"Yeah, okay…one of us’ll be right there," Scotty Valens said reluctantly, then replaced the phone in its cradle with a wry smile and a shake of his head.

A few feet away, Kat Miller glanced up from her own desk and arched a brow. "Do I even wanna know what that was about?" she asked him over the rim of her coffee mug.

Scotty’s grin broadened, and he chuckled slightly. "That was the daycare again," he informed her with mock cheerfulness. "Seems your daughter’s got a bit of a bitin’ problem."

"Biting?" Kat repeated with a frown as she lowered the mug to her desk. "She’s biting again? I thought we got over that. And anyway, she’s your daughter."

"No dice, Miller," Scotty argued jovially. "Punchin’ and kickin’? I’ll own up to givin’ her that. But the bitin’…that’s yours. Your moms said Veronica did the same thing when she was that age." He arched a brow, his eyes twinkling mischievously and his voice taking on a decidedly teasing tone, then added, "You too, come to that."

Kat shot him a brief glare, then shook her head, knowing from experience that there was no point in arguing with him. "Terrible twos," she said softly. "Thought I was done with that a decade ago."

Scotty felt a wave of love wash over him as he glanced at the silver-framed photo of his daughter that graced a corner of his desk. "Aw, they ain’t so bad," he replied, almost wistfully. "Besides, she’s so cute when she’s sleepin’."

"Now that, I’ll take credit for," Kat grinned, took a sip of coffee, then turned her attention back to Scotty. "So…you gonna go see about her?"

Scotty shook his head. "We been over this, Miller. She punches or kicks, I go deal with it. But the bitin’…that’s your department."

Kat sighed in defeat, wishing she could fight him on it, but well aware that it would be futile. They did have a deal…and, she was forced to admit, the biting was decidedly her genetic material.

Rising from her desk, she shot Scotty a brief glare. "You’re such a jackass," she informed him, feeling the silent mockery of a familiar smug grin following her as she grabbed her jacket and left the room.

With a quiet, yet triumphant chuckle, Scotty went back to filling out the report from his most recent interview (one related to the 2009 murder of a man, Elliot King, whose sole reason for existence seemed to be incessant, and frequently hostile, participation in online Battlestar Galactica forums), only to be interrupted once more by soft, echoing laughter to his left. Glancing up, he saw his partner, Lilly Rush, leaning on the desk and studying him with the utmost amusement, her blue eyes twinkling merrily.

"What?" he asked her suspiciously.

Lilly’s smile was broad and dazzling. "You…as a dad," she said, with just a touch of affectionate pride. "Never thought I’d see it, Scotty." She paused, chuckled slightly, and took a sip of her coffee. "And sure as hell not with Miller."

"Yeah, I don’t think any of us saw that comin’," Nick Vera piped up from the other side of Lilly, where he’d just come back from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee and a donut.

"Look, I’m not…with Miller," Scotty protested. "You all know that."

Lilly quirked a brow at him. "None of us said you were," she pointed out.

"So…if you’re not together, then that baby’s…what? Just for fun?" Will Jeffries argued cheerfully from his spot a few feet away, where he’d been participating in the goings-on via his usual silent, but deft, observation.

Scotty shot his colleagues a brief glare, hoping that would shut them up, then attempted, once more, to return to the interview report. Paperwork took enough time out of his life, even without all these ridiculous interruptions.

"You never did tell us how that happened, y’know," Lilly said casually, with a searching look in Scotty’s direction.

Scotty’s expression was guarded as he glanced up at her. "Nothin’ to tell," he shot back, his voice low with warning.

"Uh-huh," his undaunted partner retorted. "You had sex. With Miller. There’s definitely somethin’ to tell."

"I ain’t been able to get a word outta her for over three years," Vera added. "And you’re way easier than she is, anyway. So spill. We got a bet ridin’ on this."

Lowering his pen to the desk, Scotty sighed and rolled his eyes. Of course those insufferable ass clowns had a bet riding on this. There was always a bet riding on something…but usually, he was on the betting end of it.

"Look," he began, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence and self-defense, "it ain’t somethin’ I’m proud of, okay? It was just that one time, and we ain’t together now," he said with a pointed glance at Lilly, "just raisin’ our daughter the best we can, so…back off and go find somethin’ else to do, okay? Like…I dunno…your jobs? ‘People shouldn’t be forgotten’ and all that?" he finished, glancing up at his partner once again.

Lilly merely shrugged, and Scotty could tell that his entreaties, convincing as they were, had fallen on deaf ears.

"Job’s been cold for two years, Scotty," Vera pointed out, an eager gleam in his hazel eyes that had nothing to do with the case. "I don’t think a ten-minute delay’ll hurt anything."

Scotty glanced over at Jeffries, only to find his older colleague smiling jovially, his eyes twinkling with merriment, and he knew he wasn’t getting any assistance from that direction, either.

"Lil?" Scotty asked helplessly, casting himself at the mercy of his last line of defense. Surely she, out of all of them, would have her priorities in order.

To his dismay, and his utter chagrin, she just smiled, shrugged again, and made no move toward the evidence boxes stacked on her desk.

"I do love a good story," she pressed, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.

Scotty was nonplussed. "Miller’ll kill me," he protested helplessly. "She’ll tear my arms off and beat me to death with ‘em."

"Oh, don’t worry," Jeffries encouraged. "We won’t breathe a word."

"Yeah," Vera agreed eagerly around a mouthful of his donut. "We can keep secrets."

Scotty looked around at the keen, shining eyes of his colleagues, realized the game was up, and sighed in defeat.

"Fine," he agreed, without enthusiasm. "But if she finds out I told you? I’m sendin’ her after your asses, not mine." He punctuated his declaration with emphatic hand gestures, and his colleagues all nodded.

With another reluctant sigh, Scotty leaned back in his chair and began his sordid tale. "Remember the time I bailed her outta that blind date?"

It had been a typical night at the office, working late on a case, nothing to write home about. He and Lil had just identified a new suspect when the phone rang. Stillman had answered it, then, the confusion obvious in his voice, informed them that it was Miller.

"But she’s pretendin’ to be someone else," he’d continued, a look of utter mystification etched across his face. "Sounds drunk."

With a sigh, Scotty had realized, before the boss even said anything else, that he’d be summoned to whatever fancy-ass restaurant Kat had no doubt called him from, and sure enough, half an hour later, here he was, shutting his car door and looking over at his colleague expectantly.

"I woulda called a cab," she slurred by way of explanation, with an apologetic glance in his direction, "but I was late…left the house without my wallet."

"So what’s wrong with the guy?" Scotty asked. He’d bailed a couple of his cousins out of bad blind dates more times than he could count…but he never expected to have to do it for Miller. Lil, maybe, but not Miller. Not in a million years.

"Nothing," she answered quickly, with a shake of her head. "Good looking…manners…bought a nice bottle of wine," she whispered, before reluctantly, and a bit sheepishly, admitting the truth. "I just…drank half of it before the calamari came."

"Well, you were nervous," Scotty shrugged. "It’s a rookie mistake."

Kat’s eyes closed in a seeming attempt to hide from the mess her evening had become. "I don’t have the time or the energy for the game. Bring on the sweatpants," she declared, her voice laden with uncharacteristic weariness and a hint of…was that…defeat? From Miller? For two days, he’d dealt with her reluctance, her trepidation, her outright fear of this damn blind date, and all those things had already surprised him more than he’d ever thought possible…but her just---just giving up like that was something he never, in his wildest imagination, thought he’d hear from her. Good God, he mused silently, what the hell was in that wine?

Despite his experience with his cousins, Scotty had no idea what to do with this one. Kat Miller was the toughest badass he knew, though he’d rue the day he ever admitted that to her, yet she’d called him to bail her out, and now this…this defeat, this surrender, this depthless exasperated fatigue with the world and everyone in it…from her? He hadn’t a clue how to handle it. Quickly, he found something else to fixate on while he frantically wracked his brain for a response.

"You…say goodbye to him, or just…go to the bathroom and never come back?" he asked, and the look on Kat’s face told him all he needed to know.

"Oh, that’s cold, man," he said with a grin, his utter bewilderment fading, momentarily, into a deep sympathy for whoever this mystery guy was. This sort of thing had never happened to him, of course, mainly because he didn’t do blind dates, but…he could imagine. And, dammit, he had to step up to the plate for his species.

"You gotta call him tomorrow," Scotty informed her. "All right? Make up some kinda…work emergency…" he continued, but then trailed off, realizing, with chagrin, that she was shaking her head before he’d even finished his sentence.

"Mm-mm," Kat refused. "I’m not calling him. This was a one-shot deal. One and done," she declared, punctuating her words with emphatic hand gestures.

Crap. She was still defeated. She was still down on herself. She was still giving up. And, dammit, he wasn’t going to let her. Not tonight. Not on this.

"Aw, c’mon, Kat," he protested encouragingly. "You gotta get back in the game."

His colleague sighed heavily and shook her head again. "Got no game, baby," she informed him, her voice dull, tired…and, he noticed with a pang, more than a little sad. "Game over."

In that moment, all the layers fell away, all her bravado and badassery and all the other things she tried to hide behind, and as he glanced her direction once more, taking in her hair, her makeup, her dress, those freshly-polished nails he’d teased her about earlier…he suddenly realized that, badass or not, Kat Miller was a woman. A woman. In every sense of the word. This brought with it a plethora of chaotic thoughts, and he quickly shoved away all but the most promising. Women, he mused silently…women, he could handle. He didn’t begin to understand them, of course, and the more experience he got with them, the more he realized that was true…but he did know what made them tick. And in a flash of inspiration, he knew exactly what to say to this one.

"Shame," he shrugged casually. "You’re still a…pretty good catch."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes wide and infinitely, endearingly trusting. "Yeah?" she replied.

"I’m just sayin’," he continued, still trying desperately to wrap his mind around the fact that Kat Miller, Homicide’s official ass-kicker, now sat next to him, drunk, dressed-up, and vulnerable, her surprisingly fragile emotional state suddenly, inexplicably, in his hands. "You…deserve more," he declared, his voice and expression earnest, hoping she was absorbing the truth as much as he suddenly was. She did deserve more. She really did.

"Damn straight," she agreed quickly, her glazed eyes flashing with just a glimmer of the Kat he knew, and he felt a surge of relieved triumph as he hastily seized the moment.

"Lousy-ass cop, though," he added with a grin.

Scotty’s joy at the return of the badass was quickly replaced by a shock, and pain, that stole his breath. Until that point, he’d had absolutely no idea how hard Kat could hit, and he had absolutely no desire to be on the receiving end of it ever again.

"Take me home before I puke all over your car," she ordered.

Scotty tried, in vain, to hide his grimace. "You got it," he replied, turning the key in the ignition and pulling the car away from the curb.

***

"This is me," Kat announced with a matter-of-fact, though slightly sheepish, shrug. She got out of the car and started to close the door, but then hesitated. Leaning on the door, she peered at Scotty, seemingly weighing her options, before arching a brow, making a face, and then shrugging again. "You…wanna come up?" she finally asked, her voice light.

Scotty blinked in surprise, then chuckled. "Okay, now I know you’re drunk," he declared with a grin.

"I’m serious," she said, and something in her tone gave him pause. It definitely wasn’t her usual bad-ass snark, but it also wasn’t the heavy sense of defeat he’d heard earlier…no, it was something else. Something he couldn’t quite identify.

He supposed he must’ve sat there blinking cluelessly at her for quite some time, because she rolled her eyes slightly and then fixed her attention on the floormats. "Veronica’s spendin’ the night with my mom," she explained reluctantly, "I’m still supposed to be on this date, and…" she trailed off with obvious discomfort.

"And what?" Scotty inquired with a quizzical glance, not at all sure where she was going with this.

Her dark eyes shot as many sparks as they could muster. "Don’t make me say it," she ordered.

"Say what?" he asked, and he could tell by her expression that she knew he truly didn’t have a clue.

Kat sighed heavily and looked at the floorboards again. "I just…don’t wanna be alone tonight," she finished lamely, then glanced up, the look in her dark eyes almost embarrassed, "…and…I could really use a friend. Just…just for a little bit."

A lopsided grin lifted one corner of Scotty’s mouth as he killed the motor and removed his keys from the ignition.

"Well, I guess I could come up for a while," he said with a shrug. "Ain’t got much at home to look forward to, that’s for sure." At this, Kat smiled, not quite able to hide her relief, and the awkwardness between them instantly dissolved.

"What, you ain’t hate bangin’ anyone these days?" she asked teasingly as Scotty climbed from the car, and he tossed a friendly glare in her direction, even as his brain struggled frantically to keep up with the change in her demeanor. It seemed that the mere promise of his presence, even for just a little while, had lifted the remaining clouds of her mood, and she was back to her old self once more. Still, it was at his expense, and he was instantly on the defensive.

"I haven’t gone out in, like, a year," he protested, shutting the door with a bit more force than necessary.

"Uh-huh," Kat replied with a smile as she shut her own door and started up the walk, the skittering of the dry leaves adding a counterpoint to the staccato rhythm of her high heels.

"Hey, I’m serious, Miller," Scotty insisted as he followed her, completely unsure why it was all of a sudden so important that she believe him on this. "Not even a drink with a woman since Alex."

Kat chuckled softly as she climbed the steps to the front door of her building, and Scotty found himself suddenly dying of curiosity.

"What the hell’s that supposed to mean?" he demanded as he reached the top step.

She glanced up at him, her eyes sparkling with a hint of triumphant amusement. "Least I’m out there," she said.

Scotty laughed aloud as he watched her repeated, fumbling attempts to put the key in the lock.

"I dunno if I call downin’ half a bottle of wine and then runnin’ out on the guy bein’ ‘out there,’" he argued, as he gently removed the keys from Kat’s hand and, ignoring her childishly petulant eye-roll, inserted them into the lock himself.

"Hey," she protested, hands on her hips. "I’m wearin’ a dress, okay? Makeup, hair, nails, the works." She raked her eyes over him from head to toe. "You…your sorry ass hasn’t seen the outside of the office for months," she pointed out.

"Fine," he conceded with a shrug, unwilling to admit just how irritating it was that she’d not only guessed the truth, but that there was such a pathetic, lame-ass truth for her to guess at in the first place. "I ain’t out there. And you can talk up the dress and the makeup and the nails all you want…" he continued, desperate to salvage anything that might possibly remain of a victory, "but that don’t change the fact that you’re here, with me, insteada out havin’ dinner with that guy."

Kat glared at him for a moment, then turned abruptly and stormed up the stairs. Scotty knew from experience that she was fuming inwardly, searching her addled brain for a typical snarky comeback, and the fact that she was physically removing herself from the situation told him that she was simply unable to come up with one. This, he decided with a proud grin as he followed her up the stairs, he’d place solidly in the win column.

When they reached her apartment, she tossed her keys on the table, where they landed amid a pile of bills, empty cups from Starbucks, and a haphazard stack of what looked to be Veronica’s homework, then kicked off her shoes and stormed to the small kitchen, where she reached up into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle of bourbon and two glasses.

"More booze?" Scotty asked, arching an incredulous brow as he stripped off his tie and tossed it on the back of the couch.

Kat looked pointedly at him as she poured the bourbon. "I may be drunk, but I ain’t drunk enough," she announced. "And if I’m drinkin’, you’re drinkin’ with me, ‘cause no way in hell am I lettin’ you be the sober one. I don’t trust you," she informed him. "Besides, I’ve already spilled enough of my guts to your sorry ass tonight," she continued, half under her breath.

Scotty shrugged and undid a couple of his shirt buttons. It had been a while since he’d been drunk, really and truly drunk. The last time he’d gotten completely blitzed was the night they’d come back from West Virginia after arresting that psychopathic serial killer, and, he realized, it was high time again. Drinking alone to drown one’s sorrows had long ago lost its luster…but drinking with a friend for no particular reason? That had some appeal.

"Fair enough," he agreed, moving a pile of clean, but unfolded laundry to a neighboring chair and lowering himself to the sofa. She thrust a glass in his direction, and he took it, meeting her determined look with an amused one of his own. "What should we drink to?" he asked.

Kat thought for a moment, then settled onto the couch next to him and lifted her drink. "To sweatpants," she said with a wry grin.

Scotty nodded, smiled, and clinked his glass against hers before tossing the burning amber liquid down his throat.