Disclaimer (not necessarily in order):

1) I'm not a writer

2) I own nothing

3) I'm dabbling in fiction for the first time and therefore have no idea if this will come to an abrupt halt or continue

4) Despite living in the North East, my American-English is dreadful

5) There is no particular timezone or concept of time

6) My French is limited to 3rd year girl's grammar school

EVERY ME/EVERY YOU

I've been biding my days
You see evidently it pays
I've been a friend
With unbiased views
Then secretly lust after you

Skunk Anansie – Secretly

It'd all begun when he'd used the '…I'm sure the boys knew you existed' line. He hadn't actually meant it as a line; it was just the sort of thing that seemed to roll naturally from his tongue.

He'd known she existed from the day she walked into his precinct; a couple of uniforms were hauling in a smart looking Quebecois who was shouting his mouth off after a few too many Grey Goose's at his business lunch. To this day he had no idea what Detective Angell had shouted back but still pegged it as one of the sexiest things he'd ever heard.

For the most part, she'd seemed to barely tolerate him; rolling her eyes at his jokes, laughing at him when he turned on the charm and giving away only the bare essentials. He'd known all the basics about her of course; that she'd transferred to homicide from vice, that she'd joined the force a couple of years after he did, that the Angell family had 'cop' running through their blood and that virtually every guy in the 1PP thought her as the hottest piece of work ever to walk through the door. That morning in the Sedan though she'd laughed, teasing him gently and telling him she thought his line was 'pretty good'.

Since her arrival he'd routinely asked her out, in (semi) jest, and while she'd laughed as she told him "Only in your wildest dreams Flack", it at least meant she spoke to him, which he'd seen as better than nothing. As they'd clocked out together a few nights after wrapping up the Michael Bentley case, he'd asked her again. She'd smirked a little but nodded, "Yeah sure, beer sounds good Flack".

Beer had turned into a 2am Lebanese dinner and he'd finally seen a glimpse of the real Jess Angell. Over beef kabobs, falafel and grilled prawns, he'd learned she'd attended an all-girls school, was a mean skier, spoke enough French to get by, was a confirmed meat lover and had modeled, very briefly, before joining the force.

As he'd walked her home he'd tried some of his actual lines and instead of brutally knocking him down, she'd laughed (a lot) and kissed him softly. She'd invited him upstairs and into her bedroom.

It was like the narcotics guys said – it just took one hit to be addicted…

o-o-o

He dozed contently, exhausted from sex and the ease of having Jess in his arms. Comfortably nestling her head under his chin, he pulled her lithe body along the length of his and enjoyed the rhythmic warmth of her breath on his chest. His fingers trailed a path along the small of her back and, as he pressed his lips gently against her temple, mumbled "Night Jess".

She waited until she was sure he was asleep before slipping from his bed. The signs were easy to recognize, he let out a few low puffs of breath and his calf twitched, then his breathing grew slower and his embrace loosened. After dressing silently she watched him sleep for a few moments, smiling wistfully she mused that he looked so much younger as he slept, the responsibility and worries dispelling as his head hit the pillow. She drew the comforter around his shoulders and brushed a kiss to his forehead, "Night Don".

He didn't know why she so rarely stayed the night. Sure they'd agreed to keep it casual; sex when they wanted, dinner if it suited with no commitment or expectation. The way she slunk into the night rattled him though as he liked the idea of waking up next to her more often, watching her dress and cooking her breakfast.

Leaning against the Sedan, he sipped his coffee as he basked in the morning sun. He'd worked backwards through her schedule; she was usually at her desk a minimum of fifteen minutes before clocking on time, she invariably arrived with a cup of coffee he knew to come from a café a block away from the Precinct, the subway ride took twenty five minutes, her apartment was ten minutes from the subway and he built in a little leeway. She finally emerged from the building, effortlessly cool as always. Pausing on the entrance steps, she raised an eyebrow in suspicious question, "Did I leave something at your place?"

He shook his head playfully, squinting against the sun, "Just thought you might like coffee, and maybe a lift?"

"What happens if I've already had coffee?" she queried, crinkling her nose in the adorable way she did.

After a little thought he shrugged casually, "I suppose there's always the lift then".

They held each other's gaze momentarily before she sighed and strode towards him, reaching for the coffee cup on the Sedan roof. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her flush against him, before slipping his arm around her waist. His other hand rested on the nape her neck, pulling her lips to his. The kiss was sweet and tender; she felt his lips smiling against hers and tasted the vanilla of his latte. She felt herself relax in the embrace of his body, not pull away as she so often did. He could smell the scent of tropical shampoo in her hair, the soft floral fragrance of her perfume. As she pulled away a little she caught his eye, registering the flash of disappointment. Laying her palm warmly on his cheek she stretched up, brushing her lips across his before nestling back into his embrace, "Merci du café, ma puce".