A/N: Sorry to keep you guys waiting for so long! Thanks for reviewing! It's always a bright spot in my day.

This chapter is for Team Deacon! Enjoy! :)

Deacon closed the door as Reagan stood in his entryway, looking around. The apartment was nice, like way nicer than her place. It was an open-floor concept, minimally decorated with a theme of black, white and gray. It was masculine and clean and perfectly Deacon Kay.

He walked past her and into the kitchenette on their right. There were no dirty dishes or clutter on the countertops—just the necessities.

"Can I get you something to drink?" he asked, opening the stainless steel fridge. "I've got beer, orange juice… I could make coffee."

"Just some water would be awesome. I had enough to drink at O'Malley's."

Deacon chuckled. "I hear ya. Hydration is important. I've learned that lesson one too many times," he said, giving her an empathetic smile as he retrieved a bottle of water from the bottom drawer.

She thanked him and broke the seal, taking a long pull from the crackling plastic bottle. Pausing, she said, "You've got a really nice place here. It looks like you take good care of it."

He shrugged and slipped his hands into the pockets of his track pants. "I'm not here enough to make it messy."

"Says you."

He flashed his beautiful smile and glanced at the floor. It was then followed by a slightly awkward silence. Reagan sighed as she tried to come up with what to say first.

"Do you wanna get some fresh air?" he asked.

She dropped her tense shoulders and smiled. "Yes, thank you."

"Follow me."

He stopped at the front door to slip on his Adidas sandals and grabbed his keys from the bowl nearby. They stepped into the hallway and he took a second to lock his door. When they made it to the elevator, Reagan expected him to press the down button, but instead, they went up.

"How was it tonight? Did you guys have a good time?" he asked, his demeanor turning slightly cold, or was it just her imagination?

She lifted one shoulder. "It was all right. Not the same without you…"

He smiled, but this time it appeared tight at the corners, as if forced. "You guys don't need the boss dragging down the mood."

She shook her head and held his wonderfully dark gaze. "That's never the case, Deke."

For whatever reason, he didn't reply.

The elevator doors opened and he led her down a short corridor, then out through another glass door, onto the roof of his apartment building. Strings of white lights hovered over a cushy patio set, but couldn't compete with the spectacular panorama of Los Angeles behind them.

Reagan pushed out a breath and smiled. "Deacon, this is beautiful."

He matched her smile, watching her take in the view. "It's what made me choose this place. I come up here whenever I can. It's…therapeutic."

"Definitely." Her voice still held a hint of awe.

Deacon sat on the couch that directly overlooked the city, and Reagan sat down next to him.

"So, what's on your mind?" he asked, getting comfortable as he turned to face her.

"I know things didn't go as planned today." She shrugged. "I did my best. I'm sorry it wasn't enough... I'm sorry I let you down."

Deacon shook his head. "I'm not faulting you for what happened. You protected another team member and we didn't lose any civilians. We usually call that a good day."

"Then why were you so upset? You not showing up to O'Malley's didn't leave me feeling all warm and fuzzy. All I sense is disappointment."

Deacon paused, glancing at his lap. "You're not too far off with that assessment."

Panic rose up into Reagan's throat and she choked it back down. "What are you talking about, Deke? I'm so confused right now…"

Finally, he looked at her, his eyes so dark that they appeared black in the dim lighting. "I did show up tonight. I saw you dancing with Street."

Reagan's lips parted, but he continued before she could speak.

"Team members are allowed to date, but I always advise against it. Street's a good cop—I know he'd take a bullet for us. But when it comes to women…"

"I'm not dating Street, and I won't." Reagan pushed out a shaky breath. "I flirt, okay? I have so few meaningful relationships in my life, it's just what I do to cope, to feel something a little bit deeper. My parents are gone, my brother runs with the wrong crowd… I don't make a lot of friends from this job. Acquaintances, sure. We talk about each other being family, and yes, I'd lay down my life for any of my fellow officers, but it's not the same. A romantic relationship? What's that again? I mean, don't even get me started on the last time I actually slept with someone…"

Deacon's gaze was hot on the side of her face. He cleared his throat, and Reagan closed her eyes, grimacing.

"I'm sorry. That was so not appropriate," she said, unable to meet his gaze.

He subtly waved it away in the universal gesture of "no problem."

Reagan sucked up her pride and said, "I do flirt, but I have a hard time getting close to people. It seems like all I do is disappoint them."

Deacon stared at her as conflicting emotions crossed over his face. "You didn't disappoint me. It's just that…when you got shot today, it suddenly occurred to me that you could get hurt on my watch. I always know that it's a possibility, but when Street said you were hit…" He glanced down and rubbed a callous on his palm with his thumb. "I was so angry."

Reagan sighed again in regret and Deacon's head snapped up. He held out his hand.

"Not at you. I was mad at Street for taking his head out of the game. I've seen him make some crazy shots. He should've had that. And I was angry with myself."

"Can we just…stop passing the blame?" she asked, reaching out to cover his hands with her own. She was pleased to discover that they were warm and a little rough to the touch.

Neither of them spoke for a moment. Deacon looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn't pull away his hands, even when she moved hers until their fingers were laced together.

Finally, he said, "I've only known you for a week, but I care about you, Reagan."

God, she loved it when he used her real name.

There was something about the way he said it. She was having a hard time getting a complete understanding of his feelings about her, like if she should be reading between the lines. The look in his eyes definitely said something, but if she misinterpreted it, she'd never live it down.

Reagan dared to lean a little closer, staring at his lips with intent. She could've been hallucinating, but she thought she saw him do the same.

To hell with it.

When her lips landed on his, he stiffened but didn't pull back. It was as if he were waging an internal war. His lust must have won out, because he moved to deepen the kiss, cupping his hand around the back of her neck. He threaded his fingers into her loose braid and slanted his mouth over hers.

Reagan's body was on fire, every nerve ending electrified to his touch. She raked her fingertips across the short hairs on his head and moved closer until she was practically in his lap. Deacon took it a step further, shifting his hands to her backside and lifting her so that she straddled him. She moaned softly at the change in position, and he ground his hips up into her. She felt his desire at her center, fitting so perfectly that she couldn't stop another mewl of pleasure as it escaped from her mouth and disappeared into his.

Suddenly, Deacon stopped. He tipped his forehead against hers and grasped either side of her arms, his thumbs pressing gently into her biceps. Reagan watched him scrunch up his face right before he pulled away, holding her at arm's length. His impossibly dark eyes glittered from the illuminated cityscape behind them.

"I am so sorry, Reagan. We can't do this."

Panting quietly, she took a few seconds to catch her breath. She wondered if she was staring at a reflection of herself, because he looked just as disappointed as she felt.

With ease, Deacon lifted her up and put her back on her feet. Her legs threatened to buckle, but she succeeded in staying upright. He didn't stand right away—for obvious reasons.

"I'm your boss; you report directly to me. We could both lose our jobs over this."

"That won't happen. I won't let it happen. I'm a temp, remember? In two months I'll be back on the regular force, and you won't be my boss anymore."

"But for the next two months, I am, and this…" He gestured between them. "Can't happen again."

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Deacon's head tilted the slightest bit, his eyes flickering with sadness. He stood and held her gaze as he said, "I'm not gonna say that I don't have feelings for you. We both know that's a lie. But it's not appropriate under the circumstances."

"I understand. It won't happen again." She wasn't much of crier, but this evening had gone to hell in a handbasket, and she was having a hard time keeping her emotions in check.

He surprised her though when he stepped forward and pressed his lips to the top of her head, his hand rubbing the outside of her arm.

"I'll pick you up in the morning?"

Reagan managed a smile and nodded, relieved that their friendship seemed to be intact.

They took the elevator back to his floor, but she didn't get off, opting to just head down from there.

"Can you get home okay?" he asked, holding open the door.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Okay… Good night, Cas," he said. He looked like he wanted to move toward her again, but didn't, backing into the hallway instead.

"Good night, boss," she replied, and watched him disappear behind the closed doors.

So much for the first name basis, she thought miserably.