The next day brings Monday morning. I have to drag myself out of bed for work. Don't get me wrong, I love my job, but waking up at the ass crack of dawn is not ideal. I've never been a morning person and I don't think that will ever change. I just love sleeping.

A shower and four coffees later, I'm walking into the office and plopping down at my desk; my home away from home. In the last few weeks, I think I've spent more time here than my bed. This is where my partner and I do most of our work.

Everyone thinks this job is glitz and glamour. They think it's all solving crime and putting bad guys away, but in reality there's a lot more to it. There's paperwork involved with every single thing you do. Not to mention the research we have to do; reading and lunderstanding these people's lives before we can find out who killed them.

But, arriving in the morning before a new case always feels like a fresh start. Except that it's no time before Duke (one of the other homicide detectives that seems to have a bit of a vendetta against me) is sitting on the corner of my desk and picking up the picture I have of Brie, Nikki, and me. He does this all the time. And every time he does, it makes me want to punch him in the throat.

"Hey, Ashton," he puts on his condescending smile and looks down at me. "Did you set me up with that foxy sister of yours yet?"

"Get off my desk, Duke," I warn him trying not to get angry.

He holds up the picture to look at it better, "She is quite a piece of work; and rich because of daddies' money. I could really be a stay at home husband, you know? I would do anything if it came out of those lips."

"Last time I'm telling you, Duke," I look straight into his eyes. "Put the picture down and get off my desk before I make sure no one finds your body."

"Oh I think someone's acting out because they don't have a mommy," he juts his lower lip out at me, but smiles again a second later. "Then again, I guess with two dads one of the has to be-"

Standing straight up, I slam my hands against the flat surface of my desk. The sound reverberates through the room and everyone stops talking except me, "I'm not about to deal with your bullshit today. Get the f-"

"Ashton, Duke, my office now," Captain Walsh's voice shouts through the room. Duke puts the picture down and hops off my desk, casually strolling to the only real office in this place. As soon as we make it inside the door, Captain starts in on us, "What do you think you're doing out there?"

"I was just complimenting Ashton's family," Duke feigns innocence.

I shake my head and roll my eyes, but otherwise stay quiet. I'm the youngest detective on the force right now and I'm the newsest detective. It's rare to be able to become a detective after only a couple years on the police force, but I took some college classes while I was off duty. I got myself a degree in criminal justice and then applied for an opening in homicide. Lucky for me, they needed someone.

"I don't understand this ongoing feud between the two of you, but you need to just stay away from each other," Captain looks between us once and then stares at Duke. "And I know I've told you before that we keep his family out of this department. He has a hard enough time with the media outside of work to be bringing that shit in here."

"Why does he get special treatment, Captain? No one cares if we talk about my family," Duke never knows when to shut up. It's one of the things I hate most about him.

"Your family isn't publically mocked every day. You're family isn't on the television for everything they do, good or bad. And you, Detective Duke, are not followed around town just because of your genetics. Now, both of you leave my office and if I see you again, you're suspended."

I hardly think that's fair since I didn't do anything, but I just nod and leave like a good little boy. Duke is not going to cost me my job.

When I get back to my desk, my partner is already sitting in his desk chair on the other side of the conjoined workstations. "Hey Sanders," I greet him as I sit across from him. "We have anything new?"

"Yep, we just got called. A body was found in an apartment over on fifth. It's been there a couple days, might want to bring a mask," he smirks as he stands.

"These are the worst," I complain as I follow him out to the car.

Joe Sanders is a good guy. He's been a cop for going on sixteen years. He has a couple kids and a wife, but he's generally just an easy-going guy. He's taught me a lot. And he's a good guy to have around in a sticky situation - he's always calm.

We're driving when he looks over to me from the driver's seat, "So, Duke's on your case again?"

"I just don't understand him," I confess. "He's such a ass hat. I haven't done anything to him."

Sanders shakes his head, looking back at the road, "He's just one of those guys that want all the attention. You're new, you're famous-"

"I'm not famous," I interrupt. "My dads are famous. I want nothing to do with that lifestyle. And I've been on the team for over a year now."

"I get it," he says calmly. "Duke just wants attention anyway he can get it."

"I could really do without it," I tell him honestly.

He shrugs as we pull up to our destination, "He'll get over it, eventually. The Chief knows it's not you and as long as you keep it that way, you're in the clear."

When we get to the apartment we're informed on the situation: young girl in her twenties, living alone, house a mess, lock on the door broken, landlord found her when someone from her work came looking.

It's a sad story that happens too often in New York. Someone breaks in for whatever reason and panics when they get caught. Now some parents, siblings, friends, and/or lovers have to be told. The worst part of my job is informing those that are left behind.

After we get everything we need, the crime scene unit takes all the prints, DNA, and evidence they can find. It'll take all that stuff a couple days to be processed before we can start working on anything to do with the apartment.

I haven't been a detective long, but if I had to guess I would say this is a break-in gone wrong.

Here and now, I promise myself that my sisters won't ever live alone. There's a kind of safety in numbers and that's all I want for them.

We spend the day tracking down her parents and notifying them of what happened. It's a day for many tears and lots of screaming. Her mother slaps me across the face when I tell her the first time. It's happened before, but it's still a surprise.

The girl's name was Jacqueline, but they called her Jack. As usual we get the: 'We can't think of anyone that would want to harm our daughter. She's a nice girl and everyone loves - no, loved - her. Why did this happen to her? She only cared about everyone else'. The husband holds the wife to him as she cries and occasionally beats on his chest.

Everyone grieves differently. This mother is the aggressive griever - the person that has to take their emotions out on someone else. There are always the questioners - the people that ask a million questions to which we have no answers yet. There are the quiet criers - the ones that will listen and nod, but just silently let the tears run down their face. The loudest - those that think the louder they cry it may help bring back the victim. And the accepters - which creep me out the most - the ones that completely understand what's going on and will offer you tea for your troubles.

I'm not sure what kind of griever I am. When Nan passed away, I was a teenager and tried to play it cool. At the time, I guess I would have been trying to play off an accepter, but when no one was around, I was a quiet crier.

The father takes his wife up to their bedroom to lie down before returning to us. We don't stay long after that, it just isn't a place anyone wants to be. But as we leave, Sanders slips the father a business card and tells him to call if he thinks of anything. Sometimes it helps to give the parents a couple days before asking too much.

"So," my partner says as we get back into his car, "that was a rough one."

I nod and rub my cheek, "She had some force behind that hand."

He chuckles lightly, "As horrible as it all is, I can't help but think that it's a good think the parents are still married. They'll have someone to be there for them through this whole thing. Every time we have a single parent or significant other, I feel like they have it the worse. No one to grieve with, you know?"

I nod along. He's probably right, but I can't be sure. I've had plenty of girls, and guys for that matter, but I've never had an actual relationship. The thought, oddly, make me think of Henry.

As if he can read my thoughts, he says, "Have you found anyone yet?"

"I haven't found anyone in like a week," I tell him with a grin and raised eyebrows. "But that night, I found him twice."

He shakes his head with a grin and starts the car, "That's not what I mean and you know it."

"I don't know," I shrug. "I just don't think actual dating is for me. Monogamy sounds so boring."

"When you find that person," he tilts his head to the side, "it won't be boring anymore."

"In other new," I change the subject and he chuckles, "I have a new roommate."

When we stop at a red light, he looks over at me, "Ella finally get sick of you?"

"No," I laugh because she was probably sick of me years ago, "we just decided to have someone else share the rent." I pause for a second and look over at him. Just as the car starts moving again, I confess, "I have a little dilemma."

"Uh oh."

"He's probably the most attractive person I've ever seen. And I grew up with movie stars all around me."

"Wow," Sanders nods, but doesn't take his eyes off the road. After a few minutes, he says, "You probably shouldn't sleep with him. It'll make things at home weird."

"That's your advice?!" I ask him a little surprised.

He just laughs, "Yep, that's all I got."

~A/N~

It's a short one, but a little background into what Blain does.

Happy Sunday.

Robert Downey Jr as Sanders!