Ray Vecchio, Chicago PD, was not a happy man. Leaning against the wall watching tourists as they walked back and forth--forth and back--across his vision was not his idea of a good time. His partner, Ray Kowalski, seemed even less happy with the situation. He stood ram-rod straight, arms folded across his chest, mouth twisted into a scowl as he glared forbiddingly at anyone who got too close. On the one hand, it was a good thing, since no one was meant to get too close to the priceless ming vase the two were guarding, but on the other hand, without a uniform on, Kowalski just looked like a potential mass-murderer who, for unknown reasons, had chosen a museum as his hunting grounds. (But God, he looked positively edible when he was this pissed!)

Vecchio sighed, shoving his hands into his pocket. Kowalski had a right to be angry, really. The assignment had been a punishment for that unfortunate incident involving the mayor, his new tuxedo, and a kielbasa sandwich. Welsh had been looking for an opportunity to ream the two for that little fiasco, and when the museum had requested guards for its new display.... Vecchio made a face. Was it his fault that scruffy little kid had gotten underfoot? Anyone would've tripped with a half-pint between his legs.

Well, accident or not, they were stuck. And unless he did some major apologizing, he was gonna be in the doghouse with Kowalski for a long time. Heck, this was the guy who hadn't spoken to his own father for over eight years! Vecchio shuddered. He was all for silence (especially where a certain verbose mountie was concerned), but if he was gonna be partnered with this guy, he wanted to at least be able to converse on long, boring stake-outs.

"So...." he began, after absently nodding a greeting at a passing old lady, "How ya doin'?"

Kowalski's glare grew ten times icier.

Vecchio flinched. "Not so good, huh? Look, I'm sorry. It was an accident! I mean, what are the odds, right?" No answer. "I didn't think Welsh would make you do this too, I mean, I was the one with the sandwich...."

After a few more seconds of silence, Vecchio was forced to avert his gaze. Kowalski's eyes seemed to be burning a hole through his head. "Umm... what are you thinkin' about, over there? I mean, this is pretty boring, doing this.... I dunno how Fraser does this all the time. What do you suppose he's thinking while he's standing guard outside the consulate?" He was babbling now, but he didn't care. Anything to break this terrible silence! "Probably sings 'O Canada' over and over again in his head, or something stupid like that. Wanna try that?" He didn't wait for an answer, just started singing. " 'O Canada! Our home and native land! True patriot love in all thy sons command....'" He trailed off, as the passersby were beginning to give him weird looks, and Kowalski's glare had only gotten frostier.

He gulped, starting to get a little concerned. "I guess singing is out, then...." He was desperate, and as everyone knows, desperate times call for desperate measures. He felt a tiny smile widening his face as he thought of the perfect plan. "Okay, Kowalski, play it your way," he grinned, and was gratified by a suspicious look crossing his partner's face. "I can't make you talk if you don't want to." He stepped closer. "You might never talk to me again, and that's fine with me." Closer. "But if you don't talk, that means you can't say no."

With lightning speed, he grabbed Kowalski by the lapels and yanked him away from the spotlighted display, dragging him down the hall and to an unlocked utility closet. Kowalski struggled uselessly, but pursed his lips, refusing to speak. Vecchio threw open the door and shoved Kowalski inside, slamming the door behind them. "Surprise," he grinned, and devoured his partner's mouth with his own.

"Mmmff!" Kowalski's hands shot up, and he pushed at Vecchio's roaming arms, trying in vain to pull away. He was pinned against the wall, a mop handle poking into his back and an Italian love tool poking into his front. Almost involuntarily, he opened his mouth and Vecchio's tongue darted inside. Kowalski moaned, returning the kiss with feverish intensity, his own hands clutching Vecchio close.

The kiss ended all too quickly, and Vecchio was grinning at him again, barely out of breath although Kowalski himself was panting with exertion and sexual frustration. "What the... what the hell was that?" he managed, trying to sound angry and failing miserably.

Vecchio shrugged and opened the door, stepping out. "You talkin' to me now? That's good, I don't have to sing anymore."

He walked away, back toward the ming vase display, and Kowalski followed numbly. They were met halfway there by a hysterical Ma Vecchio, screaming that a man dressed all in black and waving a gun had just made off with "that pretty Chinese bottle." Kowalski felt himself go from numb disbelief to full-blown rage in less than two seconds, and Vecchio beat a hasty retreat out of sight.

Kowalski couldn't begin to imagine what the punishment for this screw-up would be.