An Office Romance, by Scifinerdgrl Part 2

She came to laying on her back, her coat unbuttoned and spread to
her sides. Brad and Janet knelt at either side, concerned looks
on their faces. Janet was reaching toward her face, a wetted
paper towel in her hand. Reyes' eyes widened and she rolled to
her side to avoid Janet's hand. 

Brad grabbed her upper shoulder and pushed her back onto her
back. "Relax, Agent Reyes. You just fainted," Brad said kindly.
He took the wetted paper towel from Janet and laid it across
Monica's forehead. 

"I fainted?" Monica whimpered. "That's not like me..." 

"What do you remember?" Janet asked. 

"Just, feeling warm, and..." Monica thought back to the moments
before her faint. "That's all, just warm." 

"Well, you did have your coat on..." Janet offered. Monica nodded
in response. "I'll get you some water." Janet rose and left the
office, leaving Monica on the floor with a concerned Brad looking
on. 

"I think I'm fine," Monica said as she raised herself up on her
elbows. Brad took one of her hands in his and helped her up. He
walked her to the nondescript naugahyde sofa that occupied the
far corner of the office. She sat down and looked gratefully up
at him. "Thank you. Really, I was just overheated..." she 
stammered. "And I didn't eat any dinner last night." 

"Or breakfast this morning?" Brad asked.  Monica shook her head.
Brad felt a surge of sympathy for her.  She was so worried about
the files she couldn't eat? He imagined what it must have been
like for her the night before. He pulled at the collar of her
coat and her shoulders folded over to help him remove the coat.
"Feeling better?" he asked. 

She nodded, feeling both excited and embarrassed by his attention
to her. Janet arrived with a paper cup of cool water, and Reyes
drank it down in a few gulps. "Thanks," she said softly. "That
helped a lot. I think I'm ready to work now." 

"First, you need to eat something," Brad said paternally. "And
then we're going back to Brooklyn to look for those documents." 

Reyes was relieved to hear him assigning her a task, especially
one that might help her redeem herself after her mistake. She
started to stand, but Follmer was standing in front of her,
blocking her way. "Give yourself a minute, Agent. I need to tie
up a few things before we go." To Janet he
added "Get her some more water, and reschedule that appointment."
Janet nodded and left the room again as Brad walked to his desk.
"Just relax, Monica," he said. She couldn't help watching as he
reorganized the files on his desk, put them in a file drawer,
tidied his desk, and checked his calendar. She found it hard 
to believe he'd been in his position only a day and yet had 
such a grasp of his space and his authority. 

As they exited his office they saw a pair of agents escorting a
somewhat disheveled middle-aged man out of their office.  Brad
and Monica paused to let them pass, and as they did Monica felt a
flush of warmth come over her again, along with a wave of nausea. 
She swayed slightly and put her hand against the wall to steady
her.  Brad put his arm around her shoulders and righted her.

"Do you need to rest some more?" he asked solicitously.

She watched as the three men walked down the hall and entered the
elevator.  "No," she said, shaking her head.  "I'm fine.  I just
felt warm again for a minute."

He took her to a noisy caf‚ with a glassed-in extension built
over the sidewalk.  They ordered coffee, and Reyes studied the
menu.  She didn't feel hungry, but felt pressured to eat. She
ordered an omelet and picked at it as Brad sipped his coffee and
watched her.  Finally she said, "Being watched isn't helping my 
appetite."

He smiled, and she could see where his crows' feet would someday
be.  "I'm sorry...  Please, I didn't mean to make you nervous."

"You're my boss and this is my first job.  And I've already
screwed up.  Being watched while I eat is just one more thing..."
Monica said, almost defiantly.

He leaned forward on his elbows and looked directly into her
eyes.  "This is the first time I've been a supervisor, so we're
even, okay?"

She looked away, blushing slightly.  "Okay," she mumbled, and
returned to her food.

Brad continued looking at her, trying to think of the right
words, words that would make her feel better, not worse.  He
waited until she raised her eyes again and said, "Really, Monica,
I'm not an ogre.  You can come to me with any problem, any time. 
Okay?"

She could see that he was sincere, and that she had hurt his
feelings with her embarrassment.  She stopped chewing and stared
at him for a moment.  Finally she swallowed and said, "Okay."

An awkward silence fell over them and they each sipped their
coffees, keeping their eyes on each others' eyes.  Monica was the
first to break the silence.  She put her fork on her plate with
finality and said, "I really can't eat any more."

Brad stood and watched carefully as Reyes did likewise.  When he
was satisfied she was alright he paid the bill and they left. 
They walked to an underground parking garage and after Brad
started his car he said, "Now, where did that brief-case
snatching happen?"

Brad parked where the squad car had been the day before, and put
an FBI placard on his dashboard.  Monica stared at it, impressed
with her new parking status, until Brad tapped on the window. 
She hurriedly opened the car door, whacking Brad in the process. 
They both grimaced then laughed.

"Okay," Brad started when the car was safely locked.  "Which way
did this guy run?"

Monica gave him directions and they walked along the sidewalk. 
They came to an opening into an alley and Brad said, "This one?"

"It might be," Monica answered.  "I'm not sure."

Brad sighed and said resignedly, "We'll start with this one." 
They walked into the narrow alley, the two-story brick walls of
the rowhouses forming a narrow canyon around them.  They saw
nothing unusual but as they walked Brad briefed her on what to
look for.  "Dumpsters, any garbage laying around, abandoned
cars...  He wouldn't have wanted to be caught with any I.D. of
yours.  He'd stop somewhere dark, someplace he could hide, and
then check the contents.  He probably thought from your body
language there would be something valuable in there -- that's why
he didn't take your purse..."  Brad paused as they came to the
alley running behind the rowhouses.  He looked in both 
directions then chose one.  "You take the left, I'll take the 
right..." he said.

Monica went to a dumpster and tentatively opened one of its two
lids.  She looked over her shoulder to see what Brad was doing,
and seeing that he was looking under a car, found no clue how to
proceed.  She pushed the lid a little further up, and held it
with one arm as she hooked the other arm over the edge.  She
peered in, but the other lid cast a shadow and she couldn't see
anything.  Still holding the lid, she slid her hand down the
inside until it came upon something wet.  Instinctively, she
pulled back, then checked to see if Brad had seen her.  He had.

He was by now two rowhouses down the alley, and she was still
where she'd started.  He walked back and said, a touch of
condescension in his voice, "Maybe we should work on this
together."

Monica tried to smile but her frustration furrowed her brow and
the resulting expression was so pitiful Brad had to suppress a
laugh.  "They don't teach dumpster diving at the Academy yet,
eh?" he asked.  Before she could respond, he flipped the lid
backward, and it clanged loudly against the back.  He repeated
the lid trick then said, "Well?"

"You really mean *in* the dumpster?" Monica said, incredulous.

He put his hands together, interlocking them into a stirrup, and
lowered them to Monica's mid-thigh.  "I'll give you a leg up
because you're new."

She put her foot into his hands and he lifted her up with more
power than she would have expected.  She jumped over the side and
landed with one foot on something slippery and the other on a
plastic garbage bag that ripped under her weight.  As she was
looking down she saw Brad's feet land nearby.   "Let's get to
it," he said with boyish glee.

They dug through the top layer of trash, Brad talking the whole
time about investigative techniques:  how to tell how long trash
has been in a dumpster, the trash pick-up schedules in the
various parts of their jurisdiction, the kinds of things that
look like nothing but might be evidence.

By the time they had searched three dumpsters Reyes had become
expert in entering, searching the top level of trash, and exiting
a dumpster, and Follmer was quite proud of her.  "She's a quick
study," he thought.  In his office he had been having doubts
about the choice he made, but Monica was quickly earning his 
respect.  They split up again, and she searched her side faster 
than he searched his side this time.  He looked over his shoulder 
to see her ass poking up as she heaved herself over a dumpster.  
It disappeared into the dumpster and he sighed, hoping that some 
new and unwelcome feelings would disappear also.

They finished their first block and were half-way down the second
block when Reyes jumped out of a dumpster and fell to her knees.  

Brad rushed to her side and helped her up.  "Are you okay?" he
asked.

Monica didn't answer.  Instead, she returned to the dumpster, her
face expressionless.  She hopped over the edge easily, and Brad
ran to the side and peered over.  Monica felt her feet getting
warmer, until it felt like they were on fire.  She gritted her
teeth and walked gingerly around the dumpster, stopping to rest
for a second in one corner.  She stepped backward, dropped to her
knees, and frantically started digging through the trash to the
lowest layers.

Brad hopped over the edge and knelt next to her.  "What are you
looking for, Monica?  What is it?" he said, infected by her
frenzy.

"Help me, Brad," she said, annoyed at his questions.

Instinctively, he obeyed her command and started digging in the
same spot.  When they were both up to their elbows in trash they
both felt the same thing.  They paused and looked into each
others' horror-stricken faces, then continued digging.

When they reached the bottom, Brad looked with sadness into the
beaten yet serene face of a toddler, then he looked to Reyes in
the hopes of an explanation.  Her forehead wrinkled up and she
turned around, vomiting over the side of the dumpster.

Brad pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed for help as
Monica leapt over the side.  She leaned against a brick wall,
then slid down to a squat, her back against the wall, her head in
her hands.  She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.  Feeling the
gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder, she looked up to see Brad 
Follmer's face looking down on her.

"After the cops are finished with us, I want you to take the rest
of the day off," he said.  "Come to my office at eight tomorrow
morning."  Reyes' eyes teared up, and she fought to keep her
lower lip from quivering.  "No, you're not fired," Brad added
gently.  "I want to discuss your training with you."

Monica pulled her lips inward in an attempt to smile, her eyes
looking up with such gratitude that Brad had to turn away.  He
walked back to the dumpster and leaned against it.  She watched
him from the corner of her eye.  When her stomach had settled,
she stood and walked to his side.  Almost immediately, she felt 
warm and nauseous again.  She walked around the side of the 
dumpster and heaved again. 

"Monica," Brad said from behind her, close to her ear.  "Why
don't you go home now?  I can manage here."

She nodded, still not facing him.  He put his arm across her
shoulder and led her away from the dumpster.  "I'll see you in
the morning," she said, looking only briefly into his eyes.

She walked to her apartment, not knowing that Follmer was
watching her as she walked to the end of the alley.  She made a
bee-line for the bathroom, peeled off her clothes, and took a
long, hot shower.

As she was brushing her wet hair she heard a knock at the door. 
She threw on her robe and raced to it, expecting to see Brad
Follmer.  She opened the door and was surprised to see Officer
Costello instead.  "Officer Costello," she said nervously,
pulling her robe more tightly around her.

"Ms. Reyes," he said politely, a smile letting her know he was
pleased she remembered his name. "I'm investigating a child abuse
case in the neighborhood..."

"Yes, I know about it," she said.  "Please come in."  She ushered
him in and closed the door.  He followed her to her futon, which
was spread out for sleeping.  She pushed against the frame and
returned it to its couch form, then sat down at one end.

He sat at the other end, his notepad poised on his knee.  "Which
child abuse case have you heard about?" he started, a little
skeptical yet intrigued.

"I thought you meant the baby discovered in the dumpster today,"
Monica started, a little puzzled by his question.  "How many
cases are there?"

"No, that's the case," he assured her.  "How did you know about
it?"

"I'm the one who found it," she said matter-of-factly.

He stared at her, dumbfounded.  "You were there?"

"Yes, why?"

He flipped several pages in his notebook.  "Someone named Brad
Follmer from the FBI found him.  He didn't mention you."

Monica felt both hurt and relieved not to have been mentioned. 
She wasn't sure how to respond, and decided to stick with the
truth.  She told him about searching for the files, and digging
through the trash.

"How did you know the baby was there?" Costello asked.

Monica gulped.  "I know this sounds strange, but I sense...
things.  I sense when something evil has happened.  I knew there
was something there, but I didn't know what."

Costello continued staring at her, his hands poised to flip his
notes back to her page.  "Like a psychic thing?" he asked
finally.  She nodded.  "Did you tell Follmer that?"

Monica shook her head.  "We haven't talked about it at all."

Costello sighed and flipped the notebook pages over.  "That's
good," he said as he started to write.  "So, tell me again.  You
sensed something bad in the dumpster... then what?"

"That was it," Reyes said.  Costello looked into her eyes,
looking for reasons to suspect her.  Instead he saw an innocence
a New Yorker rarely saw.  Monica kept her eyes on his, unsure why
there seemed to be a problem.  She continued, "Agent Follmer,
he's my supervisor, he told me to go home."  She watched as he 
studied her face, then admitted, "I threw up."

He smiled.  "First case?" he asked.  She nodded.  "We all do
that.  Don't be embarrassed.  If this didn't get to you I'd
wonder about you."

Monica relaxed her shoulders and tried to smile back at him. 
"Thanks.  I was starting to wonder if I was cut out for this
job."

"My partner isn't on this case.  He's an experienced cop, but he
has a little boy himself, and he just can't deal with cases
involving children.  The guys out there today are single guys
like me.  We don't like it either, but we can handle it." He
paused to study her reaction.  "Does that make you feel any
better?"

"Yes, it does," she confessed, smiling more easily now.  "I
volunteered for this division, and to react this way..."

"You volunteered for the Crimes Against Children division?" he
repeated, incredulous.  She nodded.  "Why?"

"Well," she said slowly, a blush crossing her face.  "It's these
feelings I have... about evil...  I've had these feelings since I
was a child, but I could never do anything about them...  you
know, prevent that evil."  She struggled to get the words out,
but his patient, listening expression encouraged her to continue.  
"One time, I sensed this... presence, an evil presence...  and 
I ignored it.  I was about thirteen, I guess, and I was playing 
basketball on a playground..." Her eyes started to tear and her 
voice quivered slightly as she continued, "I ignored what I felt.  
I was the tallest girl, and I was the center, you know?" He nodded 
sympathetically.  "Well, one of the children at the other side of
the playground, on the swing set..."  She clenched her lips shut
and her face crumpled as she struggled to continue.

Instinctively, Costello put his hand on her shoulder.  "I
understand," he said softly, and her teary eyes responded by
looking gratefully into his.  She put her hand over his and tried
to grin.

After a moment she took her hand off his, and he responded in
kind.  "I was hoping that in law enforcement I might be able to
do something about it.  But what did I do for that child today?" 

Tears rolled down her cheeks and Costello felt a lump rise in his
throat.

"You found him," he said in a raspy voice.  "You have no idea yet
how important that is, but you will."

Reyes smiled gratefully at the burly cop.  "You don't find my 
experiences... odd?" she asked tentatively.

He took a moment to regain his composure, then said, "Special,
maybe, but  not odd.  The best cops rely on their instincts. 
Usually it's really experience.  But some have a special gift... 
Don't apologize for that."  Reyes took a deep breath and let it
out slowly, her eyes beaming at him appreciatively.  He continued, 
"My partner -- he's a natural, like you.  When he has a hunch, I 
always follow it."  He looked at her  sympathetically, and she 
felt a little flutter in her stomach. His voice growing more 
gentle, he added, "If anyone's told you to ignore your instincts,
don't believe them.  The rest of us only wish we could be like 
you."

"Thank you," she said.  "I needed to hear that."

"If there's anything else you need... anything at all," he said
softly.  "Just let me know.  You still have my number?"

She nodded.  "Can I ask you a favor?" she asked.

"Sure, anything," he said eagerly.

"Do you know where I could get some self-defense training?  Or
maybe karate?"

"My gym offers classes," he answered quickly.  "I can get you a
guest pass if you want to check it out."  As she opened her mouth
to answer, he hurriedly added, "But you'd have to go with me."

She grinned broadly.  "That would be great!  When?"

"I could pick you up at six-thirty.  There's a seven o'clock
class you could observe...  You can use the whole gym if you
want, too.  Bring some work-out clothes and I'll show you
around."

Janet watched as her boss threw open the door, and she knew
things had not gone well in Brooklyn.  "Hi Brad," she said
neutrally.  "How did it go?"

"Don't ask," he retorted.  "It was a disaster."  She nodded
understandingly and he felt the need to don a more businesslike
demeanor.  "Did you reschedule my appointment with the A.D.?" he
asked, emulating Mike's efficiency as well as he could.

"It's a half-hour from now," she answered, looking up and down
his suit, noting its new stains and wrinkles.  "Will that be
enough time?"

"That's fine," Brad answered.  He entered his private office and
locked the door behind him. Leaning against the door he felt a
wave of panic.  He had a sensitive agent to train, he'd lied to a
cop, and he had to admit to the A.D. that some files were
missing.  He closed his eyes and let out a long breath.  Did Mike
have days like this, he wondered.

Thirty minutes later, Brad appeared at the A.D.'s office, wearing
the spare suit he kept in his office, the smell of men's room
soap emanating from several parts of his body.  The secretary
nodded for him to sit, and he reclined nonchalantly on the office
sofa, his briefcase at his feet.  She was a tall, lean African-
American woman with graying hair and bright red, immaculately kept 
fingernails. She busied herself at her computer as he sat silently, 
mentally rehearsing what he would say to his new boss.  Brad had 
been the cocky, fast-track, up-and-coming fair-haired child, and 
he knew it.  He also knew that the agents who had once been his 
equals considered him a suck-up, Mike's chosen successor.  
Gaining their trust would be critical for his career.  Earning 
the respect of A.D. Williams was even more critical.

Suddenly the door swung open.  "Agent Follmer," came the booming
voice of a tall, athletic man with red hair and freckles.  Brad
snapped to attention and stood up, knocking his briefcase over. 
He bent over to grab it with his left hand, holding out his right
hand to shake Williams' unextended hand.  He pulled his hand back
in embarrassment as Williams said, "Come in," and turned away.

Brad rushed inside.  He had only been to the A.D.'s office one
other time, his interview when Mike had announced his promotion. 
It had been a pleasant interview, short and perfunctory.  As his
colleagues had suspected, Williams would rubber-stamp Mike's
choice for a successor. 

Williams' demeanor showed Brad his mental rehearsal was wasted
time.  Williams already knew everything.  They stared at each
other across the desk for a long, awkward moment.  Finally
Williams said, "Special Agent in charge of the Crimes against
Children division...  You are in charge now, Brad.  I expect you
know what that means?"

"Not entirely," Brad answered.  "Mike trained me well, but I'm
sure I have a lot to learn."

Williams smiled and nodded.  "Yes, you have.  For instance, the
special agent in charge does not go dumpster diving.  Further, he
does not lie to local P.D. about who was on the scene when the
corpse of a child is discovered."

Brad raised his eyebrows and stopped breathing.  He said nothing.

"Yes, I heard about that.  Would you care to explain this,
agent?"

"I assume you know what Agent Reyes and I were looking for?" Brad
asked.  Williams nodded. "I was hoping to find those files before
anybody knew they were gone.  Not for my sake, for hers. I want
her to make a good impression."

Williams pursed his lips and studied Brad's face.  "And telling
the P.D. you were in that alley alone?"

"At the time, I was.  I sent her home.  She got sick at the
scene, and she'd fainted earlier in my office.  She didn't need
the stress," Brad answered.  "It's not going to be her case
anyway.  It'll be local, or I'll assign it to someone else if it
comes to us.  I didn't see any reason to involve her."

Williams's face showed no changes, and Brad squirmed in his seat
wondering what would happen next.  Suddenly Williams bent forward
and pulled something from the knee well of his desk.  Brad gulped
as he saw Williams pull it up and shove it across the desk
towards him.  It was a briefcase.

"Fortunately, street criminals hate child molesters as much as we
do," Williams said.  "It was turned in at the security gate this
morning."

"Thank you, sir," Brad said, not sure what else he could say.

"Don't let it happen again," Williams said sternly.

"No, of course not," Brad answered quickly.

"Have we covered the reason you made this appointment?" Williams
asked.

Although Brad could tell Williams wanted him to say "yes," he
answered, "No, sir.  I'd like some advice on how to handle Agent
Reyes' training.  She was at the top of her class at Quantico,
but..."

"I'm sure you'll handle it," Williams said curtly.  "You know the
demands of the job.  Be sure she can meet them before you send
her into any more alleys."  Williams picked up a pen and pulled
some papers from a drawer.  "And don't let me hear that *any* of
your people are causing trouble for the bureau."

"Yes, sir," Brad said.  He stood, one briefcase in each hand, and
backed away from the A.D.  "Thank you for your time."

Williams nodded once then turned his attention to the papers on
his desk.

Monica jumped at the loud, sharp, knocks at her door and looked
at her watch:  6:25 p.m.  She ran to the door and flung it open. 
Costello stood there, his massive chest and arms wrapped in a
brown leather jacket.  Monica smiled into his smile, and said,
"Officer Costello... Hi!  Just a second..."

She ran back into her apartment and grabbed her gym bag as he
stood at the door, admiring not just her body, but her grace. 
"Call me Joe," he half-shouted behind her.

"Sorry," she said when she arrived at the doorway.  She slung her
gym bag over her shoulder and said, "Joe.  Call me Monica."

At the gym, Monica changed into her carefully chosen gear, and
emerged from the dressing room to find Joe waiting for her.  He
was wearing a dark blue T-shirt, its sleeves hugging the muscles
of his upper arm, the NYPD shield over his left pect.  He was
wearing gray sweat pants that were mercifully loose, Monica
thought.  She never thought she'd be one to fall for muscles, but
she couldn't help notice this man's well-toned body.  She felt
weak and waifish by comparison, and was starting to feel out of
her element.

"You look great," Joe said, his eyes sparkling with appreciation. 


Monica blushed, then quickly said, "Oh, this?"  She pulled at the
hem of her T-shirt.  "It's a souvenir from my college days."  She
fussed some more at the hem, then decided against telling the
truth.  It was her good-luck T-shirt.

The gym was huge, and complex, with every possible piece of
equipment and several rooms.  Joe showed her a few rooms then
ushered her in to a large room with mats on the floor and mirrors
on one wall.  Several men dressed in loose-fitting pants and
T-shirts were practicing martial arts movements.  The instructor
arrived and the students formed two lines.  The instructor bowed,
and the students bowed lower in response.  Monica leaned against
the wall, feeling secure in her invisibility.  Joe leaned next to
her, and whispered into her ear.  "It's an advanced class.  They
offer all levels here."

She smiled and turned her head in his direction.  "Thanks," she
said, her mouth only inches from his.  They both quickly turned
their heads toward the class, and they watched the first several
minutes of the class.  

To Monica's surprise, the instructor started the class by leading
the students in meditation.  Monica breathed deeply, not
understanding most of the instructions, but feeling a sense of
centeredness coming over her.  The instructor gradually brought
the students to a state of readiness for their exercises, and
Monica felt as if she, too, were ready for them.  She smiled
serenely and turned toward Joe.  He seemed bored, and he eagerly
said, "Seen enough?"

"No," she whispered.  "I'd like to stay for a few minutes more. 
Do you mind?"

"No, of course not," he whispered back.  He pressed his back
against the wall.  "Let me know when you're ready to go," he
whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

She relaxed against the wall and whispered, "Thank you for
bringing me here."

They stood and watched the class for another few minutes.  Monica
felt a sense of belonging, yet also a sense of detachment.  She
loved this feeling.  As the students were reorganizing for a new
series of exercises she turned to Joe and said, "Okay, let's see
the rest of the gym."

As they walked toward a weight-lifting area, Monica said, "Thank
you for bringing me here.  I think I like it already."

He smiled and said, "It's my home away from home."

She put her hand on his upper arm and tried in vain to squeeze
it.  "Why am I not surprised?" she asked.

They passed through several weight-lifting areas and came to a
bank of exercise cycles, and in each area several men and women
greeted Joe enthusiastically.  He introduced Monica to many of
them, and she became more comfortable as each welcomed her.  Joe
seemed to be well-liked, and the smiles he elicited made her feel
lucky to be with him tonight.

After they had seen the entire gym, he showed her some basic
weight-training techniques and they worked out together.  She
felt a little silly, moving the pins to the top of each bank of
weights and still struggling to lift, as Joe easily lifted stacks
of the iron bars.  After trying several pieces of equipment she
sat at the end of a bench, watching Joe focus on his lifts.  She
didn't understand it, but she could appreciate his dedication. 
After several minutes he looked up and saw her watching him.  "I
don't think this is my sport," she said meekly.

He sat up and said, "I'm sorry.  Have you had enough?"

Monica thought for a moment.  It was obviously part of his daily
routine to work out, and she didn't want to upset that.  "I've
had enough of the weights.  Do you mind if I do something else
for awhile?"

He smiled.  "Not at all.  I'll be here."

"I think I'll try those bicycles..." she said, briefly putting
her hand on his knee.  "I don't think I could do more than twenty
minutes.  Is that okay?"

He nodded, and she walked away, confidently navigating the gym as
if she were a regular.  She stopped at the martial arts room and
watched the closing routine.  She could feel the serenity of the
students and felt a kind of joy in this discovery.  "This is my
sport," she thought.

Thirty minutes later, she was pumping the pedals of an exercise
bike, sweat flowing over her face.  Her eyes were closed, and she
emptied her mind, trying to capture the serenity she'd tasted
earlier.  Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Having a good time?" Joe asked.  

She smiled in response then stopped pedaling.  "Yes, but I don't
want to overdo it."  She hopped off the cycle and lost her
balance.  He caught her in his strong arms and she laughed.  "I
guess I've already overdone it."

"Everybody does on their first day," he reassured her.  "Do you
want to come back again... build up your endurance?" he asked
hopefully.

"I think I want to join this gym," she answered, walking back and
forth to relax her legs.  "I like it here."  She stopped pacing
and looked into his face.  "I like the people," she added,
feeling a little bold.

He couldn't hide his contented sigh from her.  "Want to get
something to eat before I take you home?" he asked.

"Sure, but I think I need a shower first."

They went to an Italian restaurant, and Monica marveled at the
amount of food Joe could eat.  She ate only half of her food, and
gave the rest to him after he had finished his.  They talked
about weight training, the gym, Italian food, Brooklyn, Italian
mothers, Mexican mothers...  Everything but law enforcement.

He walked her to her door and she felt light on her feet as she
said, "I had a great time.  I can't wait to go back to the
gym..."

"I'm glad," he said, his eyes starting to glow.  "I can't wait to
see *you* again."

She smiled giddily but said nothing.  He leaned forward and
kissed her on the lips, gently and briefly.  He pulled back to
study her reaction.  She blushed and smiled, and said quickly,
"Me too."  She turned the key in her lock and hurriedly entered
her apartment.  On the other side of the door she sighed, and she
heard him pause before walking back through the hallway.