When you and Zoe were in high school, it wasn’t exactly secret that there was something going on between the two of you. Everyone knew it but didn’t want to say anything. Don’t ask, Don’t tell was still a thing. And it would remain a thing long enough for you to realise that you didn’t want to continue loving Zoe so long as it meant doing so in private.

This caused a big enough rift that you both went your separate ways career wise, her going to the Marines and you going Army, never to speak again. You both wound up doing the same job in two separate branches and never crossed paths, not until being military police guided you and Zoe to the LAPD as the captains of two separate divisions, her of Mid-Wilshire and you of Hollywood. That meant a lot of communicating. Professionally, speaking. If that was going to happen, dealing with past personal grievances was bound to happen.

You invited Zoe over to your place one night, starting the conversation off with a healthy two fingers of scotch. At first, that would’ve been fine until the conversation got heavy and those drinks got plenty. The room looked like it was spinning and Zoe, oh your sweet Zoe, looked as beautiful as she always did. And she realises that too because you’re both leaning in, unable to stop yourselves from the inevitable. Lips brushing against each other, softly, tentatively and then-

“We shouldn’t…”