1619 Shakespeare Street

The warm needles of the shower felt wonderful on Laura Ballard's skin. She was tired, but happier and more relaxed than she thought possible at 2:30 in the morning. "It's a miracle neither of us got paged this weekend. I don't know if I can take facing Stu at work today after this."

Terri Stivers kissed the back of her lover's neck as she handed her a large sea sponge, "Jesus, Laurie, don't be talking about Stu Gharty in my shower. I do have standards you know. Man, it's 'today' already isn't it?"

"Yup, we can probably get about 3 hours of sleep in if we hurry, I still have to get home and find something to wear..."

Ballard's words trailed off as she felt Stivers' hand slide between her legs. Arching back against Stivers' hard body, Ballard muttered, "Mmmm...or we can just stay up..."

Homicide Unit

Ballard sighed and rested her cheek against her hand. She was at a table in the Homicide unit's coffee room, oblivious to the rumble of the night shift detectives getting ready to go home. Ballard had arrived at work early, determined to make sense of a stone whodunit that had been bugging her for weeks.

Malik Keelty. Male, black, 18 years old. Despite the 2-inch thick case file, Ballard still didn't know much more than the bare facts about this young man. Young man. He was a boy, really. The gruesome, yet clinical crime scene photos showed softness about his face and an adolescent chubbiness that had not yet succumbed to the wasting effects of the heroin he sold.

Of course, Ballard remembered, at 18, Malik probably hadn't yet graduated from smoking 'blunts' with his buddies. When she'd first joined the unit, her partner Stu Gharty, had given Ballard the nickel tour of the Western District. They'd taken Gharty's battered land yacht of an Oldsmobile, knowing that all activity, illicit or otherwise, would cease at the appearance of one of the PD's telltale white Cavaliers.

Gharty, who had worked patrol in this district for years, had pointed to a small group of kids loitering outside a Korean grocery, "Look at that! Right out in the open, bold as you please!" Gharty's voice had cracked like a teenager's in his outrage over the boys, who were passing a joint and drinking from a bottle in a paper bag.

"Time was, those yos would at least step into the alley before they lit up." With a shrug, Gharty hung a left on Gilmor, "Well, at least there's hope for some of them if they're still sticking to weed and booze."

Ballard had looked at her partner in naive puzzlement. Even with the windows rolled up, she could hear the kids touting their product ("Pink tops! Got ya pink tops!"), "You mean they sell heroin but they don't use it?"

Gharty glanced at Ballard in mock horror, "Those boys? Nooo, they wouldn't touch that shit. At least not yet. You see, your average corner boy has grown up watching his parents fall for the spike and the pipe. For now, anyway, he's happy to use smack for profit, but not for pleasure. Eventually, things get bad enough; he'll try it, though. Bound to happen. It gets them all sooner or later."

Ballard had been amused, then saddened by the thought of all those young men idealizing one vice over another. For Malik Keelty, the distinction was moot. He was just as dead, whether he'd given in to the sweet temptation of the needle or not.

Closing her eyes, Ballard stretched the kinks out of her neck and shook her head in an effort to clear her mind. This line of thought was getting her nowhere. Maybe this wasn't even about drugs. Anyway, whoever had slashed Malik Keelty in the playground of the Martin Luther King rec. center wasn't going to show up and confess because of her jumbled musings. What she needed was coffee.

Rising to fill her mug, Ballard winced at a slight twinge of stiffness in her legs. Why were her legs stiff? For a split second, Ballard wondered if she'd pulled something during her morning run. Then a hot flush crept up her neck as her blush rivaled the color of her red turtleneck. Her body remembered the reason for the welcome ache before her mind registered it. Ballard had spent the weekend engaged in some enthusiastic and long overdue 'exercise' of a sexual nature with fellow detective Terri Stivers.

Even as the pleasant muscle memory gave her a small tickle of arousal, Ballard's practical side was gripped once more by anxiety. Anxiety that had driven her from sleep in Stivers' arms to a punishing run and an effort to lose herself in the Keelty file. "Laurie-girl, you've fucked up royally this time, " Ballard thought to herself as she poured her coffee and returned to her seat, "Big time fuck-up."

Lost in thought, Ballard didn't notice her Lieutenant pad into the coffee room, "Why Detective Ballard," Gee purred, "I can't tell you how it warms my weary cockles to see one of my faithful minions hard at work a full twenty minutes before the shift change on a Monday."

Ballard mustered a half-smile and patted the case file, "Keelty."

"Well," Gee rumbled as he fixed his coffee, "yes, you do look a little guilty, but as long as your eagerness doesn't express itself in the form of an overtime slip on my desk, you may carry on with a clear conscience." Gee swept out of the room a grin before Ballard could respond to his apparent misunderstanding.

Shit. Was it obvious? These were cops, would everyone be able to tell she had something to hide? Ballard couldn't have felt more vulnerable and exposed if she'd come to work in nothing but a pair of white cotton knickers. She had opened herself up to Stivers without really knowing a lot about the other woman's character. She'd just been so lonely and in need of a friend...Ballard smiled wryly to herself. She couldn't buy that line, not even from herself. Yes, she had been lonely, but it had been Stivers burning dark eyes and clever mouth that she'd needed more than the woman's friendship. She had inched her way toward developing something with Stivers for months; craving intimacy, then pushing it away.

Ballard wasn't even sure she wanted a relationship with Stivers. It was all so fucked up. Despite the reality of her own desires, Ballard still believed that the only way to really be happy was to have a man and children. She'd never had a really long-term relationship with a woman. She honestly believed that it wasn't possible for two women to live together happily the way her parents did. She'd spent most of her twenties trying to get her attraction to women out of her system. When she'd found herself really falling in love with another woman, circumstances had conspired to wreck their relationship in a storm of scrutiny and humiliation.

She'd fled Seattle to get away from that mess and now seemed to be repeating her error with Stivers. Arriving in Baltimore, Ballard had announced her intention to find 'Prince Charming' and had made every effort to behave like she thought a het woman would. Hell, she'd even had Stivers fooled with her "Saturday Night Hon" act. Ballard grinned in spite of herself as she remembered that revealing little chat in front of Stivers' fireplace. The other woman's shock as Ballard had pulled her in for that kiss had been delicious. Closing her eyes with a sigh, Ballard let her anxiety go for a minute and indulged in a little mind movie, replaying the sensual highlights of the past few days.

"Ballard, yer up! Line one," Naomi's nasal tones broke Ballard's reverie. Grabbing the Keelty file and her mug, Ballard made for her desk. "Ballard, homicide." As she jotted down an address Ballard gave herself a mental shake. Her love life might be up in the air, but in Bawlmer, the bodies were still falling.

She glanced around the squad room for her partner. Gharty was munching on a Danish and chatting with Munch and Howard. "Stu, we got a call. A place over on Ann Street."

Howard grinned and took the Danish from Gharty, "Nothin' like a friendly neighborhood murder, hah?"

-------------------

Stivers bounded up the stairs two at a time, energized in a way she hadn't felt since before the Mahoney mess. She was still carrying that weight, but after her weekend with Ballard, Stivers felt like she could take on Georgia Rae, Judge Gibbons, and anyone else who tried to knock her down.

Gaining the landing and swinging around the corner, Stivers realized too late that someone was coming from the other direction. Before she could skid to a halt, Stivers collided with Ballard who had been looking over her shoulder and calling to hurry Gharty. "Jesus, Laurie, I'm sorry!" Stivers grasped the other woman's shoulders to steady her, "Are you okay?"

Ballard covered her surprise with a nervous laugh, "Sure, yeah. I'm fine. My bad, I should have been watching where I was going." To her horror, Ballard realized that somehow, her hands had slipped up and automatically placed themselves on Stivers' hips. They were, for all intents and purposes, embracing in the doorway of the Homicide unit. Ballard quickly dropped her hands to her sides and stepped back, catching confusion in the eyes of both Stivers and Gharty who had come abreast of the women. Howard, who had followed Gharty out on her way back to Fugitive was watching the scene with amusement.

"Yeah, well. No harm, no foul. We gotta go...c'mon Stu." Ballard tugged the sleeve of her partner's rumpled raincoat and hurried down the steps.

Stivers watched the other woman's hasty exit with a furrowed brow. She hadn't been expecting a kiss on the forehead from Ballard, but was puzzled by the younger woman's obvious discomfort at the accidental contact. Sure, Stivers wasn't planning to broadcast news of their affair to the rest of the squad, but she didn't think it was necessary to treat each other like strangers. With a sigh, Stivers noticed Howard looking in her direction with an odd expression on her freckled face. She nodded distractedly at the Sergeant and headed for her pigeonhole to pick up her messages.

As Howard watched Stivers' retreat her puzzled smirk turned into a grin. Her instincts, not dulled by months of exile in Fugitive, told her all she needed to know about the little scene between Stivers and Ballard. Howard stuffed her hands in her pockets and slowly wandered down the hall to the Fugitive squadroom.

Thames Street

Ballard pulled the Cavalier out of the garage and onto the cobblestone street. She caught Gharty looking at her with a little smile.

"What?" Ballard demanded. Gharty cocked his head and kept staring. "Stu, you're staring at me," Ballard glanced at her partner again, noting a smirk. "Stu, if you don't tell me what you're staring at, I'm going to have to use you for Wen-Do practice."

Gharty shook his head, "It's just that I've never thought of you as a 'Laurie' before. 'Laura', sure, but 'Laurie'? 'Laurie'. Hmm. I could get used to that."

"Well, 'Stewie', don't bother. Nobody calls me Laurie."

"Stivers just did."

"No she didn't!"

"Yes, Laurie. She said, 'Jesus, Laurie, I'm sorry', I remembered it 'cause it kinda rhymed. She called you 'Laurie'.

Ballard rolled her eyes, "Fine, she called me Laurie. Whatever. That doesn't mean you have permission to do the same."

Gharty's St. Bernard features molded themselves into mock indignation, "Hang on a minute. You called me 'honey' the other day. I'm your partner, doesn't that count for anything? How come Stivers gets to call you Laurie?"

Ballard gritted her teeth and turned to glare at her partner as she rolled to a stop at their crime scene, "Stu, I'm going to say this just one more time; nobody - calls - me - Laurie!"

"Except Stivers," Gharty needled as he pulled himself out of the car. "What is it, a girl, er, women's thing? Laurie, Terri..." Ballard took a deep breath and hissed,

"I'm going to hurt you..."

"You already have, partner," Gharty grinned, "You already have."

Homicide Unit

Stivers crunched on an apple as she sorted through the little pile of pink phone message slips. Bingo! One of her old snitches from narcotics had come through with a tip on the whereabouts of one Balthazar Jones, the prime suspect in a Fayette Street stabbing. Making some notes, Stivers reached for the phone but was stopped by a hairy hand on her wrist. Stivers raised her head slowly and saw that the hand belonged to her partner. Yanking her wrist free, she decided to wait a minute before elbowing him in the kidneys, "Falsone?"

"Terri," Falsone's trademark sly grin spread across his heavy features. Stivers wondered if Falsone's kid woke screaming at night with the vision of that smile. "Did you want something, Paul?"

Stivers tried to hide her irritation. Falsone was not her favorite co-worker. In fact, Stivers sometimes thought she'd rather work with Captain Gaffney than with this irritating little man. Stivers had no time for Falsone's bravado and need to turn everything into a pissing contest. Her rotation to Homicide was just a few weeks old and she hoped she wouldn't end up partnered with Falsone permanently.

Frank Pembleton had told Stivers about Falsone's stunt with the dogs last month. Instead of waiting for animal control to arrive with tranquilizers, Falsone had apparently made to go into a room where two pit bulls had just ripped an old man apart. Pembleton had taken Stivers aside to tell her that story before she went out on her first call with Falsone. He hadn't made any comment, but Pembleton's message was clear, "If you're going out with Falsone, you better watch your own back."

Falsone bent closer to Stivers, crouching next to her desk. She moved away slightly to avoid being overwhelmed by the man's aftershave. Stivers hadn't realized that they still sold Aramis.

"Terri, I need to ask you something." Stivers hoped she didn't look too bored as she waited for Falsone to continue. "I'm gonna ask you something, and I want you to answer me. I really want you to tell me the truth." Falsone being cocky and arrogant was sickening enough, but Falsone attempting to be earnest and sincere caused Stivers to feel physically ill. Her stomach churned around the bits of apple. Falsone looked around to be sure no one could overhear. He moved a little closer to Stivers. Between the acid of the apple and the overpowering miasma of Falsone's cologne which, at this proximity didn't quite mask the vaguely goat-like odor of the man, Stivers had to fight a gag reaction.

"What I want to know is...well, on Friday I decided to come by the Waterfront after all." Stivers turned her face away for a breath of fresher air. "And you and Laura were already gone."

Something about Falsone's tone caught Stivers attention. Suddenly, the tightening in her stomach came from fear rather than disgust. Where was the little shit going with this?

"Munch said you two were laughing and having fun before you left. And, well, you're my partner, Terri, so I know you'll tell me the truth about this."

Stivers jaw tightened as she prepared for the worst, unable to remember for sure whether anything untoward had happened between her and Ballard at the bar. They had been sitting fairly close together, but the Waterfront had been packed. Everyone was pressed against each other. What could Munch have overheard?

"What I wanna know is, did Laura talk about me?"

Stivers felt a snap of relief as she stifled the urge to laugh. How could she have possibly believed that this obnoxious, self-absorbed little creep could have intuited her new relationship with Ballard? Being Falsone, of course he would only think of his own needs and interests. Stivers marveled at the ego of the man. It was clear that he actually believed that two women of his acquaintance couldn't possibly spend time together without talking about him. The prick.

"It's just, I figured if you two were gonna be, like girlfriends, she might tell you stuff. Like about how she feels about me. And since you're my partner, I figured you'd tell me what she said."

Stivers looked down and bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile. Wouldn't it be great to see the look on his stupid face if he knew that Ballard was, certainly looking like she was going to be, her 'girlfriend', and had spent the weekend in Stivers' bed? Falsone was waiting for an answer.

"What is this, Falsone? Sixth grade?" Stivers blustered, "You want me to pass Ballard a note in Study Hall? I don't have time to deal with your social calendar. You're both grown-ups, I'm sure you can handle this without involving me."

"Aww, c'mon Terri. I'd do the same for you" Falsone paused and scratched his ear, "Hey, you know, I think Lewis kind of likes you. I could put in a good word. Maybe the four of us could go out sometime!"

Not only was the man a self-absorbed prick, he was almost too stupid for words. Stivers bit back another laugh. Lewis 'kind of' liked her? The whole squad had known about the sexual tension between them five minutes after they met. Lewis had been the closest thing she had to a friend in Homicide. Apparently, Falsone thought he was being clever and subtle. A double date? Christ! If she hadn't been in such a good mood, Stivers would have ripped the little shit's head off. As it was, she took another bite of her apple, swallowed and stood up. Crossing her arms, Stivers stared down at her partner who remained squatting by her desk.

Mentally clamping down on the urge to laugh, Stivers spoke in soft, measured tones, "Paul, I really think this is a subject that we shouldn't get into. We're partners, but I would prefer to try to keep our relationship fairly professional." The look of porcine bewilderment on Falsone's face was almost too much for Stivers' composure. With a little smirk, she tossed her apple core in the trash and headed for the Ladies room.

Falsone watched his partner hurry down the hall. He was puzzled by her reaction for a minute, then realized what he'd done wrong. Of course, you couldn't talk to a girl about another girl. Terri was probably jealous. Even if she was his partner, Falsone reasoned, Stivers must find him attractive. She was probably annoyed that he wasn't interested in her. Stivers was all right looking, for a colored chick, but would never date one of 'them'.

In the bathroom, Stivers hoped the sound of the flushing toilet covered her snorts of laughter.

3129 S. Ann Street

Gharty stood over the old lady's body as he sketched the layout of the pristine white bedroom. The room didn't exactly look like a crime scene, but it was better to be safe than sorry. The old lady, Maureen Reilly by name, lay on the left side of the large bed, nicely tucked in and looking for all the world like she was asleep. The empty bottle of tranquilizers and the neatly folded note told a different story.

Suicide. It must be. But the unnatural calm of the dead woman's roommate and the near-hysteria of her daughter raised a few questions in Gharty's mind. Gharty could hear the daughter's shrill tones as Ballard interviewed her in the kitchen.

"My mother could not have killed herself! It is simply not possible, Detective Ballard. She was a devoted Catholic. She would never jeopardize her immortal soul. I know my own mother. That old cow upstairs did something to her!" Gharty couldn't make out Ballard's response, but it must have worked because the screeching stopped.

The sound of a small sigh behind him reminded the detective that the roommate was still in the room. She had refused to move from the chair next to the bed.

"Uh, Miss Bowers?" Gharty laid a gentle hand on the woman's plump shoulder, "I, uh, really need to take a closer look at the, uh,...at your friend. Maybe you could wait in the other room."

Christina Bowers looked at the large man's hand on her shoulder then up into his worried, but not unkind face,

"Detective, you just do whatever it is you need to do. Never mind me. I'll just stay here with Mo. She wouldn't like to be alone in her room with a strange man."

Gharty opened his mouth to argue, but thought better of it. The sight of Bowers' careworn face put him in mind of his own mother, although he realized she wasn't much older than sixty, "Okay, Miss Bowers. You sit right there. This won't take very long."

-------------------

Ballard handed Angela Reilly a glass of water and sat down across from her at the Formica-topped kitchen table. The woman's hysterics seemed to be over for the moment, but the uniform on the scene said she'd calmed down and then flared up again several times before the detectives had arrived.

"Okay, Angela, let me go over this again. Your mom had Multiple Sclerosis. She was in a lot of pain, she couldn't walk, and her speech and memory were impaired." The red-haired woman nodded. "You say her condition has deteriorated a lot in the last six months and that she's seemed depressed?"

"Well," the older woman sipped her water, "I don't know if I'd call her depressed. I mean she was always pretty miserable when I was growing up. And we haven't been that close since dad died. I've only seen her a few times in the last twenty-odd years. More in the last year or so since I moved back to Baltimore. But we weren't, you know, close."

Ballard rolled her eyes in impatience, but kept her tone gentle, "If you haven't been that close, how can you be so sure she didn't decide to kill herself? Maybe she wasn't even Catholic anymore."

The gentle tone wasn't enough to keep the other woman's temper in check. "What the hell are you talking about? You don't just stop being Catholic! I know my mother. Even if she was living with that pervert, she'd never, ever do anything like that."

Now it made sense. Ballard finally understood that the woman's outrage had nothing to do with religion, or her mother's death, really. She was upset about how her mother had lived her life. Ballard waited while the woman continued to rant.

When Ballard didn't respond, the older woman seemed to lose steam again. When she was sure the tirade was over, Ballard closed her notebook and stood up. "Angela, I think I have enough information from you for now. The uniformed officer will drive you home. We'll let you know if we have any more questions for you."

"So, what are you going to do about this? You're going to put that bitch away aren't you? You see what she did to my mother, don't you?" At Ballard's gesture, the uniform stepped forward and guided the other woman toward the door. Ballard could hear her peppering the young man with questions, "She's going to arrest Miss Bowers isn't she? That cow killed my mother you know..."

The creaking steps of the old house told Ballard that Gharty was finished in the bedroom. She hoped they had both drawn the same conclusion about Maureen Reilly's death. Gharty was the primary, but Ballard felt a bit of a personal stake in this case.

Gharty rubbed a hand over his face as he joined his partner in the dainty living room. Ballard raised her eyebrows in an unspoken question. Gharty looked grim.

"Well, it sure does look like a suicide. No signs of trauma, she was in pain, there's a note...but I'm not ready to write it off yet."

"What do you mean? She OD'd and went to sleep," Ballard crossed her arms and tilted her head, "what else is there to know?"

The guys from the M.E.'s staff had bagged the body and were manhandling it down the narrow staircase. Ballard and Gharty turned to watch Miss Bowers, as she trailed behind them solemnly, looking a little lost. With surprising agility for his bulk and age, Gharty caught the woman as she stumbled on the last step. She looked around in some confusion as Gharty led her to the sofa and sat down next to her. The woman's distracted gaze fell on Ballard who had pulled up an ottoman next to the couch. Reaching out, she laid a hand on Ballard's hair and smiled fondly at the younger woman.

"This was Mo's color. She was black Irish with big brown eyes. She told me her father used to call her 'the Spaniard'. She was so beautiful. And then one day, it seemed her hair just turned snow white. She got old. Just like that..." Bowers' voice trailed off and her hand dropped back into her lap.

"Miss Bowers," Gharty began, opening his notebook, "can you tell us about the medication your friend was on? How long had she been taking, uh, diazepam?"

The woman smoothed her beige slacks over her knees and sighed, "Ever since she was diagnosed, Detective. That would be ten, no, twelve years ago, on her fifty-third birthday. It was for the spasms, you know, the muscle cramps. Diazepam is used as an adjunct for the relief of spasm in patients suffering from cerebral palsy, multiple sclerosis and athetosis."

Bowers smiled impishly at the surprised look on the detectives' faces, "I am, or I was, a nurse you know. I worked in emerg at Bon Secours until a few years after Mo's diagnosis. I took early retirement when we realized how much care she was going to need. I remember she said, 'Why should we be paying for some day nurse when I've got you here, Nursie?' I was glad to do it, of course. I would have done anything she asked me to."

Ballard closed her eyes as she felt a little prickle of tears. Gharty was still looking confused, and wondered if Ballard had something in her eye. "And her usual dosage was?" Gharty continued, writing in his notebook.

"Well, it varied, depending on her symptoms. Generally, about 10 milligrams a day in divided doses. That was a little high for a patient of her age, but she'd developed a tolerance for it over the years and she was in such agony. I hated to see her like that." A look of pain flashed on Bowers' face, but was quickly replaced with the detached mask of a health care professional.

"If you're wondering detective, she was able to take her own meds. I'd count out the pills and hand them to her in a dixie cup. She had a special drinking mug with a straw attached so she was able to wash them down herself, no matter how much her hands shook. It was the same with feeding. If the meal required more coordination than she had, she'd just ask for something different to eat. She was a remarkable woman. And when her condition deteriorated beyond the point where she could go on with dignity, she decided it was time to end it all."

Gharty looked uncomfortable as he fiddled with his pen, "Miss Bowers, I don't like to ask this, but you understand that it's important we have all the facts." The woman nodded a little wearily as Gharty continued, "Did you count out Mrs. Reilly's pills last night? Did you see her take the overdose?"

This was the part Gharty hated about his job. He hated having to ask these kinds of questions. But in this case, with the daughter causing such a fuss and the dead woman's feeble condition, not to mention his own Catholic notions about suicide, Gharty felt that he had to dig a little deeper.

Bowers took a deep breath and turned capturing Gharty in a steely blue glare, "Detective, Mo Reilly was my friend. She was dearer to me than anything in the world. Do you really believe that I could just leave her to die on her own like that? I shared that bed with her for almost twenty years, do you think I'd let her die in it by herself? Yes. I handed her the pills. She couldn't swallow more than a few at a time. I'd give her a dose of pills, she'd take them with some water, then a little vanilla pudding to make sure they'd stay down. I held the tablet as she wrote the note, struggling to hold the pencil in two hands. Yes, Detective Gharty. I helped Mo die."

Homicide Unit

Emerging from the bathroom with her composure nailed firmly in place, Stivers decided to give the squadroom a miss for the moment. She wasn't in the mood for another tete a tete with Falsone. Instead, she went down the hall to the tiny Fugitive Squad to talk to Sergeant Howard.

As Stivers entered the cramped room, she could hear Howard's distinctive voice,

"DeSilva, you're not in Narcotics anymore. This is Fugitive, we gotta play nice with the feds. If you wanna get into a pissing contest go back to Narcotics and do it with the DEA guys, hah?"

Stivers exchanged a sympathetic grin with her former bunky DeSilva as he slunk away from his Sergeant's tongue-lashing. Popping her head around the cloth and metal divider that formed Howard's cubby hole, Stivers chuckled, "Hey Sarge, I'm not wearing any Kevlar, is it safe to bug you for a minute?"

Howard grinned and pushed a stray hair from her face, "Sure Stivers, just don't get me started on interdepartmental cooperation. Sheesh! These guys gotta whip out the measuring tape over every little thing. What do you need?"

"I got a suspect looking to flee the jurisdiction. According to a tip, he's fixing to head north and join his extended family in Toronto. I just wanted to give you guys a heads-up in case we don't grab him in time." Stivers gave Howard the particulars of the case, while the older woman made notes and asked a couple of questions.

"Uh, Terri, before you go," Howard paused awkwardly, avoiding the detective's inquiring gaze, "This is a bit...well, I'm not sure how to put this." Howard smiled uneasily and tugged at the knot of hair on the back of her neck. "This is a personal thing and totally none of my business. And if I'm wrong, or way out of line, hey, I'm sorry. But, I like you Terri, you're good police...and I've got this really stupid habit of acting like a big sister..."

Stivers had enormous respect for Kay Howard and saw her as a mentor. She had blazed the trail for women in the old boys' club of Homicide. She was a terrific cop and had a reputation for telling it like it is. Stivers had come to Howard for advice, both personal and professional more than once in the past, and the Sergeant always steered her right. Stivers also thought Howard was a raging babe, but tried not to dwell on that.

"Kay, whatever it is, I wanna hear it," Stivers leaned forward on the scarred old desk, "You know your opinions mean a lot to me."

Howard leaned closer to the detective and dropped her voice to be sure they couldn't be overheard, "It's about you and Ballard." Stivers jerked backward in shock and opened her mouth to respond, but Howard continued, "Look, I don't know what happened between you two or where it's goin'. But I know what I saw when you two had your little accident this morning." Howard arched her eyebrows, " I just want you to be careful. You don't need half the department commenting on your private life, hah?."

Stivers was stunned, "But Kay, how did you? What did I? Jesus, don't tell me the squad's got a pool going on this!"

Howard smiled and shook her head, "Nah, don't worry. Nobody else would have picked up on it. I've just had a little experience with office romances, so I'm good at spotting the signs. Also, I was at the table behind you guys in the Waterfront on Friday. Frankly, I'm surprised it's taken this long for something to happen. Ballard's been making the puppy-eyes at you since she got here. Is it serious?"

"Jeez Kay, I don't know. It all happened so fast," Stivers brushed a hand over her cropped curls, "I swear, before Friday I didn't have a clue that she was interested. Hell, I wasn't even looking at her ) she comes off as such a girlie-girl, I never even considered it. And I've had a lot on my mind lately."

Howard rose and came around to lean on the front of her desk. Placing a hand on Stivers shoulder, she squeezed gently and said, "I know. It's been a rough year. But how do you feel about Ballard? Do you know what you want?"

"Yeah, I think I do." Stivers mused, dropping her gaze to the floor, "I think I want to make this work somehow. I mean, I really hardly know her, but there's a connection there. Something...I don't know. It's probably stupid. And after the way she brushed me off this morning, she's probably regretting the whole thing." Howard crouched next to Stivers so she could see the woman's downcast face.

Taking her hand, Howard half-whispered, "Hey, don't you start feelin' sorry for yourself. You're a beautiful, intelligent, desirable woman, Terri Stivers. Ballard's an idiot if she doesn't try to hold on to you." Howard tilted Stivers' chin to force the other woman to look at her, "You deserve to be happy. We all do. Talk to Ballard. Today. You need to tell her how you feel."

Howard's voice became a little bitter, "You're a lot like me, Terri. You try to button yourself up so that nobody can touch to hurt you. But you miss out on how good it feels to be touched. You can let someone love you and still be a tough guy. Just look at me." Kay added wryly, "And the whole squad doesn't need to know about it." With a final squeeze, Howard released Stivers' hand and returned to her seat behind the desk.

Stivers sighed and favored Howard with a weary smile, "You're right, Sarge. As usual. Thanks for the pep talk." Rising to leave, Stivers turned back as a thought struck her, "Kay," Stivers began with an impish grin, "Who did you go home with on Friday?"

"As I said, the whole squad doesn't need to know about it. Thanks for stopping by Detective." Howard winked at her friend, "Let me know what happens with your Mr. Jones, hah?"

Homicide Unit

Christina Bowers sat in the aquarium with perfect composure. She glanced around the bustling squad room and sipped at the tea that Detective Ballard had made for her.

In the Shift Commander's office, a battle of wills was underway.

"Gee, I don't even know why this woman is down here. She's a nice lady. She should be at home making funeral arrangements for her partner." Ballard crossed her arms and leaned against a filing cabinet.

Gharty rubbed his face with his hand and sighed, "Nobody's saying she's not 'nice', Laura. But if she helped her, um, friend kill herself, we have to charge her with assisting a suicide."

"That's completely bogus. It's a judgment call and you know it, Stu. Just because your Catholic sensibilities are offended by Miss Bowers' lifestyle doesn't mean you get to persecute her!" Ballard's face was flushed. Gharty was puzzled by his partner's emotional attachment to this case.

Gee decided it was time to step in, "Alright, let's try not to get personal with this one. Gharty, have you got a toxicological report back from the lab?"

"Not yet, Gee. Dyer said she'd have preliminary results in a couple of hours." Gharty checked his notes, "Her initial impression is that the state of the body squares with Bowers' story."

"Well then," Gee rose to dismiss his detectives. "I suggest we wait for the tox. report, then let Danvers have a look at this mess. In the mean time, I think the streets of Baltimore will remain safe if we let Miss Bowers go back to her house. Unless, Detective Gharty believes she'll go on some kind of alternative lifestyle, assisted suicide spree. No, Gharty? Good. Have Miss Bowers released for the time being."

3129 S. Ann Street

At the older woman's insistence, Ballard found herself back at Bowers' Formica table eating a ham sandwich and drinking tea.

"So, what you're telling me, Detective, is that I may still be charged for helping Mo die?" Bowers reached to re-fill Ballard's cup from the brown teapot on the table.

"Yes, Miss Bowers, I'm afraid so. You see, it is illegal in the state of Maryland to promote or assist in the death of another person, even if that person wants to die. Once the autopsy is finished, and if your account of how Mrs. Reilly died is confirmed, your case will probably go to the Assistant State's Attorney. He'll decide whether the evidence warrants a charge."

"It seems a little silly to me, Detective. I mean if Mo had been strong enough to manage her suicide herself, she wouldn't have felt sick enough to want to die." Bowers sighed, "I shouldn't be surprised at this, though. The state has always felt the need to interfere in how we choose to live, why not interfere in how we choose to die?"

Ballard smiled faintly and looked around the cozy kitchen. "You and Mrs. Reilly did a great job with this place. It's comfortable, but still kind of elegant."

"Thank you, dear. But it's just our old things. We bought this place about six months after we met. I'd always lived in apartments and Mo was still in her old house. We decided that a fresh start in a new neighborhood was just what we needed. I'd always loved Fell's Point. We were very happy here."

Ballard looked down at her cup, "You've been lucky. I can't imagine being with someone for twenty years. Especially...." Ballard, colored a little, "Well, nothing. I mean, you two must have found it hard to be..."

"Dykes?" Bowers laughed, "Oh, my dear. It's not so different. You should know that." Bowers smiled indulgently at the confusion in the younger woman's eyes.

"Detective, when you find someone who makes you feel like you're filled with light and music all the time, should it matter what chromosomes they happen to have? I just wish we'd found each other sooner. Mo always said that her only regret in life was giving in to the pressure to get married to a man and have a child. She and Angela's father never got along and she always knew she would have been happier with a woman. Of course, it's different today. Someone like you wouldn't allow herself to be pressured. You know that you have choices."

Ballard looked at the wise eyes of the older woman and came to a decision.

"Yes. I do know that." And, Ballard thought, I know what the right choice is for me.

742 South Monroe Street

Stivers stood on one side of the door to the rowhouse, her weapon cocked and ready. She nodded at Falsone and banged on the door a few times. A muffled voice inside called, "Who is it?"

"Hey, Jonesy," Stivers tried to sound sultry, "I hear you was fixin' to leave an' I jes wanna give you some bon voyage sugar."

"Who, the fuck?" Balthazar Jones' words were cut short as Falsone widened the crack in the door with his shoulder and Jones found himself staring down the business end of Stivers' Glock.

"Sorry Jonesy," Stivers muttered as she patted Jones down and snapped her cuffs, "No sugar for you tonight. Unless you meet Prince Charming down in central lock up."

Homicide Unit

Ed Danvers shook his head as he flipped through the M.E.'s report on Maureen Reilly.

"Gharty, what are you wasting my time for? This is a straight up suicide. You got a note, the tox. screen squares with the roommate's story, and the dead woman's medical records confirm that she was in almost constant pain. I'm not going to prosecute a 63-year-old woman for handing her friend some pills. The facts that this Bowers woman freely admitted her role in this and has nothing to gain financially from Reilly's death, tell me that everything is kosher. Even with the daughter's claims, it just doesn't add up. Bowers is a nurse. If she had any malicious intent toward Reilly, she would have known to keep her mouth shut. We wouldn't have been able to tell that she'd been anywhere near her friend when she died."

"But, what about their, er, relationship? Doesn't that make you suspicious?" Gharty asked the State's Attorney incredulously.

Danvers rubbed his eyes with one hand and tossed the file on Gharty's desk, "No, detective, personally, I don't believe that lesbians are more likely to commit crimes than other folks. And if you do, I feel sorry for you." Danvers slung his raincoat over his shoulder and left, shaking his head.

Gharty looked around the squad for someone who might support his position. Bayliss was on the phone, not that Gharty would expect a reasonable opinion on the subject from someone like him. The only other detective in the room was Munch, who was engrossed in the newspaper.

"Munch, what do you think of all this? I know you're not Catholic, but do you think it's right for this woman to get away with helping her, er, partner commit suicide?"

Munch folded a corner of the paper down and eyed Gharty over his glasses, "I'm not sure I understand your question Stu. In the Jewish tradition, you can't sit by and let someone die, because maybe, in the last second before they hit the ground, in the instant before the bullet reaches the brain, or just before the pills kick in, they might change their mind. So you have to get them help, even if they assure you that a final exit is what they want. That said, I have no problem with elderly sapphists who help their sick and pain-riddled paramours find their ultimate peace. If this Bowers woman can live with what she did, who are we to question her? Get out of your 'seamless garment' Stu. On you, it just doesn't work."

The Box

Stivers crouched beside Balthazar Jones as he sat handcuffed to the table, contemplating the two evil-looking, blood encrusted knives in plastic baggies in front of him.

"So, Jonesy," Stivers purred, "you gave yourself up for sticking Blue Morrison in his own needle palace, but what about this other knife here? I know you didn't use two knives on Blue, so who else pissed you off recently? C'mon Jonesy, you can't get yourself in any deeper than you already are. You might as well get this one off your chest and go down with a clear conscience."

Jones squirmed uneasily in his seat, "I can't tell you about that one. With Blue it was kind of an accident. But this other fucker...man he deserved everything he got. Fucking faggot!"

Stivers bit back her anger and laid a soothing hand on Jones' back. Rubbing in a slow circle, she looked at the young man's angry face.

"Hey, Jonesy, I know 'bout that kind of thing. A fine-looking man like you probably has to fight them off. What happened, some fruit put the moves on you and you just had to protect yourself? Who was it Jonesy? You can tell me. Hell, I probably would have done the same if I was you. Just give me the name so I can tell my lieutenant that you cooperated with me. It'll make everything go so much easier for you..."

"It was Malik, man. Malik Keelty." Jones began, "And first of all, I ain't no fucking faggot. A'right? I jes...me an' Malik, we was like...down wid each other, you know? He was in my crew. An' we jes kinda was foolin' wid each other. You know, like you do? It wadn't no big deal or nothin'. But Malik, man..Malik was gettin' all faggoty on me. Wantin' me to stop hangin' wid the girls, you know? An' I jes ain't about that." Jones lip began to quiver as his face worked, "I dint wanta hurt the boy! But he jes kept at me an' at me 'til I didn't have no choice. I like to went crazy on him. I hit him, he shoved me, and I pulled out my knife. It was jes so fast."

Jones roughly wiped the tears from his face and looked up at Stivers who was now standing over him at the table. "I ain't no fucking faggot, you know? But, man, I really liked Malik. He was my friend. Shit, I musta done something to make him think...I don't know. He shoulda known better."

Homicide Unit

Ballard looked up from her desk as she heard the door to the Box open. Stivers emerged looking weary, but grimly satisfied. She went to the Board and erased the name Morrison and re-wrote it in black. Then she moved down to the column labeled 'Ballard' and began erasing the name Keelty. Curious, Ballard joined her.

"Hey, Terri, what's up? You closing my cases for me?" Ballard hoped she didn't sound as cheerily nervous as she felt.

"Hi." Stivers responded tightly, "My perp in the Morrison stabbing just confessed to killing Malik Keelty. It wasn't drug-related after all," Stivers turned to face Ballard and crossed her arms over her chest, "more of a lovers' spat."

Ballard's eyes widened in puzzlement, but sensed that Stivers was in no mood to talk about the case just then. "Look Terri, I'm just about finished the paperwork on this suicide, once you send Jones on his way, you want grab some dinner? We really need to talk."

This is it, thought Stivers. The big brush off. The 'thanks, but no thanks, I don't really feel that way about you, can't we just be friends' speech. Oh well. Stivers was determined to tell Ballard how she felt anyway. Howard was right. She needed to take a chance. What was the worst that could happen? Ballard wouldn't stab her like Jones had stabbed Keelty. Well, probably not. Stivers manufactured a brilliant smile, "I'd really like that Laura. Where do you want to go?"

Ballard took a deep breath and let it all come out in a rush, "How about my place? I'm not much of a cook, but we could get take out or something...I just, I thought... I don't know, I thought that we might like some, um, privacy." Her voice had dropped so much on the last word that she wasn't sure Stivers had caught it, or the underlying meaning of her words.

Stivers heart was pounding even though her mind wasn't sure she'd understood the other woman properly. She must have responded somehow and hasty arrangements on time and address were made. The women parted and moved back to their respective desks, each suppressing a giddy smile of anticipation. Neither noticed Sergeant Howard, leaning against the side of Munch's desk and watching them as they spoke.

With a grin, Howard turned back to Munch who was nattering about Zen and the art of murder policing. "Hey, Munchkin, what do you think about office romances?"

"Well Sergeant Howie, I'm all for them. I think it's extremely efficient to dip one's wick in the company inkwell. It saves time and effort, and, most importantly, one can write off roses and romantic dinners as a business expense. Why do you ask?"

Howard smiled enigmatically, raised an eyebrow and whispered, "Come by my place tonight and I'll tell you."

48 North Charles Street

Stivers rapped on the door of Ballard's unit in the lowrise apartment building. The building was a little on the dingy side, but in a reasonably nice neighborhood. A voice called, "Come in, it's open" and Stivers ventured inside.

In the narrow entryway, she slipped out of her loafers and hung her long black trenchcoat on a hook, automatically flipping the deadbolt behind her. To her right was a small, but cheery-looking dark blue and white kitchen. Straight ahead was a short hallway that ended in a T.

Leaving the plastic bag she was carrying on a small table and following the hallway, Stivers found a bedroom and bathroom to the left and a small, neat beige and black living room to the right.

Ballard didn't appear to be in any of the rooms. "Uh, Laura?" Stivers called hesitatingly, "Hello?"

"Shit! Oh fuck it, Ella will you please come here!"

Stivers thought the voice sounded like Ballard's but began to wonder if she hadn't wandered into the wrong apartment by mistake. Ella? Moving toward the sound of the voice, she noticed a balcony door leading off the living room. A large brown tabby with sea-green eyes was staring balefully out the window. Following the cat's gaze, Terri saw Ballard, stretched on the floor of the balcony on her stomach, with one arm snaking under the divider that separated her balcony from the next door neighbor's. "Oh c'mon sweetie-cat, c'mon, play time's over. Let's come inside now." Stivers stepped on to the balcony and surveyed the situation, "Uh, Laura? Is there a problem?"

Ballard rolled onto her back with a big sigh and looked at the other woman. "It's my stupid cat. She got out by accident and dove under here to the neighbor's balcony. Now she won't come back. I'm afraid to leave her in case she decides to jump off, and the people next door aren't home."

Stivers didn't want to laugh, but thought Ballard looked really cute with her face all red, her hair everywhere, and bits of crap from the balcony stuck to her oversized blue man's shirt. Reaching out, Stivers pulled the younger woman to her feet and said with as straight a face as possible,

"Let me see if I can help." To Ballard's alarmed amazement, Stivers began unbuckling her belt. She pulled the braided leather free of her pants, then squatted by the divider. Tossing the belt under the gap, she began wriggling it in that provocative way known and loved by cats the world over. Gesturing to Ballard, Stivers slowly and gently reeled the belt in. Before long a paw, then a nose, then the forequarters of the errant cat's body slithered under the gap after the intriguing new toy. At the opportune moment, Ballard swooped down and scooped up her naughty pet with relief.

Cuddling the furry beast, Ballard grinned at Stivers, "So, officer, do you rescue them from trees as well?"

"Trees, sewers, laboratories, you name it." Stroking the striped cat's head, Stivers leaned in and placed a soft, sweet kiss on Ballard's waiting lips. The kiss deepened and lengthened until the cat, determined to be the center of attention, began butting the women's chins in an effort to insinuate her face between theirs.

Laughing, Ballard said, "Hey, it looks like I have a rival for your affections. Let's get inside before we all freeze." In the warmth of the apartment, with the door firmly shut behind them and the cats going about their feline business. The women took the opportunity to greet each other properly.

After her sojourn on the balcony, Ballard's skin was cold to Stivers' touch. She took the younger woman in her arms and began rubbing her hands over Ballard's arms and back. They kissed each other deeply, and with growing urgency. The questions and uncertainties of the day seemed to melt in the heat of their kisses. Ballard's chill turned quickly to fevered warmth as they their bodies moved in a slow, sensual rhythm.

With an enormous effort, Stivers pulled away, panting a little, "Laurie, we really should try to fit some talking in..." Ballard stole another quick kiss, then nodded with a deep breath.

"And that's something we have to talk about." Ballard remarked as she took Stivers hand and led her to the beige and black striped couch. "But first make yourself comfortable and let me get you something to drink. I've never actually read Emily Post, but I'm sure there's something in there about not groping your guests until after you've offered them some kind of refreshment." Moving into the kitchen, Ballard called, "So what'll it be? Beer, Stoly, Snapple? All three in a bucket?"

Stivers rose and followed Ballard into the kitchen. "Actually, I brought something that's perfect for a miserable day like today." Retrieving her bag from the hall, Stivers triumphantly produced a bottle of Bailey's Irish Cream and a tin of instant white hot chocolate mix.

"You're just a bundle of surprises tonight, aren't you? This is exactly perfect for today. Go on back and have a seat while I put the kettle on."

The women relaxed on the oversized, pillow-backed couch, Ballard tucked into the corner with Stivers resting against her chest. They sipped large mugs of the fragrant chocolatey mixture and listened to the moan of the wind under the sound of Sarah McLachlan's soothing tones:

'The smoke is rising in the shadows overhead My glass is almost empty I read again between the lines upon the page The words of love you sent me

If I could know within my heart
That you were lonely too
I would be happy just to hold the hands I love
Upon this winter night with you'

The matched set of brown tabbies had arranged themselves artfully at the other end of the couch and rumbled contentedly as they slept. Stivers sighed and turned her head so she could see Ballard's smooth face.

"So. Talking. I guess we do need to discuss a few things."

"Mm-hm." Ballard mumbled absently, then sighed and opened her eyes. "Yes, we do need to have a little chat."

Stivers shifted and placed her mug on the black lacquer coffee table. She remembered Howard's advice to just spit it out and tell Ballard how she felt about her, but she just couldn't do it. Stivers needed to hear what the other woman had to say first. She waited, hopefully, but with a small, miserable part of her brain insisting that she wasn't going to hear what she wanted to.

Setting down her own cup, Ballard stroked the creamy brown skin of Stivers' cheek and began, "Okay. There are a few things you need to know about me. And once you know these things, you may not want to go on with this...whatever 'this' is. Back in Seattle, I spent a lot of time trying to keep my life into neat little boxes. There was Laura Ballard: Super Cop, Laura Ballard: Dutiful Daughter, and, of course, Sexually Ambiguous Laura Ballard."

Stivers couldn't resist a wisecrack, "I bet that one comes with cool accessories."

Ballard grinned, "Hey, I'm trying to have a Serious Talk, here!

"Thank you, Frank Pembleton." Stivers dimpled, "Okay, I'll be good. I think you were talking about your box."

Ballard rolled her eyes and contintued, "I'd always been attracted to women. Men were okay, and I dated enough of them just to make sure. But I never felt 'right' with a man. And I don't just mean sex. Actually, I enjoyed the sex. It was out of bed that I had a problem. I just didn't feel that connection, you know that....intimacy. But I was still convinced that I'd never be really happy without a man. That I was 'supposed' to want marriage and children. And all the while I was having quiet flings with women, I kept up this ragingly heterosexual front. It was really sad, now that I think about it."

Ballard grew quiet and gazed out the darkening window as the patter of rain began on the windows. Shivering slightly, she drained her mug of chocolate and gave Stivers a sad smile. "Anyway, all my little, er, boxes (stop it, Terri!) were in order until I met Karen. She was a beat cop in my district. It was like this instant, electric...thing between us. I don't know how to describe it any better than that. I could almost feel a hum in the air when she came into the room. And, of course, before long the whole department knew we were an item. It's not like we were making out in the interrogation rooms or anything. It was just the way we looked at each other, the fact that we spent all of our off-duty time together. It was hard for anyone to miss. Karen didn't care. She'd always known who she was and she didn't have a problem with anyone else knowing it. I, on the other hand, had a different perspective."

Ballard smiled ruefully at Stivers, "I panicked. It was really stupid, but I just panicked and ran. Some of the guys in the squad decided it would be fun to tease us. Which was bizarre, because it wasn't like we were the only openly gay people in the police department. I mean we are talking about the west coast, here. I think a lot of it had to do with me. I was so obviously uncomfortable with everybody knowing. And I'd also dated some of those same guys. I guess it was just too tempting."

"They stuck centerfold pictures in my locker, put one of those blow-up dolls in my car. Just typical harmless frat-boy stuff. But I was really threatened by it."

"Karen was pressuring me to commit to her; to move in together, start collecting spoons, whatever. And all I could think was, this isn't real. This isn't a 'real' relationship. I'm not ready to give up my chance for a 'normal' life. So one day Karen showed up with a ring. I resigned that afternoon and, within a week I was on my way to Baltimore."

Ballard sighed and searched Stivers' face for some response. Stivers didn't know what to say. Compared to Ballard, she'd led a pretty sheltered existence. She'd never been 'outed' and understood Ballard's discomfort with having her relationship made public. But Stivers saw it more as an invasion of something private and less to do with the fact that the relationship was with a woman.

Stivers wouldn't want the squad talking about whoever she was sleeping with; male or female. Any initial reticence she had about having a relationship with Ballard was based on her belief that work and pleasure don't mix. She'd had the same misgivings over her non-relationship with Lewis. Sensing that there was more that the other woman needed to say,

Stivers poured some Bailey's into Ballard's cup and handed it to her with an encouraging smile.

Ballard took the cup gratefully and knocked back the contents. "So now we come to the point of our sad tale. Why Terri Stivers should stay the hell away from Laura Ballard." Stivers opened her mouth to protest but was silenced by Ballard's finger on her lips.

"Wait, you need to hear this" Ballard continued, "It's just that I can't give you any guarantees Terri. I mean, this morning I sat and talked to this poor woman who'd loved her partner enough to know when it was time to let her go. And all I could think of was how I'd love to love someone like that. And be loved. And I know I'll never have that with a man. Intellectually and every other way, I know that. Mo Reilly's only regret was that she'd wasted her youth denying who she really was. But who's to say how I'll feel tomorrow or next week? I might decide that this is all getting too heavy for me. Or worse, I might drag you through some horrible mess like I did with Karen. Jeez, you saw how I panicked this morning in front of Stu."

"But I have to say this...and then I'll shut up and you can go if you want to. I really feel a...connection with you Terri. I feel safe and strong with you. I want to make this work. I really do.."

Stivers was struck by how similar Ballard's words were to those she'd spoken to Howard that morning. Man, that seemed a long time ago. She was filled with conflicting emotions and questions.

Overriding all was her memory of Howard's advice to open herself up and the certainty that she wanted this woman. Now. Stivers leaned in and kissed Ballard in a way that was meant to push all doubt and questions from their minds.

Ballard felt there was more they had to say to each other, but rational thought became obliterated by Stivers' demanding lips and questing tongue. Sliding down on the couch, Ballard pulled Stivers on top of her, feeling the pleasant weight of the muscular woman on the length of her body. They kissed hungrily, with abandon until their clothes began to feel too tight and they were in danger of spilling off the couch and onto the carpet.

Ballard led Stivers into her bedroom.

The cats followed the women into the bedroom and immediately curled up at the foot of the bed.

Moving behind Stivers, Ballard kissed the older woman's neck. She slid her hands over Stivers' taut breasts and firm belly and pressed her own breasts against Stivers' back. Stivers reached back and cupped Ballard's ass, pulling the other woman against her as she threw her head back in ecstasy.

With fumbling fingers, Ballard began to unbutton Stivers' soft green flannel shirt and, with a deft motion, she slipped the front closure hook from the woman's bra.

Stivers moaned as the air struck her nipples and began to writhe against Ballard. With a small sound of urgency, Stivers turned around and shrugged out of her shirt and bra straps. Ballard took her lover in her arms, loving the feel of her muscular back. Their kisses were languorous and unhurried. Now that some of the questions about their relationship had been settled, or at least addressed, they had all the time in the world to explore the hidden pleasures of each other's body.

Stivers rubbed her hard nipples unmercifully against the rough cotton of Ballard's shirt. Ballard's own breasts were aching to be touched. Leaning away from Stivers for a moment, Ballard pulled her big shirt over her head and gathered Stivers to her to feel the warmth of Stivers' satiny skin pressed against her.

Stivers slid her hands inside the waistband of Ballard's leggings and pulled them down, her hands roaming over the smooth mound of her lover's ass. In a flash of urgent desire, Stivers shoved the other woman onto the bed and began struggling out of her trousers. Ballard watched Stivers fumble to slip out of her briefs, catching her breath at the sight of Stivers' warm caramel curves. Stivers paused before lying on the bed to look at her waiting lover. Ballard's golden olive skin shone against the dark red bedspread.

At last, they were naked together on the bed. They lay on their sides facing one another, barely touching, just listening to each other breathe, studying the curves and hollows of each other's faces. Luxuriating in the sweet build up of tension that they knew would be satisfied. As their breathing became faster, Ballard broke the spell by pushing Stivers' shoulders back and rolling on top of her.

Straddling her lover's hips, Ballard bent her head to Stivers' breasts hungrily. Circling one nipple with her tongue while mirroring the action on the other with her thumb. Stivers gasped, as a hot tingle seemed to shoot from her nipples to center of her desire. Ballard licked the slight crease beneath Stivers' breasts, inhaling the secret, intoxicating scent of Stivers' skin.

Stivers dragged her short nails down Ballard's narrow back, causing Ballard to shiver in the sweet torture. Ballard moved slowly down Stivers' compact body, tasting the curves and crevices until her lips contact the springy dark curls of Stivers' mound. Stivers whimpered in desire, feeling the moist warmth of Ballard's breath as she thrust her pelvis upward. Ballad, steeped in the spicy musk of her lover's scent, held Stivers' thighs down on the bed, wanting to prolong the delight. Ballard dragged the tip of her tongue lightly over the indentation between Stivers' outer lips, enjoying the electric shiver of her lovers' response.

Probing more deeply with her tongue, Ballard tasted Stivers' sharp saltiness, revelling in the sharp gasps her movements drew from her lover's throat.

"Please, baby...please," Stivers muttered through clenched teeth, "Oh...that's right..mmmmhmm". She inhaled sharply as Ballard lapped at her faster and faster. Reaching down, she knotted her fingers in Ballard's dark hair, each caress sending jolts of indescribable pleasure to every nerve ending. Stivers could feel the crescendo coming like a dim roar of rolling thunder, "Oh, God, Laurie....oooooohh! Ballard kept a firm hand on Stivers' thighs, the authoritative stroke of her tongue unwavering as Stivers bucked and writhed beneath her. Only when she'd wrung every last spasm and shudder from the woman, did Ballard release her grip and raise her head slowly to drink in the look of absolute fulfillment and release on Stivers' sweet face.

Needing to feel Ballard's body against her own, Stivers fumbled to find Ballard's hand and pull her up. Lying against Stivers' still heaving chest Ballard fitted her thigh between Stivers' legs as Stivers slid her own thigh against Ballard's warm wetness.

Both women groaned in as their nipples made contact. With her mouth next to Stivers' ear, Ballard whispered to her lover between kisses, short, sexy words that would make them both blush when they remembered them the next day. Burying her face in the hollow of Ballard's neck, Stivers feasted on the sweet peppery taste of Ballard's golden skin. The women's hands roamed each other's bodies, each wildly trying to completely cover the other's burning skin with a caress.

Thrusting her pelvis against Ballard's thigh in renewed desire, and feeling Ballard's sweet slickness against her own thigh, Stivers grabbed for Ballard's ass and pulled her lover hard against her. Picking up the pace, Ballard moved against Stivers in a frenzied rhythm. Their sweat-slicked bodies slid across each other, every touch sending out a thousand waves of sensation.

Ballard caught Stivers' lips in a bruising kiss as Stivers' rolled the two of them over, riding Ballard's thigh as she ground her own leg against her lover. Ballard gasped out a throaty laugh at the sudden change in position, "Okay, Stivers, you wanna fuck me? C'mon, let's see what you got." Spurred on by the challenge, Stivers punished Ballard's lips with her own, plundering her lover's mouth with her tongue, tasting herself in its moist depths.

Stivers thrust her muscular thigh hard and fast against Ballard urging her to still greater heights of pleasure. Ballard tried to make it last, but she was on fire at Stivers' relentless assault. With a low moan that rose to a roaring staccato cry, Ballard shuddered to a wrenching climax riding her own mindless waves as she felt the tension begin to build and overtake Stivers a second time.

-----------------------------

"Umm, Laurie?" Stivers whispered, still clasped in her lover's hot embrace. There was no response.

"Ballard. Hey, you still with me, baby?"

"Hmbf?" Ballard managed through the haze.

"Um, your cats. They seem to have slept through this whole thing, but now one of them is, uh, getting a little fresh."

Ballard opened her eyes and tried to focus. There was Ella, the bold balcony adventurer, with Stivers' foot between her paws, licking the appendage vigorously. Doris, the quieter cat surveyed the scene with one eye and, finding it lacking, curled up and went back to sleep.

"I told you she was after you," Ballard chuckled, "A rival for your affections."

"Well that's really sweet I'm sure, but the sandpaper tongue doesn't really do it for me. Is there something we can do about it?" Stivers was starting to wriggle impatiently under the cat's ministrations.

Fumbling on the bedside table with one hand, Ballard found a piece of paper, crumpled it in a ball, and tossed it across the room. Ella immediately leapt after the ball and could be heard engaging in a rousing solo game of kitty hockey.

Ballard licked Stivers' neck. "Mmm. I don't blame that cat. You do taste good."

Stivers mumbled as she buried her face in Ballard's fragrant hair, "Laurie-baby, you are nuts."

"I love it when you call me that. Nobody's called me 'Laurie' since I was five. I usually hate it, but it sounds right coming from you. Just try not to do it at work. Another lecture from 'Stewie' I could do without."

"That's the second time you've mentioned Stu Gharty when we're naked. Detective, Is there something else we need to talk about?"

Thames Street

Arriving from opposite directions, Ballard and Stivers grinned at each other on the steps of the station house. Stivers held open the door for Ballard and the women jogged up the stairs in tandem.

On the landing, they were greeted by a petulant-looking Falsone. "Where, can I ask, did my two favorite lady-detectives go without me last night?"

Stivers and Ballard looked at each other, mystified, and turned back to Falsone with identical blank looks on their faces. "Don't give me that. You two were together again last night, weren't you? You took off on me on Friday and then last night, when I was going to buy you two a drink to celebrate closing Keelty and Morrison, you both go off somewhere without me."

Falsone wore what would have to pass for a hurt expression on his over-ripe features.

Stivers tilted her head and looked at her partner quizzically, "Falsone what have you been smoking? I got your six messages last night. Forgive me if I wasn't in the mood to talk shop. If it was an emergency, you could have paged me."

Ballard picked up the thread, "I unplugged my phone and went to bed early last night. The only ones with me were my cats. Did you want something in particular, Paul?"

Falsone looked at the guileless expressions on the faces of both women and shook his head. He knew he was missing something. It was that same feeling he got when he talked to Kellerman and Lewis about the Mahoney shooting. He often felt like he was missing something, so he tried not to let this bother him.

"Okay," Falsone grinned. "What about tonight then? Drinks, dinner, all on me."

Ballard noticed Stivers' face twisting into a grin and shook her head in what she hoped looked like regret, "Sorry Paul, I'm taking the cats to the vet tonight. Maybe next week."

Stivers masked her amusement with annoyance, "Jeez Falsone, I gotta spend my days and my nights with you now? Why don't you go see your kid or something."

The women walked past Falsone and into the squadroom. Falsone noticed Sergeant Howard lurking by a filing cabinet that had temporarily been located in the hallway. He knew Howard liked him a lot. She'd thought he was really cool when he opened her aspirin bottle with his teeth.

"Hey Kay, are you busy tonight?"

Howard's face folded up in a smile, "For you Falsone, always."

Falsone scratched his ear as he watched the Sergeant saunter back to her office. Was that a 'yes' or a 'no'?