Choice "In The Kitchen" challenge - I must be stopped.
***
When he remembers, he'll remember that this all started in a kitchen.
It was John Flaherty's retirement racket and he was in the kitchen getting himself a beer when he first saw her. She stood out a mile from the rest of the crowd and not just because she was the only other Hispanic at the party. It was more to do with her eyes, her smile, the way she carried herself. He was entranced, all the more so when he actually talked to her, found that there was more to her than just looks.
Then her husband came up, an ADA he'd known for years, spiriting her away to introduce her to some people. He'd told himself that it was for the best, that she was married, to a friend of his, that nothing could come of it.
A few months later her husband came into his precinct, spewing flattery, looking for a favour. He lied, told him he barely remembered her when in fact she regularly haunted his dreams, said that the squad was full up but that if things changed, she'd be his first call.
A week later she came into his office when he'd been good as his word, and he'd lied to her too, claiming recollection only on sight. They'd chatted for a moment and he'd sent her out on a job, reminding himself that his arguments still applied, all the more so now that he was her boss. No point thinking about it because it could never happen.
Over the next few months, he watched her grow into her new role as a detective. He watched her deal with her husband's infidelity, his death, and he watched her romance John Clark, turning a blind eye to it because she deserved to be happy. He tried to be happy too, tried to make a go of things with his ex-wife, a relationship doomed to failure, ending in tragedy.
A few months later, her relationship with Clark ended, and he found himself daily running through the litany of reasons why making a move on her would be a bad idea.
Until the day that she walked into his office looking for a transfer. The Lieutenant in him tried to talk her out of it, even as the man in him was torn between hope that the path was clearing for them and despair that she was leaving and he wouldn't see her again.
That was the day she saved his life.
She came to see him in the hospital, though she might have wished she hadn't once his mother's tears of gratitude had dried on her shoulder. She was welcomed into the bosom of his family with quite literally open arms, and he remembers watching her with his mother and sister and thinking that he could get very used to such a sight.
She came with the rest of the squad to see him, but he doesn't think they ever knew how often she came on her own too. He's damn sure they don't know that she took to coming by his apartment once he got home, filled him in on all the house gossip, the latest cases.
It was a night like that when they were standing in his kitchen washing up after dinner that he kissed her for the first time, a spur of the moment decision. The kiss was gentle, chaste, and when he pulled away he was sure that she was going to go ballistic, that she was going to storm out and he'd never see her again.
Instead, she reached out, pulled him closer and kissed him again.
When he remembers, he'll remember that it all started in a kitchen, that in fact, it all started there twice. And when the ring burns a hole in his pocket, when the weight of it sends him down to one knee in front of her, he knows just where it's going to happen.
In the kitchen, where it all began.
