A/N: Thanks for the reviews. There's lots of stuff going on in this chapter.

The whole ride to Bobby's apartment to drop him off, was made in tense silence as Wilma fumed over what he had done at the restaurant. He had no right to do that! Who did he think he was? Making her talk to her ex-husband like that! Luckily that preppy bimbo, Brittany, hadn't opened her mouth – otherwise Wilma would have been hard pressed to keep the conversation civil.

"Jeremy seems like a good kid," Bobby said finally, not able to take the silence any longer between him and his sister. It seemed strange, but in the last few months, as he got to know her better, Bobby hated it when she was mad at him. It frightened him a little that she'd become so close to him in such a short period of time. There were still a number of things he didn't know about her, too.

Wilma nodded, "He is. Don't ask me how that happened – Steven and I are both work-a-holics, but somehow Jeremy turned out the way he did. You know, that's how Steven met Brittany – his new wife. She was our nanny."

"Oh. Does Jeremy like her?"

Wilma shrugged, "Not as much as Steven, obviously. I never really liked her – I always thought there was something off about her. Turned out I was right – she was sleeping with Steven for six months before I found out."

Bobby didn't respond as Wilma pulled up to his apartment building. He unbuckled his seat belt, but didn't move to open his door. Instead, he turned around and looked at her.

"What?" Wilma asked, wondering what he wanted to say.

"First off, I'm sorry about what I did at the restaurant," Bobby said. Wilma nodded, accepting his apology for what it was. "Secondly … why weren't you at Dad's funeral?"

"I didn't find out he was dead until after the funeral," she whispered, gazing out the windshield into the New York night. Her smile was bitter as she added, "People generally don't devote much time to tracking down old flames and illegitimate children when someone dies."

"Have you been to his grave?" Bobby asked, knowing it would help her put at least some of her bitterness behind her if she could see William Henry Goren Sr. in his grave, unable to hurt anyone else.

She shook her head, her eyes falling to where her hands were splayed against the steering wheel. "No."

"We'll go tomorrow after work," Bobby decided, not allowing Wilma a chance to back out of it. She wordlessly nodded, suddenly too tired to argue. She didn't want to argue with Bobby anymore. She just wanted to go home, have a nice long bath with one of the new Bath Bombs from LUSH that she was dying to try out. Maybe have a glass of wine, and try to forget for a moment that her arms should be holding a boy of six years in age.

Without another word, Bobby opened his door and got out of the car. As soon as Wilma saw the light in his apartment go on, she turned the engine back on and got back onto the road, heading toward her apartment.

---

Wilma didn't get much sleep that night – not that she expected anything different. At the most, she thought she'd dozed for about an hour and a half when her mind became too overloaded and just shut down. She was intently working on some paperwork that had accumulated on her desk over the night, tired and wired at the same time.

A large cup of coffee from her favorite place dropped down on top of her papers. She looked up and found Fin walking around to his desk. "What's this for?" she finally asked, motioning toward the coffee.

He shrugged, "Figured you could use it after what happened last night."

Her eyes narrowed at him, "How do you know what happened last night?"

He looked down, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "I was there." But Wilma was really too tired at the moment to care about how she got the free coffee. She took a sip and was pleasantly surprised to find it was her favorite kind – done exactly the way she would have ordered it, too.

"Thanks," she mumbled as she got back to work.

"You really used to be married to Steven Boufe?" Fin asked a few minutes later, when he couldn't take the silence anymore.

Wilma nodded, "Yep. Not one of my smartest moves – but I got my son out of it, so it's not that bad."

"You wanna go out to eat tonight?" Fin asked after a few more minutes of silence as they did more paperwork. Wilma raised an eyebrow at him, to which he responded by saying, "All right, my treat."

The female detective grinned, "Okay, Fin – your treat."

"Carson, Tutuola!" Lt. Ashley called from where he stood in the doorway of one of the conference rooms. Wilma and Fin got up and started walking toward him, noting that the room already contained four other detectives, all of which Wilma didn't recognize.

"Sir?" she asked as Fin and she took the remaining two chairs as their seats around the table. Wilma turned her complete attention to Lt. Ashley, trying as hard as she could to ignore the suggestive glances and looks the other four men were sending her way.

"Carson, Fin, these four gentlemen are from the Bronx Narcotics Unit. Apparently they need our help," Ashley's voice contained a hint of sarcasm that all six detectives picked up on immediately.

One of the men stood up, shooting a look at Ashley, "If you'd prefer we take this to the Brooklyn Narks, Ashley, we will. Maybe Manhattan's been too easy for your pair to handle the way things work in the Bronx."

"Handle what?" Fin asked, the situation irritating him to no end. It didn't help him keep his temper in check one bit to see all four of the guys from the Bronx sending Wilma the looks they were. In the eight months they'd been paired together, Fin had grown to respect the pretty detective – and he had grown rather protective of her.

The man who'd spoken before turned to look at Fin, sizing him up, "An undercover op to bring down a drug lord and all his little minions."

Wilma immediately knew what her role would be – and she didn't like it one bit. "How long?" she asked, keeping her irritation to herself. She'd learned to downplay her looks while on the job and it was the last thing she needed to be seen as a whore by half of the Bronx Narks.

The man shrugged, "As long as it takes. Most likely only a couple months, but you never really can tell with these things."

Wilma turned to Fin and gave him a look that told him that it was up to him. She may not like going undercover, but if he was backing her up and going in there with her … she just might make it out in one piece.

Fin turned to the other detectives, "We're in. When do we leave?"

---

The man, Detective Barry, looked at his watch, "As soon as possible. You'll be set up in two apartments: Carson as a dancer – you can dance, right?"

Wilma glared at him, not liking where this was going, before responding, "Pole dances or lap dances?"

Barry smirked, eyeing her body like she was a Monet and he an art critic, "Pole, most likely."

Fin was the only one who noticed the anger Wilma was radiating – and to him it was thick as cream. "Will," he said lowly, causing her to look at him. The look in his eyes was calming and threatening at the same time, making the other men wonder just what control he had over his beautiful partner.

The anger that threatened to burst forth from the woman receded to a controllable level and she said, "Yes, I know how to pole dance." But there's no way in hell I'll be doing it in front of you pigs.

Barry nodded, "Good. Tutuola will go in as a pimp. Your pimp, to be precise."

"No. I won't go in like that. Get someone else." Wilma adamantly said, her eyes wide with passion and rage the presumption that she'd be a whore. It was just too close to home for her ... a home she'd rather leave in her past with her dead mother.

One of Barry's lackeys looked at her with cold eyes, "You don't have much of a choice, sweetheart."

Wilma rose to her full height of five feet, eleven inches and turned calmly to her partner, "I have to go type up a transfer request, Fin." She started walking away, not looking behind her at the shocked faces of the other men. Transfer?

"Carson!" Ashley boomed, "You walk out that door and I'm accepting your resignation from the police force."

Wilma turned back around slowly, then proceeded to look at the five men present before turning back to Lt. Ashley. "I am not a whore for Narcotics to use at its will to catch the bad guys. Get someone else." She knew that even if ordered to go in there as a stripper, she would never be forced to take off her clothes or sleep with anyone … but the very idea of having to go in there and let that man touch her like that and jack-off to her doing a strip-tease ... It made her blood boil and she just refused to subject herself to that - again. With precision that belittled the severity of the moment, she unclipped her badge and took her gun out of it's holster.

"Consider this my resignation, then, Lieutenant." She put them on the table and walked calmly from the conference room, toward her desk. She took out her purse (the only item of her own that she had ever brought to the bullpen) and walked out of the Nark's bullpen.

Bobby watched her go, having noted her take off her badge and gun before leaving the conference room. He rose from where he was sitting next to an empty desk (his partner from the day before had called in sick) and strode into the conference room. "What the hell was that?" he asked, directing his question at Fin.

Fin's confused eyes met Bobby's, "She resigned. 'Parently the whole workin' girl thing was too much for her to take anymore."

Bobby nodded, shooting a glare at Ashley, who looked at him and asked, "How's your case going, Goren?"

"Fine, sir." Bobby was livid that they'd caused his sister to leave the one thing that she loved as much as her son and family. "I should be able to bring in the two dealers today, in fact. Should be a closed case by tomorrow morning."

Ashley nodded, seeming to forget the four Bronx cops in the room. "Your transfer to Major Case was approved. You start first thing Monday."

A/N: Okay, don't hit me! I KNOW that my version of why she quit was rather abrupt and a little uncalled for - but that's how I wrote it! Don't worry though. Next chapter we meet Alex.