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Every morning she can get around to it, Detective Allison Beaumont of the NYPD 2nd Precinct stops by a hole in the wall called the Stage Restaurant and orders the usual.
The menu is ever changing and frankly, the hours aren't as solid as she might like, but even when it’s closed, Allison can usually hammer on the door, and Jason Walsh will appear from somewhere in the back, looking a little mussed, and let her in.
"I need some caffeine. Can I get the usual?"
"No problem. Just a minute." He always takes it real easy, casual, and slips behind the counter to scramble her up an egg and pour her black coffee as soon as it's hot. He tosses creamer and two sugars over the counter.
He smiles like it's good to see her, even though she's pretty sure she woke him up.
He can't cook and his coffee is swill, but he looks at her exactly the same as any other competent, able person with a job to do and calls her "Detective."
Sometimes that's exactly what she needs.
"Hey, Allison. Calm down."
Cole's a good guy, a good partner. He's trying to be supportive and keep her from losing it, but she's about had it with getting blamed for shooting a potential witness when the man was trying hard to kill her. The only reason she's biting down on the urge to swear is because Cole's her partner and he doesn't like it when she does.
"I need a drink."
Cole draws back, worried frown drawing his eyebrows together. "Al—"
"Coffee," she reassures him.
He gets the hint and doesn't drift along behind her as she walks briskly in the direction of 128 Second Avenue. Sometimes Beaumont just needs someone who treats her like a cop without trying to make her earn it. Sometimes she doesn't need pity, even from a good guy and a good partner like Cole.
"Hey." It's open and Jason's back behind the counter, talking some poor schmuck into a bowl of goulash. Sometimes Allison wonders where he gets his recipes because she's had goulash and that just doesn't smell right.
Jason flashes her a grin and wraps up with handing the guy a bowl (may the good Lord have mercy upon his stomach). He comes over with an, "Afternoon, Detective," and a godsend cup of hot coffee. Swill it may be, but it's strong and sometimes she forgets how bad it tastes under the rush of caffeine.
"You know, you could call me Beaumont," she comments after the first swallow.
His smile is lazy and comfortable. "Beaumont."
She ought to just ask him out and be done with it by now.
He picks up a girl sometime heading into winter. Air's getting nippier and Allison finds a few more excuses to get a warm up at the Stage. She pauses, eyebrows raised, at the sight of a redhead behind the counter, hair in a ponytail and friendly smile on her face.
"Casey," she introduces herself. "You're Allison?"
Allison—not Beaumont, not Detective, and no need to ask in the first place. "That's right," Allison says slowly.
She watches the girl pour her a cup of coffee and count out the creamer and sugar as if trying to remember something she's been drilled in. Allison's got to hand it to her: she brews a better pot than Jason.
"Hey, Walsh!" Casey shouts into the back. "Get out here and scramble an egg."
"Can't you get it?"
Casey rolls her eyes. "It's your girlfriend."
Allison drops her head and can't quite decide between humor or irritation. What exactly has Jason been saying about her?
Jason pops his head around the corner, notes Allison, and shoots Casey a friendly, exasperated glare. He heads behind the counter to pull out a skillet. "Salsa?"
"No, thanks." Give Jason an inch and he'll take a mile in the department of odd and eclectic additives. "So you hired someone new."
"Kinda," he hedges. "She makes good coffee."
Casey rolls her eyes and smiles sweetly at the next customer. But when Jason hands Allison her plate, Casey passes by and whispers, "She is so your girlfriend."
Jason rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and looks like he's counting to ten.
Allison decides on humor.
"Bad day?" He's wiping up the counter, and she caught him maybe a minute or two before closing judging by the general state of the place—dishes put away, stove cold, empty chairs, and a nearly empty street.
"Tell me about it." Allison sits up on one of the tall stools and watches Jason brew her up a pot of coffee from scratch. She should mind making more work for him at the end of the day, but he never seems to, so it's hard to rustle up any guilt. "You ever think about keeping regular hours?"
"Diner's open when I feel like it," he mutters offhand with a casual shrug. "Or Casey's here."
"That must be nice. I'm ten minutes late because of a doctor's appointment, and I get a write-up." She's still irritated about the whole thing and Alvarez's annoying tendency to stick his nose into everyone else's imperfections.
Of course, Jason moves straight past the write-up to, "Doctor? You okay?"
"Okay enough to drink this." She swallows some down, and it's good, even though Casey didn't make it. "Just a checkup. Thanks."
So she's been putting it off and putting it off, but right now it's just the two of them and an empty diner, so she throws it out there before she can take it back. "You like the opera?"
His eyebrows shoot upward like he hadn't seen that coming, and well, a date maybe but opera, probably not. "Never tried it."
"You want to?"
"Sure." And there's that slow, easy grin she thinks she's starting to fall in love with.
Jason usually wears t-shirts and flannel over jeans, so Allison's almost surprised at how nicely he cleans up. He doesn't look out of place in his suit, and he knows how to offer his arm and open doors. It's nice, better than nice, and not quite what she expected.
"My, aren't you full of surprises?"
Jason shrugs, helps her into her seat, and glances over his program. "I've been to some nice places. My mom liked going out when she could."
"Just not opera?"
"Just not opera," he confirms.
It's a little tidbit of who he is, and she stashes it with the other ones she's been collecting. Somehow, the give and take in small doses suits them just right instead of asking questions and spilling histories. Besides, she's not exactly interested in taking him to meet her mom just yet either.
Then the music starts and she settles in for a while to enjoy herself.
"Did you like it?" she asks on the way back.
"I liked it."
She's not entirely sure if she believes him, but he's unlocking the door to the restaurant and letting them in, and he looks good enough with his tie half-undone that she doesn't really care whether he's fibbing. (She'll hold it over his head forever by pretending he's not.)
"Want anything?" He gestures to the kitchen as he turns on the light.
Allison isn't exactly hungry, but she answers anyway, "Yeah, I think I do."
She's been putting it off and putting it off, but Casey's smarter than Jason gives her credit for anyway. Allison leans over and kisses him.