They've been forced into a stakeout. Normally, she'd be sitting here with her partner, but this time, she isn't. And she doesn't really want to be, either. They've been at each other's throats again lately, and she's been wanting for a break. But now that she has one, she's beginning to rethink it. Neither of them have said anything since they arrived at their destination, and that was nearly two hours ago.

"Don't tell me we're going to sit like this the entire night," she says finally, her voice seeming to echo through the car's interior. He turns to look at her.

"Like what?" he asks.

"Like this," she says. "Quiet. Not talking. Ignoring each other."

"I'm not ignoring you," he replies, and she rolls her eyes, leaning back so that she's comfortable.

"Feels like it," she says. He sighs and looks at her over his glasses.

"If you want to talk about something, just say it," he tells her. She looks at him for a moment before looking away and out her window.

"If you could be anywhere but here, where would you be?" The question startles him, and he stares at her in disbelief. If she thinks a game of Twenty Questions is going to get them anywhere, she's got a long way to go. But he can't think of anything better to do.

"I don't know," he says finally. "There isn't really anywhere I want to be."

She laughs. "Come on," she says, "There has to be somewhere."

"Home, then," she replies. "I'd be at home, trying to forget about all of this. Where would you be?"

An almost dreamlike expression crosses her face at this. "Europe, maybe," she says. "I don't know why….just seems like a place I'd want to visit."

"Anywhere is better than here," he tells her. "How long have we been waiting for this guy?"

"Long enough." She bites her lip as she falls silent, trying to think of another question. After a while, one comes.

"You ever wished on a star?"

The question is enough to make him laugh; she swats at him, a look of mock hurt crossing her face.

"Stop laughing," she says, "I meant it. Have you?" Even as she says it, she realizes that she doesn't really want him to stop laughing. She rarely ever hears him doing it, and she's starting to think she likes the sound. But he does stop, slowly, and wipes at his eyes before replying.

"Once," he admits, "When I was a kid. Didn't do me any good, though." She can tell by the sudden tone his voice has taken on that he doesn't want her to press the issue, so she doesn't.

"You know, the point of this is to get to know each other," she comments. "You can ask questions, too."

"What's your favorite color?" he asks, smirking. She swats at him again, but misses and shakes her head.

"I don't really have one," she says. "I figure they're all worth looking at."
"Even ones that don't really go together?" he asks. She gives him a look.

"You know what I mean," she says. He laughs again and leans back, glancing at the clock on the dashboard while she thinks.

"What's your favorite time of day?" she asks finally. He sighs and shifts in the seat so that he can see her clearly.

"Favorite time of day?" he repeats, and as she nods, he falls silent for a moment before answering. "Sunrise."

"Wow." The word escapes her before she realizes it, and before she can stop herself, the rest of what she's thinking comes as well. "That's the last thing I expected from you."

"Why is that?" he retorts mildly, and she looks away, silently berating herself for once again sticking her foot in her mouth.

"What, I have to have a reason now?" she asks. He eyes her intently for a long while, and finally, she answers.

"It just doesn't seem like you," she tells him. "I'd have thought it would be sunset."

She doesn't have to tell him the reason for thinking this; he already knows. He shifts again, this time uncomfortably before deciding to change the subject.

"What are some of the things people have said about what you do for a living?" She glances at him for a moment before chuckling softly to herself.

"You really want to know?" she asks, and he nods. She sighs, and runs a hand through her hair.

"Well, for starters, there's the standard comment that there has to be something wrong with me in order for me to do this," she says. Silence falls, and then she continues. "And then there are the people who say I'm 'tainted' and 'perverted' and…." She trails off again, and this time, she doesn't continue, but he gets the point.

"What do you say to them?" he asks. She gives a derisive snort.

"What's there to say, Munch?" she asks in reply. "It's not going to matter what I tell them, they're going to think what they want."
"Well, what do you think?" Caught off guard by being asked for her opinion, she falters for a moment before finding something to say.

"I don't know anymore," she admits. "Part of me just wants to ignore them because I know I'm doing good, but the other part thinks they're right."

"They're not," he tells her bluntly. "To tell you the truth, I can't believe you'd even consider that they might be."

"You might think the same if you were the one listening to them," she shoots back.

"The key is to ignore them," he says. "If you know you're doing good, then why should it matter what other people think?" She gives him an annoyed look.

"Why'd you ask, then?" she demands. He shrugs.

"Couldn't think of anything else," he replies. She narrows her eyes at him, but doesn't say anything. The digits on the clock change again, and she leans against the door, closing her eyes.

"What do you think drives people apart?" He resists the sudden, mad desire to bring this little game to an end at this question and shakes his head.

"Little things," he says quietly. "Maybe they don't have anything in common anymore, or they're not talking as much as they used to. Maybe their lives are getting the way, or their careers, and one or both of them are too stubborn to give it up for the other's sake."

"You really think that's what it is?" she asks, and he nods, closing his eyes and sighing.

"What else could it be?" he asks in reply. "What else could drive two people to the point where they can't even look at each other anymore?"

She'd figured that he would be the one to have an opinion on that particular issue. After all, his so-called 'track record' isn't exactly a secret. What she hadn't expected was to hear a subtle note of misery in his voice as he answered.

"What made you want to become a cop?" she asks, suddenly desperate to change the subject to something…anything else.

"Well, it's certainly better than being a defense attorney," he quips, in an effort to make it seem as if he hadn't really cared about what she'd just asked. It doesn't fool her. She eyes him intently, quietly, waiting for a serious answer, and after a few seconds of awkward silence, he gives her one.

"I wanted to feel like I was doing something…making a difference," he tells her. "I didn't want to just sit there at some desk, feeling like I was worthless."
"I don't think anyone could ever think of you as worthless," she says dryly, and he gives a bitter laugh.

"You'd be surprised," he tells her. "What made you want to be a cop?" She laughs.

"A lot of things," she says. "I couldn't really tell you which one was the real driving force."

The hour changes then, and both of them look at the clock. It's midnight, the beginning of a new day, and still, they're here, waiting for yet another criminal…yet another person who dares break the law they try so hard to uphold.

"How much longer do you think we're going to be out here?" he asks. She eyes him for a moment before shaking her head.

"What, you mean like a bet?" she asks. "I don't think so." He rolls his eyes at her.

"No," he says, "I don't mean like a bet. I just want to know how much longer you think we're going to be here."

She shrugs. "Couple of hours, maybe," she says. "Hopefully, it won't be that long and we can just nail this guy and go back to the precinct."

"What do you think you're going to do after that?" he asks.

"I have no idea," she tells him. "I'm probably just going to go home and collapse. I feel like I haven't slept in years. What are you going to do?"

"Probably the same," he says vaguely, but she knows better, and he knows it. Even so, she says nothing, content to leave it at that. Wind makes the shadows outside move, and both of them watch, momentarily transfixed, until the streetlights above them flicker, causing both of them to jump.

"Look at us," she says, laughing softly. "We're supposed to be cops and we're jumping at a flickering streetlight."

"I think even the best of us jump at things we're not expecting," he tells her, an amused look crossing his face.

"I guess that's why they say 'expect the unexpected'," she remarks, smirking. He chuckles and turns to look out his window. A figure moving through the shadows catches his attention and he reaches out to poke her in the side. She swats at his hand.

"What?" she asks, trying and failing to sound annoyed. He motions out the window, and she squints in order to see.

"You think that's our guy?" he asks. She leans across him so that she can see better and he leans back so as not to be so close to her. After a few seconds, the figure steps into the light, and she nods.

"Yeah. It's him." She moves back over to her side and pushes the car door open slowly; he follows suit, and together, they move, slowly, so as not to alert their suspect to their presence. It is right before they walk up behind him that she turns and in a whisper asks him what will be the hardest question yet.

"Have you ever loved someone you knew you couldn't have?"


A/N: Wow. This is getting longer than I thought it would be. Anyways...before I start ranting, I'm going to go.