Chapter Three

She was sitting on a park bench, which was painted forest green. She was chipping the thick paint off with her thumbnail. She wore the sunglasses he bought her two Christmases ago, sipping coffee from a Styrofoam cup. On the bench beside her sat an apple and a banana. She knew he'd come and she'd waited for him with fruit. She knew him too well he realized. They'd become accustomed to one another the way a couple did.

He knew how she liked her coffee and on many occasions he'd summon one up for her when she most needed it. Perfectly blended with just enough sugar and cream, just the way he knew she liked. It was a small thing that said - he paid attention, that he cared – without him ever actually having to admit it. He sat down beside her and exhaled a "hey" in greeting as he picked up the banana, leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and began peeling it. He didn't say thanks, it wasn't an unusual gesture; it was common, it was them together.

She did speak, she didn't inquire, she didn't ask. He didn't unload, volunteer or offer anything. They didn't do that kind of thing. For all the revealing that had happened in the past three plus years, they weren't there yet. They sat in companionable silence eating and drinking and people watching. Reese wasn't a "talker" that much was established early on. She could sit all day and never tell him a thing. He wasn't about to interrogate her.

"You know…" he began after about a half an hour, but the shrill ring of her phone interrupted his witty Zen comment. She looked like she might be relieved for just a moment before she saw the caller ID and stated "Tidwell" before answering tersely, "Detective Reese." He noticed the tenseness in her jaw and shoulders, which signaled the stress she refused to show anyone.

"Got it, " she announced and snapped the phone shut. "We got a call," she said rising from the bench, "if we're not too busy," she repeated her ex's snide comment and glanced up at the glass building from which Tidwell was no doubt observing them.

"We're not. Are we?" he smiled softly at her throwing his banana peel in a nearby trash bin, "too busy?"

She grinned in response, "No."

He couldn't help the fact that he turned and waved at where he imagined Tidwell to be. He really didn't want to gloat but some days he couldn't help but be a bit cheeky. It was sunny, he was free and it seemed that now Dani Reese was too – and according to the man upstairs – she loved him.

In the car, he turned to face her, "Did you wanna…."

"Talk?" she finished for him.

His eyes were soft and concerned as he nodded dutifully.

"No," she replied firmly.

"That's what I thought," he said quietly and didn't pursue it further. "Where to?"

"Century City," she answered. "Double homicide," she supplied the fact pattern, "a man and a woman, mid thirties, both shot in a motel."

"The same motel room?"

"Yep," she spoke but was miles away as she stared through the windshield at the red light currently holding them back.

"It's usually money or cheating," he noted.

"Usually, but not always," she offered.

Her comment wasn't about the unnamed couple lying on the natty carpet in a cheap motel; it was about her and Tidwell. Reese didn't share much and when she did it was hidden in plain sight, but he spoke Reese now and he understood what she was telling this wasn't about him, Tidwell just thought it was because the other options was Reese left him for no reason at all, which had to cut hard and deep.