The telephone blared and Fitz woke with a start. He had a keen sense of deja-vu, or that he was waking from a too-real dream. Rubbing his eyes, he waited for the residual sleepiness to ebb through his bones and pull him back under the covers so he could ignore the blasted contraption that was interrupting his habitual grogginess. It didn't come. He felt oddly refreshed. Instead, the phone rang again.

Fitz rolled out of bed, resigned, and looked down at what he was wearing. Apparently he'd opted to sleep in his trench coat last night. Odd. The phone rang again, more urgently, and he sprinted to the foyer.

"What?" he grumped into the receiver.

"The Johnson safe was broken into last night," Mack said on the other line. "Someone got on the estate. Jewels worth millions, all gone. The cops don't have a clue, and Daniels is in shock."

"But that makes no sense!" Fitz paced, carrying the telephone with him. "I made that place burglar-proof myself!"

"Well, tell that to the burglar," Mack said dryly. "We're on the hook for big money here, so you better get over there damn fast to see what's going on. By now, those stones could be on the market half-way across the globe."

"Everything! Everything was taken," the tall elegant woman sobbed into her handkerchief as Fitz approached. Probably Mrs. Johnson, by the expensive look of her morning frock. She was speaking to Inspector Coulson. Of course the police had arrived first. They were busy interviewing the household. "My emerald tiara and my sapphire necklace from China. Taken! They're irreplaceable!"

"That sapphire is the most perfect in the world, you know," insisted the man who had to be her husband. Mr. Johnson stared down Inspector Coulson like it was personally his fault. Coulson nodded, tired, and continued to write in his notepad.

A no-nonsense woman clad in a police uniform stepped out onto the patio to join them. She glanced briefly at Fitz in acknowledgement, then turned gravely to Coulson. "No fingerprints, but we got a partial shoe print."

"Thanks, May. Man or woman?"

"Can't be sure."

Fitz stepped forward, shaking the inspector's hand. "Coulson. Good to see you again."

"If only it were under better circumstances," the older man said kindly, grateful for the excuse to turn away from the Johnsons. "Your company is on the line big time for this one."

"You don't have to tell me." Fitz shook his head. "This crook must be a pro. I designed the whole system here myself. It's fool proof!"

"Maybe that's the problem." Coulson winked. "You needed to make it genius proof."

"We'll see." Fitz brushed his hands together. Coulson was a decent man, but he sometimes favored the office word-play a little too much. "Very few people had the schematics to the security here." Fitz looked around. He had a bad feeling about this, though he couldn't quite put his finger on why. He turned and spoke loudly to the group that had gathered. "I want to interview everybody that works here. The butlers, the gardeners - the whole staff!" A general grumbling dissipated throughout the group. Fitz narrowed his eyes in order to look menacing, and spoke over his shoulder to Coulson, not bothering to keep his voice down. "Something funny's going on here; I just feel it."

The inspector looked around, shrugged, then pulled the younger man off to the side. "This time I think your gut reaction is betraying you, Fitz," he said quietly. "Nobody in this house is involved. I bet my life on it."

Fitz brushed the inspector off and walked right up to the Johnsons, undeterred. "Can I take a look upstairs?"

"If you must," the missus simpered dramatically. "But would you make it fast? We've had far too much excitement for one day."

Fitz surveyed the closet in front of him. Nothing appeared to be overtly suspicious. He picked up a high-heeled shoe and brought it close to his face to examine.

"What are you doing in my Auntie's closet?" A bored, sultry voice danced into his ears from behind.

Fitz spun around. A woman stood in the doorway. Her dark curls flowed to the nape of her neck where the top of her flowered robe rested lazily against her shoulders. She raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow at him and lifted a hand against the door frame.

"Oh. Hello." Fitz dropped the shoe.

"Don't tell me you're one of those grubby little private detectives," she drawled, strolling casually into the room, a lioness on the hunt. She spun around and took out a cigarette, allowing him to feast his eyes on her. "A private eye, a shamus, a gumshoe. Take your pick; they're all the same."

"Oh I'm- I'm a grubby little insurance investigator." Fitz stared, placing his hands on his hips to appear unaffected.

The woman pressed her red lips together, one corner of her mouth quirking up slightly. "So what? You always get your kicks fondling women's clothes?" She considered him, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

"You-You're Raina Johnson, right?"

She sighed, disinterested, and shook her head so that her curls bounced prettily. "Yeah, that's right." She sauntered over to a lounger in the corner of the room and draped herself across it. "And I have a strawberry mark on my thigh to prove it, gumshoe." She lifted a leg and let the silky fabric of her robe slide away to reveal the smooth skin of her naked knee. "Would you like to see it?"

Fitz coughed. "Ah, maybe later. When there's not a house full of people," he said, staring at her knee.

"Hmm." She purred and cocked her head, a cat playing with its prize. "My fiancé might not appreciate that."

Fitz blinked and crossed his arms, looking her dead in the eye. "Oh yes? Which one?"

Raina pouted and slowly tucked her legs beneath her. "So you do follow my life."

"Well, I read the tabloids, if that's what you mean."

"You've seen photos of me diving into public fountains..."

"And getting arrested for speeding. And throwing champagne at El Morocco-"

"And while I'm out living the fast life, you're hard at work snooping in people's closets." She giggled, then leaned back, taking a drag on her cigarette.

"Can I help it if they pay me by the clue?"

"Did the burglar leave any?" She raised a perfect eyebrow.

"Well, no. He didn't leave any," Fitz admitted. "But that's because he's still among us."

"Says who?"

"Says a very long and complicated theory that I will prove once I gather enough evidence."

Raina tapped her cigarette ash onto the floor. "So you're Leo Fitz." He felt her eyes wander about him, not missing a thing despite the disinterested air she was wearing. "I hear you're a very sharp investigator with an impressive record. I looked forward to meeting you properly." She toyed with one of her curls.

"They say I always get my man." He met her intense gaze, not sure whether he should be suspicious or flattered.

"Me too." She pressed her lips together.

"Right." He stared for a moment, then clapped his hands to break the tension. "I'm glad we could have this little chat, but-"

"Where shall we go tonight?" She pounced suddenly, moving smoothly against him. "Chinatown or Harlem? You prefer Jazz or Opium?"

"I, uh, I prefer the sofa in front of my fireplace."

"Oh, directly to your apartment?" She pulled at the lapels of his jacket. "You always begin with dessert?" Raina lifted her face to him, closing her eyes dreamily, her full red lips inches from his.

"I-it depends..."

She pulled away at the last second, inhaling deeply, eyes dancing from his hat to his toes then back up to meet his gaze. "This will be a very interesting experiment for me." She grinned. "I usually prefer more attractive, athletic, muscular men."

"What about your fiancé?"

"If you don't invite him, I won't." She winked and released him from her clutches. Fitz staggered back.

With a lingering backwards glance, Raina sauntered out of the room. Fitz remained, not entirely sure what had just happened.

Fitz barreled through the office and threw open his boss' door. "Mr. Daniels, it's an inside job. No question about it!" He stopped short when he was greeted with the back of a silky brown head of hair that could only belong to the woman. "Oh. You." He sneered like a bad smell was caught beneath his nose.

Simmons turned and stood quickly, smoothing her skirt down. "Anything on the Johnson situation?" Fitz narrowed his eyes at her, then at Daniels, but decided to press on without comment.

"It's an inside job. I bet my life on it," he explained to his boss, who merely sat there, gaping at the sudden intrusion.

"That's not what the police are saying," Simmons tutted, clearly possessing a faster recovery time than the man at the desk.

"Well, they're wrong. It's inside. I can tell." Fitz felt his blood start to boil. He clenched his fists. "Listen, Daniels, can we talk without the warden being here?" He nodded his head to the side, in her direction.

"Please, Miss Simmons is part of this company, too." Mr. Daniels leaned back in his chair. "We must all learn to work together in harmony."

"What makes you so positive it's an inside job?" Simmons tilted her head to Fitz accusingly.

"It couldn't be that smooth unless it was inside." He chose to direct his response to Daniels, doing his best to ignore her presence.

The other man nodded, considering. He leaned forward with his elbows on his desk, hands together, tapping his knuckles against his chin. He spoke carefully, like he knew he was about to get a rise out of Fitz. "Miss Simmons is suggesting, given the magnitude of the loss, that we expand our investigation..."

"...Meaning what?" Fitz clenched his jaw, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Meaning that while I appreciate the value of intuition to a point," Simmons stepped in, "we're moving to a decade of scientific innovation and-"

Daniels held up a hand to stop her. She folded her arms over her chest, biting back her irritation, and waited for him to continue. "Miss Simmons has suggested that perhaps we might get you a little help... by farming out part of the work to an outside private detective agency."

Fitz blinked and looked from Simmons to Daniels. "You can't be serious!"

"This is to help you." Daniels stood, holding his hands up as though he were a lion tamer. "To test the waters - see if a new approach and fresh techniques make a difference."

Fitz dragged a hand down his face. "This is your grand cost-saving solution?" He turned on Simmons.

"Don't feel threatened immediately," her eyebrow shot up.

"Oh, no. According to you, I'm only threatened by women with high IQs. Are you suddenly a lady detective too then?"

Simmons threw her hands in the air, fed up. "Distant Star has got to get with the progress of the marketplace. We must take steps forward or get left behind-"

"You have no clue what sort of steps I take in order to-"

Daniels moved out from behind his desk and situated himself between them. "There's a lot of money at stake here, Fitz. The more time passes, the colder the trail grows. You know that." Fitz sneered, but nodded his head slightly, conceding this fact. "So, if the Koenig-Morse Private Detective Agency makes a contribution, then fine. If not, we're only out a few bucks."

"The Koenigs?" Fitz gaped. "Those guys? But they're ridiculous! She can't honestly be considering them."

"You know, you're the only person I've received this kind of bitter resistance from," Simmons huffed. "And if I may speak frankly, you're a child with your streetways and disorganized hunt-and-peck methods."

"Oh, a child, is it?" Fitz stepped towards her, puffing out his chest.

"Please!" Daniels moved between them again. "My father always stressed harmony."

"I gotta go anyway." Fitz put his hat firmly back on his head, glaring at the woman. "I'm working a case."

"Watch out for traffic!" Simmons called brightly after him. "Don't get hit by a bus, your body mangled beyond all recognition!"

Fitz slammed the office door behind him.

It was a long day after that. Long and fruitless. Every instrument Fitz had set up on the Johnson's estate appeared to have been rendered inoperable only for the timeframe of the robbery. Otherwise, they were all in perfect working condition. Whoever he was up against, he had to admit, he respected the burglar. It took a certain amount of finesse to even detect the gadgetry he'd invented and installed, much less be able to manipulate it to perform the jewel heist and leave no trace.

Was there anyone on the Johnson estate with that kind of raw talent? Doubtful. But one could never be certain. After all, he himself was being constantly underestimated when it came to his own profession and know-how. Even in school, no one quite understood him. This was what was getting him in such trouble with this Simmons woman. If he couldn't solve this case, it was likely he'd be out on his ass looking for a new job again. And in this economy, that was the last thing he wanted to do.

It was time. Glaring at the last probe he'd set up that once again offered no useable data, he packed away his tool kit and got back into his car, thoroughly irritated. He'd done everything he could. It was time for the more personal style of investigation.

"I've heard nothing about no job," Hunter said, swaying on the street corner. Lance Hunter was Fitz's greatest source of information outside of his gadgetry. The man kept his eyes and ears on all walks of life, and would happily offer up what he learned – for a price. Right now, Hunter was at his day-job: begging.

They both stood on the busy street corner, just out of the flow of foot traffic. Hunter's uniform was at precisely the right level of pungent to detract from any actual attention from passers-by, but every so often, a kind stranger would drop a coin or two in his paper cup. "Nobody tried to fence nothing or do no braggin' from what I seen." He coughed, tipping his hat, unseen, to a tall, elegant woman as she passed by.

"Hunter, you gotta help me with this. Keep your ears open. Anything you hear, I have to know. It's very important, alright?" Fitz took out his wallet and handed over a wad of bills.

Hunter ripped off his cap and started counting the green. He raised an eyebrow at Fitz. "Fifty? You must be desperate."

"You know where to reach me," Fitz said as Hunter slipped his cap back on.

The sun had now set and the day had come to a long, winding end that had offered more questions to the case than answers. Fitz had one last stop. "I think they're all gone up there, Mr. Fitz."

"Great, thanks, Joey. I'm just gonna check something out. I'll be down in five minutes."

Really, all Fitz wanted was to make good on the long-standing date he had with the bottle of Scotch stowed in his bottom desk drawer. He had big plans that night to moan away his lack of progress into the relative discomfort of his dreary apartment. Fitz clomped up the stairs. As he reached for the knob of his office, a door behind him creaked open. He spun around.

"Oh! You startled me!" It was Simmons. Fitz cocked his head at the sight of her. "I-I was just working late," she explained, brushing her hair back up into its business-like coif.

"Oh. 'Cause Joey said he didn't think anybody was up here…"

"Well I'm here." She shifted and pulled the door firmly shut behind her. "Obviously I'm here."

Fitz squinted and craned his neck to peer at her door. "What are you so nervous for-?"

"-I'm not nervous." She immediately crossed her arms, flipping back to defensive on cue. "Why would I be nervous? Working up here alone, I didn't expect to see you is all."

Fitz considered her slowly, taking a secret satisfaction at seeing her so uncomfortably out of her element. She really was a terrible liar. He couldn't see a reason why he should care at this point, though. "Don't you work late all the time? That's what they tell me."

"What is this, 20 questions? You scared me. I'm working up here alone. I'm filling out some reports."

Fitz snorted, opening the door to his office and reaching in to grab his Scotch as she watched. "What are you gonna do, ask Daniels to take out all the water coolers next?" He pocketed the bottle and looked back at her.

Simmons huffed, clearly deciding she was safe from whatever interrogation she'd envisioned from him. "Why don't you make your wisecracks somewhere else? I'm busy."

"Not to worry; I'm outta here." He shook his head, brushing past her. "Don't work too late. The bags under your eyes can only hold so much weight.

She sniffed. "Have a good evening," Simmons retorted sweetly. "And if you find you're going to have a sudden coronary thrombosis, you should probably drive directly to the hospital to avoid being found alone in your apartment partially ingested by cats!"

The day's disappointments weighed heavier in his bones than usual tonight. Fitz reached the landing to his apartment with a gallant effort and a heavy groan. This was the last time he woke up early. Nevermind the emergency of this morning; his apartment would need to be on fire if he were to wake up before 9:00 ever again.

He turned the lock to his apartment and dragged his legs through the door, not even bothering to turn the lights on. He tossed his coat on the kitchen table and he unscrewed the top of his Scotch, ready for the mediocre oblivion it would soon bring.

That was when his living room lights snapped on. He blinked the spots from his eyes and stared straight at the curly-haired intruder who had planted herself in his overstuffed easy chair like it was a throne.

"H-hey. How'd you get in?"

"It wasn't very hard." She twisted the corner of her mouth up.

"Really? What'd you do, have your uncle buy the building?" Fitz tossed the bottle cap into the sink and took a swig.

"Nothing so dramatic; just a small tip to the super."

"For the infamous Raina Johnson, maybe," Fitz snorted. "I give the super a small tip, he tries to evict me."

"I brought some very expensive Russian vodka," she said, lifting a clear bottle from Lord knew where. "120 proof."

Fitz nodded, impressed if not as thrilled as she seemed to expect. "You don't want to drop that. It's liable to blow up the whole building."

"I got bored waiting." She stood, pulling her trench coat tighter and meandering over to the dusty bookshelf. "There's nothing to read here but detective stories and issues of Popular Mechanics." Fitz shrugged. What else would there be? Raina shook her head, exhilarated. "Don't misunderstand. I love where you live. It's just what I thought it would be - a grimy little rat hole."

"Oh, thank you," he scratched the back of his head. "I'll tell my decorator you said that. It's the effect we were going for."

She turned abruptly into his arms and removed the bottle of Scotch from his grasp. "So are you dying to see my strawberry mark?"

"Uh, if - if it's in the same spot it was this afternoon, you should probably get someone to check it out..." he stammered.

Raina parted her lips and reveled in the effect she was having on him. "This is truly a novelty for me." She spun away again and Fitz dropped his arms. "I'm used to penthouses and yachts, gorgeous European lovers who buy me presents and sweep me off my feet." Fitz took a heavy breath, trying to suppress his grumbling as he searched the cupboards for two clean glasses to pour their drinks into. "And yet, somehow, I find it strangely exciting, standing here in a grungy hovel with a pasty insurance clerk."

"I know there's a compliment in there. I just don't know where it is." Fitz gave the glasses a quick wipe, then placed them on the table and poured the vodka. "You gonna take that coat off or what?"

He heard the coat hit the floor as he turned to hand her a glass. "Oh! Well." All he could do was stare. Her creamy brown skin had no imperfections, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes. Fitz gulped. How he managed to hold onto the glass, he'd never know.

"What do you think?"

He opened his mouth, but couldn't put words to his thoughts. Of all times, he found himself wondering if Simmons had such a perfect body beneath her crisp business suits. Daniels couldn't be that lucky of a man. He shook his head and tried again, and the sound of the telephone rang through the apartment.

Fitz frowned. "Perfect bloody timing."

Raina gracefully scooped their drinks out of his hands, and began to tiptoe down the dark hallway. "I'll slip into something a little more comfortable, and wait for you in bed."

Fitz's eyes followed her and he groaned with anticipation. "More comfortable than that?" He shot a dirty look at the phone as it rang again. "What are you going to put on, body lotion?"

He picked up the receiver as she disappeared around the corner. "Hello?" he snarled.

"Capuchin." Fitz's features immediately went slack.

When he returned to the bedroom, Raina had draped herself invitingly across his bed, twisted lazily in a single thin cotton sheet. She had arranged herself so that tempting peeks of skin were just visible here and there, tastes of what adventures would come. "Have you ever heard of an Indian book called the Kama Sutra?" she purred to him, twisting a lock of hair around her finger and licking her full lips seductively.

Fitz grinned brightly and marched over to the bed. "I'm sorry, Raina, but we are going to have to postpone our little rendezvous." He smiled politely.

"Pardon me?" The woman cocked her head.

"I just recalled a previous engagement," he explained, beaming. "I do hope you don't mind. The doorman will get you a taxi." He gestured towards the door. "I had a delightful evening. Thank you very much for your time."

"You are joking, of course." She narrowed her eyes at him, clutching the sheet to her chest.

"I'll turn around so that you can get dressed with some modesty, but please do try and hurry. I'm rather pressed for time." He continued to smile his bright, pleasant grin, turning to face the opposite wall. Raina stood, letting the sheet drop to the floor. No reaction. She rounded on him.

"Have you gone insane?"

He stepped back away from her, not blinking. "Tonight was very meaningful to me, Raina. Really." He held her coat out to her. "I'll always think of it in a very cherished way. If you're in the neighbourhood again, please drop in!"

She looked him up and down like he was a disgusting new species of insect. She'd never encountered a man who she'd had so little effect on. "What's come over you?"

Fitz folded his hands together and tipped his head pleasantly. "Should you desire any pretzels to snack on during your journey home, I have a whole dish of them in the other room."

Raina sneered, piecing together a theory. "I should have known... I should have known!" She struggled to pull her coat's sleeve back on. "A mousy little clerk like you, just chasing your entire life after criminals. I should have known!"

"Now, Raina, don't be cross. Do drop in again at an alternative date! I'm sure we will have a suitably amusing time."

"Jesus! I'm going already! I'm getting out! I've never been kicked out of a man's bed before, but it could have been worse. You've got some nerve, Buster!"

"Thanking you in advance for understanding, Raina." Fitz held the door open with his pleasantly detached grin. "And might I add that you have a splendidly shaped buttocks."

"Oh, for God's sake!" She whirled around as he closed the door gently behind her.