Well, today started out all right.

I woke up at about 0630 and showered, shaved my morning shadow, and suited up for work. In the kitchen, Kowalski yawned his way through a cup of coffee and Rico dished eggs and bacon onto plates.

"Mornin', boys," I said, pulling up a stool to the counter and grabbing a plate.

"Morning, Skip," Kowalski replied, rubbing his eyes. Rico just let off a two-finger salute with half a piece of bacon hanging out of his mouth.

"You were up half the night, again, weren't you?" I asked, pouring a cup of coffee.

"About three-quarters, actually," Kowalski replied, shoveling some eggs into his mouth. "I'm so close to finishing it," he added between bites.

"Maybe, but you know you need to be sharp for work. You've only had about ten hours of sleep in the past forty-eight," I said, stirring cream into my coffee.

"I'll just take a cold shower," Kowalski insisted. "I'll be fine." He finished off the last of his eggs and stood up, unbuttoning his pajama top as he left.

Rico took a seat next to me and started salting his eggs. I crunched on some bacon and smiled.

"Mm, how do you always get it just right?" I complimented. He was truly a culinary master. He smiled and mumbled that it was a secret. Then I remembered something. "Speaking of secrets, you haven't told us how it's been going with that perky mute swim instructor you met last week."

Rico smiled at me for a second, but then he looked back down at his breakfast.

"What? You're not gonna tell me?" I asked with a laugh. Rico just smiled broader and shoveled more eggs into his mouth. "Fine. I'm a detective, I'll figure it out myself," I said nonchalantly.

Rico rolled his eyes as his face flushed. "We have a date next Friday," he grunted without looking me in the eye. He's never been one to be mushy, so I understood his hesitance in talking about matters of the heart.

"Hey, that's awesome. Good luck," I said, nudging him.

Last week, there was a fire caused by a car accident in front of a school for the deaf and hard of hearing. First responders arrived on scene, including Rico, and helped pull a student from the car and get her to the paramedics. Kowalski and I showed up just as the situation was neutralized. Before we left, the student's instructor stopped us and expressed her gratitude through sign language, which was interpreted by one of the mothers.

She was one of the perkiest women I've ever met. Like a cheerleader, but worse. She introduced herself as Miss Dolly and told us that Rico saved one of her new students. Rico was in a strange daze for the rest of the evening that Kowalski and I had never seen before. A few days later we found out he'd started spending his lunchtime with her. He finally worked up the courage to ask her out on an official date yesterday. Seems like it went pretty well.

After breakfast, and dragging Kowalski out of his room, we headed up to HQ. When we walked in, I barely had time to get to my desk before I was called into my Captain's office. It's usually good when I get called in by Captain Rockgut, so I was feeling pretty confident. Boy, was I disillusioned.

"Morning, cupcake," he said as I entered and shut the door behind me. He called everyone some sort of food. Sometimes it's "small potato," sometimes it's "cheesecake deluxe." I've wondered if it coincides with a craving or something. I'm usually cupcake. As annoying as it is, you never question the Captain. Some of us have tried to theorize which insults mean he's in a good mood. Despite being detectives, that's been one mystery we haven't solved.

"Morning, sir," I said, shaking his calloused hand. He had the grip of a sumo-wrestler on steroids, even for someone who had to be about a hundred years old. He was a high-ranking General of the US Army for several years before he had an accident that threw out his back. He was honorably discharged and encouraged to retire, but he refused and finally accepted the job to run this precinct. He's most well-known for putting away the most infamous terrorists of the century, such as the Red Squirrel and the White Widow. "You asked to see me?"

"Yes," he said, sitting at his desk and looking up at me. "I've been reviewing some portfolios of some new recruits that will be joining our precinct for on-the-job training. I've chosen one for you to train."

I blinked.

"Excuse me?" I replied awkwardly. "I mean, sir, are you sure this —"

"Are you questioning me, cupcake?" he asked, leaning forward and giving me his home-run death glare.

"No, sir," I replied, standing straighter, "but I just think that —"

"I don't care what you think, cupcake. I gave you my orders. I chose you for this job because I believe the only way to execute proper on-the-job training is with someone that has excelled in the field for a good number of years. You're one of my top detectives, cupcake. I know you won't disappoint me," he said, settling back down in his chair. He slid a file across his desk. "This is his file. It'll let you and your unit know what to expect when he arrives in a few hours."

"Wait, he's arriving today?" I asked, pointing down as if the desk represented today's date.

"Yes, today. Is there a problem with that?" he asked, giving me another glare that suggested my answer had better be no.

I relaxed my shoulders and took a deep breath. "No, sir. Understood, sir."

"That's what I thought. On to your duties, cupcake. I'll send for you when he arrives," he said, relaxing back in his chair. He waved a hand. "Dismissed."

After a respectful salute, I refrained from taking the file off his desk with a snatch and left, heading toward the labs to find Kowalski just as he was about to fall asleep at his desk with his head propped up by his hand. I slapped the file down on his desk.

Kowalski snapped to attention. "I'm awake!" he said, straightening his posture.

I rolled my eyes. "A cold shower, hm?" I sighed. "Doesn't matter. Guess what the boss man just gave me."

"Looks like manilla. What about it?" he asked, picking up the folder.

"He just slapped me with a rookie that I'm gonna be responsible for training for the next ten weeks. Rookies just get in the way with their inexperience and ignorance. I'll probably have to start back up on my anxiety medications," I muttered, folding my arms over my chest.

"To be fair, we were both rookies at one point," Kowalski pointed out.

I hate it when he's right, which is often. I sighed. "Touché, but — why me? I know I'm 'advanced' and everything, but I just don't work well with someone breathing down my neck, noting my every move."

"I'm sure everything will work out. Besides, two months will go by faster than you think. One day you'll be training him, and the next, he'll be off for final evaluations. Not to mention that it'll be good to have some recruits trained by us so the future of this precinct will look even better than it does now," Kowalski said with a smug smile.

I raised an eyebrow. "Us? He's training to be a detective."

Kowalski crossed his arms. "And how many cases would you solve without me?"

I considered. "Fair enough. But don't think you can start teaching him how to cut a body open."

"Hey, I don't just 'cut bodies open,' thank you. A properly executed autopsy is an art," Kowalski argued.

"Okay, sorry to spoil your creativity," I said, holding my hands up in mock surrender. I grabbed the file and started back for my desk in the opposite wing. "If you don't mind, I have paperwork to do, and a rookie to pre-assess."

"At least North Wind didn't get him!" Kowalski called after.

I laughed as I left him without responding.

When I examined the boy's file, I was completely unimpressed. Adequate aim, straight-A's in high school, outstanding physical endurance, ace in hand-to-hand combat. Sure, that stuff's great. But combine it with what real detective work involves, and you have a whole new fish to fry.

I spoke with my unit about him and they seemed a bit annoyed with how critical I was of him. What can I say? I have high standards. They said I needed to "give him a chance" and "not judge so quickly." Well, that was the whole reason the Captain gave us his file! So we could start judging what we had to deal with. Ugh.

Reading through his brief bio, it said his parents died when he was only seven. He then moved from London to Manhattan to live with his Uncle, although he was rarely around so he was practically raised by a Nanny. He graduated from Eleanor Roosevelt High School and was accepted into NYU, where he received an Associate's degree in Law Education and Psychology. He then registered in the New York Police Academy. After outstanding achievements there, they sent him to the next level, which is where I come in.

When he arrived, I have to admit, I had to refrain from laughing. His picture had certainly misled me. The guy was about five or six inches shorter than me, probably just met the weight requirements to be a detective because he was so thin, and had a round, pudgy face that wouldn't intimidate a squirrel. Outstanding physical endurance? If he had any meat on his biceps, he was really good at hiding it.

"Hello, Detective McGrath. They told me a lot about you. I'm James Stuart," he greeted as he shook my hand. A British accent, too? Are we going out for tea or solving murders here?

"Good morning, rookie. You can call me Skipper. Everyone does," I told him. This was going to be a long ten weeks. "Have you seen the rest of the precinct, yet?"

"No, I haven't. Seems like a lot of ground to cover, though, at least from the outside," he said, looking around.

"Well, it's not as much as you think. Some areas are off limits to you, anyway," I said, turning on my heel. "Follow me."

"This is where each unit conducts research on their findings on cases they acquire, where they meet to discuss evidence, and where final paperwork on the case is completed before being stored," I said as we walked through a large room with desks piled up with files and papers, and people from other units skirting around other people and objects. "That's my desk, over there," I told him pointing to a desk in the area my unit is located, my nameplate shining in gold on the edge. "My unit's desks are around mine, but they're busy finishing up case files at the moment. You'll meet them soon.

"There's the break room, coffee's for anyone, and anything in the fridge is free game if it doesn't have a name on it. So I'd also suggest putting your name on your lunch," I told him as we passed the room and turned down a hallway. "There's the copy room, but you're going to need help using the old piece of junk before you get the hang of it."

We turned down a corridor.

"And this is the west wing, where forensic scientists do their part to help crack a case. They perform autopsies, examine foreign agents, determine cause of death, science-y stuff like that," I explained as we turned into Kowalski's laboratory. Kowalski was sitting at his desk, looking intently into a microscope. At least that's what I thought he was doing.

"This is Kowalski. He's part of my unit of investigations. Come on, Kowalski, it'll still be germs in two minutes," I said, nudging him. That's when I realized he was asleep and I flicked the back of his head, which he reacted to with an irritated "Ow!"

"Time to meet the recruit, sleepy," I said through my teeth. He cleared his throat and turned on his chair. He was about to say something, but had to catch himself and mentally assess who was standing before him. A moment later, he regained his composure and stood up, holding out his hand with a smile.

"I'm Kowalski. Nice to meet you . . .?"

"James," the rookie replied. "James Stuart. Nice to meet you as well, Dr. Kowalski."

"Just Kowalski is just fine," Kowalski insisted. "So, you're our trainee?"

"Affirmative," the rookie confirmed. "I'm very excited to be —"

All of the sudden, his face turned completely white as he stared at something behind us.

"Oh, my," he said, bringing his arm across his stomach. "Is that —?"

Kowalski and I turned to see another scientist starting an autopsy on a corpse through a fiberglass window. We exchanged a half-amused, half-incredulous glance. I prayed that it was just the cutting of the body that sickened him and not the body itself. Even then, I had the blinding urge to go slam my head into a wall a few times.

"Um, are you all right, rookie? You realize seeing dead people comes with the job, right?" I asked as he looked at the floor.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just have to get used to it," he told us. Kowalski and I exchanged another more worried glance.

Before I could respond, Kowalski's phone rang, followed by mine. I answered with "McGrath" the same time he answered with "Bennett." After listening to the response, we affirmed that we'd be on our way and ended the call.

Kowalski and I started for the door. I braced my hand on James' shoulder as we left.

"Well, you'd better get used to it real soon, Private. We've got a new murder to solve."