"Ray, what's a come-on?"

That was strange question to remember at this moment, as he watched his best friend embrace his younger sister. Benton shook his head slightly, trying to clear it of the confused emotions. It was very difficult; in the same night, Ray had given him reluctant permission to sleep with his sister, and Ben had heard him warn that same sister away from him.

"Girls like you get hurt and guys like him don't even know it."

Guys like him? He never understood what Ray meant when he said things like that—as far as Benton could tell, he was a "guy" like any other guy. Ray treated him like he was a curiosity from another planet, but Benton was convinced that deep down, Ray esteemed him. After all, hadn't he given him permission to sleep with Francesca?

Ray, of course, was right. Ben could not marry Francesca, and yet he had allowed her to express feelings toward him time and time again. He'd allowed her to engage in a…what was it? Come on. He'd allowed her to come on to him, and while he'd been horribly uncomfortable and embarrassed, hadn't there been a part of him that had welcomed the attention?

Ben glanced at the floor, then raised his chin again. He wasn't going to look away from the truth. Hadn't there been part of him that would have returned the favor if she'd moved a little slower, if she'd given him a moment to persuade himself that he could, just this once, say yes instead of no, to something that might ease the loneliness for both of them?

He had never known how to say yes, but in that moment, hadn't he hoped she could teach him?

But it would not be honorable for him to act upon that deeply buried part, because while he was fond of Francesca, he did not love her, and he understood that he would only be using her company to feel as though someone cared. Not because he cared for her, but because she cared for him.

That was certainly what Ray had meant when he'd warned Francesca that she was in over her head. She was offering her love to someone who would take it and give nothing back and she would be hurt.

By the time the line-up room door opened, Ben had moved to the copier. He had the advantage—he could brace himself before he had to see Francesca face to face, but Francesca was clearly startled to see him.

He simply looked at her without speaking. Her eyes were beautiful, her mouth quick to smile. She had a dimple that added a level of cuteness to the overall pleasing aesthetic of her face. She was pretty.

He cleared his throat. "Hello."

"Hi," she said breathily. He was no expert in women's emotions—his current predicament demonstrated that admirably—but he thought he could read embarrassment and uncertainty in her tone and expression. Far from the look she'd given him that night in his flat, when she'd boldly and fearlessly told him not to be afraid.

"Well, um, I-I-I'll see you." She took a deep breath and prepared to walk past him.

He watched her for a moment. Should he attempt a come-on? There was little risk; she'd made it quite clear that she would welcome any advances from him.

He braced himself, then got the words out. "May I walk you home? I mean, your home. I assume that's where you're..." He trailed off. He was an idiot.

She looked at him for a moment with wise, tired eyes. She was considering it—surely that was what that expression meant.

She gave him a soft, sad smile. "That's okay. Some other time."

"Oh. Of course. Good night."

She turned and walked down the precinct hall toward the front door. He watched her go. How could he have expected her to still care for him? Then he shook his head and exhaled deeply. That was the last time he would attempt a come-on.