Hello, everyone. I'm not sure how to preface this fic except to say that my muse bashed me over the head, hauled me back to her cave, and wouldn't let me leave until I wrote it. That being said, I'd love to know what you think. It'll be a longer fic, but updates may be quick if the ball keeps rolling the way it is now. The title of the fic is a song of the same name by The Fray. Each chapter starts with a line from the song-that's the phrase in italics you see below the line break.

::Deep breath:: Here we go...

If I don't say this now I will surely break.

It starts with a phone call.

When his phone rings, Rick shoots Kate a look from his chair next to her desk. She lifts her eyebrows. "Paula," he says.

She rolls her eyes and turns back to her paperwork. "I'm not available."

Rick smirks. Kate has a strict I'm-not-Nikki-Heat-so-don't-ask-me-to-appear-as-her policy that Paula seems to think is always up for negotiation. He answers the phone.

"Paula. Hello."

"Rick. Darling. Tell me how much you love me."

"What's up?"

"What, I get no love? While you play cops and robbers and then hole up in your loft with your sexy little detective I'm out here slaving to make sure you stay current and not old news."

"Paula—"

"No clubbing, no signing breasts, no starlets, all these rules you've got now makes my job a lot harder."

"Paula. I love you."

The only reaction his words get from Kate is a tiny hiccup of a pause as her fingers fly over her keyboard. Rick smiles and reaches for a pad of blue post-its and a pen from the corner of her desk.

"That's better," Paula says in his ear. "Because I finally figured out a way that I can keep you current and not break your rules. Or get any dirty looks from that sex-on-a-stick girlfriend of yours."

"Paula," he warns. He starts doodling on the post-it. "Why don't you just tell me what your next diabolical plan is?"

"Charity. You're going to become the next literary do-gooder."

"I already do charity work. Lots of it. NYPD's Widows and Orphans Fund, UNICEF, the Humane Society. Plus I organized that benefit to rebuild that orphanage in Cuernavaca last year, remember?"

He finishes his doodle, rips the post-it from the pad, and leans forward to stick it on the bottom of Kate's monitor. He's drawn a heart in black pen that takes up the entire post-it, and inside the heart he's scribbled KB + RC 4 Ever. Kate glances at the post-it briefly and then keeps typing as if it's not there, but she hasn't taken it down and she's pursing her lips around a smile so Rick considers it a success. He starts admiring the elegant curve of her neck, thinking about how it's nice that his mother moved to LA and Alexis is at Columbia because when he gets Kate home tonight he's going to kiss her there, and there, and—

"Rick!" Paula calls shrilly from the other end of the line.

He snaps to attention. "What? Sorry. I was, uh…" Kate's smiling now. "What were you saying?"

"I said that the orphanage is exactly my point. It's been up and running for a while now. You have to go visit."

"I have to what?"

"Everyone's done it. Oprah, Bono, even Carrie Underwood—it's all about orphans in other countries, Rick. You can take your girlfriend with you and bond with some kids, pose for some pictures, you'll be all over the press. And she'll be pleased, I'm sure."

"Paula, we—"

"Rick, I can't talk about this now. I have that thing with what's-her-name."

"But I—"

"I'll explain it all later. I'll stop by the loft tonight. Seven. Ciao."

"Pau….shit."

Kate stops typing. "What's wrong?"

He sighs and rubs the back of his neck. "Paula's coming over tonight."

Her nose crinkles. "What for?"

"She…well, do you remember how I…" he sighs. "It's probably best to let her explain it."

X-X-X-X-X

After Rick walks Paula to the door, he wanders back to the kitchen and sees Kate at the sink washing dishes. He leans against the counter and takes her in for a minute, admiring the view. She's dressed casually, just a pair of jeans and a long sleeve blue t-shirt, and her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail. They've been living together for a year now, but he still stops to marvel at her sometimes.

She looks at him over her shoulder. "You're staring."

"You're easy on the eyes," he says, moving toward her. He puts his hands on her hips and lowers his mouth to her neck. "I wonder if you're just as easy on the mouth…"

She elbows him gently. "You're a writer. You can do better than that."

He hums against her skin. He wraps his arms around her waist and breathes her in. They're both content to stand there for a while, his arms around her and her hands busy with the dishes, washing them and then putting them in the drying rack. He's got a dishwasher, but sometimes she washes them by hand. She told him once it reminds her of her mother.

When she finally shuts the faucet off, he hands her a towel. She leans her head back against his shoulder as she dries her hands.

"Paula's a bit like a tornado, isn't she?" he says. "She hits suddenly and leaves devastation in her wake."

"Devastation?" Kate echoes.

"Going to Cuernavaca for a week," he clarifies. "Things at the precinct are wild. It's a crazy idea." She doesn't say anything. Rick stands in silence for a while, and then adds quietly, "Isn't it?"

She sets the towel down on the counter and turns around to face him. Her expression is thoughtful, the way she looks when she's trying to decide how she feels about a suspect.

"What if we went?" she says at last.

He stares at her. "To Cuernavaca?"

"Yeah." She fiddles absently with one of the buttons on his shirt. "Don't you want to see all the good you've done?"

"I didn't do that. My money did."

She looks up at him from under her long eyelashes. "You earned that money. You chose to use it to rebuild that orphanage. You did good."

He can't help it. "I did well."

She shakes her head. "No, Rick. You did good."

He stares at her for a long time, reading the look in her eyes. He suddenly remembers how she stared at the pictures Paula brought over long after he stopped looking and started arguing.

"You want to go," he says. It's not a question.

She lifts a shoulder. "I think it would shut Paula up about how I've made you boring."

"Paula isn't the reason you want to go."

She bites her lip. "No." She exhales slowly and runs a hand over her hair. "I have to use my vacation days. Why can't we use them to go to Cuernavaca? If you're worried about your money doing things and not you, well, it's a chance to do something."

"In Cuernavaca."

"Yes."

"Where there are drug lords and gang wars."

She smirks. "I doubt Paula will let her meal ticket go with less protection than all of the National Guard. But if push comes to shove, I'm sure I can protect you. I mean I know I'm not the CIA—"

"Below the belt," he cuts her off, but he's laughing. She smiles and his stomach does this weird flip that it does when he remembers that she only smiles like that when she's with him.

"What about the sun?" he asks. "I burn easily."

"I'll pack you a hat. A big one."

He almost makes a joke about sunscreen and how he will most certainly need her to rub it all over his body, but something stops him. He's not sure what, exactly, but he thinks it's his mind's idea of what Kate will look like standing in the middle of an orphanage in Cuernavaca. He imagines the smile on her face, that dazzling megawatt grin that's so captivating; little arms wrapped around her long legs and her shoulders as the children cling to her like she's a human jungle gym; her laugh, the one that is rare and so beautiful it almost hurts.

He can't fight the need to touch her, to run the tips of his fingers over her cheek. She must see the sudden seriousness in his eyes, because she covers his hand with hers, turns her head so she can kiss his palm.

"What do you want?" she whispers against his skin.

"I want what you want."

"Rick," she says, meeting his gaze. He knows she hates when he says that.

He smiles. "Let's go. Me and you. Cuernavaca."