Disclaimer: Not mine.

15 Dec. An establishment that resembles something between a café and a diner. Two familiar friends occupy a table by the window.

"Patricia?"

"Senator Hearst now. She's throwing a party for her campaign committee, kind of thank you for her November election."

"Right. Sandy?"

"Out of town. Family in Malibu."

"Very nice this time of year. Candice?"

"I think it's 'Cameron' now."

"Ouch. Krista?"

"Well . . . let's just say that break-up did not go quite as well as I would have hoped."

"Ugh, Fillmore! This is getting ridiculous. At this rate, you better give your Mother a call."

Fillmore cringed slightly as he put down his mug.

"Uh, Ingrid, what is this? 'Cause I know it ain't coffee?"

Ingrid Third raised an eyebrow as she glanced over at her partner and best friend, Cornelius Fillmore.

"Convenient change of subject. You know it's not exactly my fault we're stuck going to this thing. You don't want my help, don't ask for it."

"No, seriously Ingrid what is this? It tastes like Vallejo's special brand of office aged coffee," Fillmore replied, eyeing the cup suspiciously, "And I'm not dodging. I really do appreciate the input. It's just been awhile. After Grace I kinda laid low on the dating scene."

On this last thought, Fillmore allowed his mind to drift. Three weeks ago, his on again/off again relationship with Grace had ended once and for all when she married Harold, a wealthy Manhattan executive. He wished her nothing but the best, and had told her as much at the reception. But it was the end of an era, and since then he had had trouble finding the enthusiasm to get back in the game.

Ingrid, of course, had more than understood. Knowing someone for thirteen years does that to a person. Though they had gone separate ways since middle school, the duo had never fully lost contact, and found themselves thankfully reunited three years ago serving on the X City Police Force, Ingrid having returned to pursue her own biomedical research at the local University. While her dual career choice was challenging and time-consuming, she was never too hard pressed to make time for such a friend as Fillmore. Coffee this morning was on her, as they wracked their brains for a solution to their current dilemma.

And moping over an old flame wasn't the problem at hand.

For the last two years Fillmore and Third had managed to evade the Mayor's New Years Eve Ball. Neither was overly fond of formal occasions, and so both had worked their magic to remain on duty whenever such events arose.

That is, until O'Farrell blew their cover.

(Fade to yesterday afternoon, a busy uptown precinct)

"Hey Fillmore, I think there's a glitch in the system! It says here you and Ingrid are pulling desk duty, and then walking the West side beat 'til 4. I thought Vallejo had all officers on rolling shifts so everyone could make the formal?"

Vallejo had been standing right over O'Farrell's shoulder. And he had been less than clueless.

"I expect the both of you to show your faces at the Mayor's Ball from 10-2. No complaints! And if I hear any more about hacking into the department mainframe I can think of punishments far more severe than an evenin' two-steppin' in City Hall."

On this last memory, Fillmore shook his head ruefully, and roused himself to the present. An hour before they were due at the station, Ingrid had brought him here to discuss their options over an early cup o' joe.

"Why don't I just go solo? There's no shame in bein' single," Fillmore continued, adding several Splenda packets to the rapidly cooling cup.

"So's the Mayor." Ingrid noted, wearing an amused but preoccupied expression. Fillmore followed her gaze to a young man wiping down the counter. With a coffee filter.

"Guess that explains the unique house blend," Fillmore observed, giving up and pouring the rest of his drink into a nearby, dying plant, "I take it he's the reason for the coffeehouse selection."

"More or less. I saw him reading Anna Karenina on the front stoop the other day. Hopefully he'll be the conversationalist I'll need to get through the Ball."

"Sounds like a plan. A little warning next time though. I don't think I can stomach any more toxic waste for you to make conversation," Fillmore replied, pointing out Ingrid's own untouched glass of water.

"Right. My Bad." Then coming to herself, Ingrid returned her attention to her friend. "What about my college roommate? Tammy is almost certainly in town. I'm sure she could spare an evening of visiting with her folks to help out a friend."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Hold on now. Are we talkin' about the same Tammy who protested lawn-mowing? Who designed a fashion line of clothes for her potbelly pig? Who wore aluminum headgear all Senior year to prevent 'them' from messing with her mind?" Fillmore asked, already knowing the answer. As if she was ever in her right mind anyway. "She might be a better match for O'Farrell . . "

"While eccentric, Tammy's actually quite brilliant," Ingrid carried on, ignoring Fillmore's less than eager response, "And she's always sort of had a thing for you anyway." Seeing he wasn't about to concede, she continued, "Just think about it. Aside from scouting the neighbors in your building, I'd say you're out of options."

"And out of time," Fillmore responded, checking his watch," We better roll." With that, the two rose to leave, Fillmore heading outside to start the car, Ingrid lingering behind to pay the bill and make quick small talk before heading to work.