The characters are not mine... I don't own anything except for this laptop... and my cat!

Pre-twilight...

Tate

He kissed her first on the street.

They stand arguing; her eyes flashing in annoyance, her hair whipping around her neck even as her right hand pushed it away several times, brown locks sticking to her mosturized lips. Left hand on her hip, her badge glaring at him from her waistband, the skin of her stomach playing hide and seek from beneath her shirt. He stares at that patch of skin, loosing himself in its apparent softness, wishing for one caress.

She speaks his name. He doesn't react so she speaks it again, louder, harder.

His eyes snap back to her face, her eyes, her lips. The sun shining behind her, glowing with all the clichés he can think of. And he kisses her, between a red mailbox and their car.

She pushes him away and opens her mouth to say something, anything.

Not giving her a chance to express herself beside her actions, he excuses himself, gives her the car keys , goes around the car and slides into the passenger seat.

She stands on the sidewalk, then snapping out of it gets in the car. She puts the keys into the ignition. The blast from the radio surprises her and makes the silence between them more uncomfortable.

Mere minutes later, the car stops between two cars. Traffic jam; a parking on the bridge.

With the radio, the silence continues.

He turns to his right, can't bare to look at her, ashamed, and tired of starring in front at the bubbly blonde in the red convertible, nodding at her cellphone, doesn't even smile at the little girl with pigtails making faces at him from the backseat of a blue car. He closes his eyes; the darkness a welcomed sight. But he can still see the freckles on her nose.

Her fingers ache from the tightness with which she's holding the black wheel. She glances at him and bites back a sight.

The radio announces a sale at Macy's; she switches it, can't remember the last day she spent shopping.

Some song about falling into pieces, she doesn't recognize it.

Licking her lips, she misses his.

The cars move, their follows.

Getting back on land, water behing them, a siren is heard; crime doesn't stop.

The car does, in front of the building. Neither gets out, but sealbelts are undone and both have a hand on the doorhandle. She opens the door, hesitates, then shuts it and turns to him.

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath.

Another door closes. She opens her eyes; he's gone. She follows him, run after him, heels clicking against the floor.

Her hand shoots out and they are back in a closed space. Up to their floor they go.

She turns to him, he's looking straight ahead, hands in fists.

He kissed her first on a street.

She kisses him back in an elevator.