The first time Alvarez ordered Beaumont to get out of the way, she ignored him and took the shot herself. Later, she reamed him a new one about his ingrown biases about women and asked for a new partner.
The first time Jason Walsh barked, "Get down," at her, Beaumont did so instantly, thereby avoiding the brick that the suspect hurled out the window in their general direction. This happened only a few months after she was reassigned, to New Kid On The Block Cole, so it's not like anything about her was different. It was Walsh.
Without examining either of them too closely, Beaumont acknowledged to herself that Walsh never treated her like a girl - never treated any woman as such, on duty, at any rate - but dealth with her as a police officer first. Having come to that conclusion, she went on with her life.
It's always good to know who *really* has your back, she thought.
Walsh was dating some airhead newscaster when he was called to a hostage situation as backup. The girlfriend was there covering the story, and when she caught sight of the boyfriend she kept trying to get him on camera for an interview. Beaumont was watching the live feed and laughing her ass off every time Walsh told the reporter to talk to the incident commander, who was not Walsh.
When the situation was finally resolved (peacefully, and they arrested the guy), Beaumont saw her colleague come back to the station with his partner and a black cloud over his head.
"I thought for a minute there you were gonna shoot her," she said as he stalked over to his desk. He whirled and she got ready for an explosion, but then he just leaned on her desk and looked in her eyes and said, "Don't think that didn't occur to me."
She smiled and he smiled back, an evil smile. And the reporter was never seen or spoken of in the 2-2 again.
Somehow Walsh finds out she doesn't like getting flowers, so on her birthday he sends her a Venus flytrap.
Beaumont goes to a funeral for a cop killed in the line of duty, not from their precinct but still. She spots Walsh in a black overcoat on the fringes and sidles up to him.
"Did you know him?" Walsh asks, and she shakes her head.
"Still sucks, though," she says.
He takes her hand for a second, squeezes it as they stand silently looking forward, and when it seems he's letting go she catches and holds on.
When the service is done they go for coffee.
Beaumont finds out that Walsh owns a diner. Sort of. One night she's with a girlfriend and the friend gets falling-down drunk, and nothing is open in that corner of the world, but Beaumont sees lights blazing in a tiny storefront a block away.
She hauls the friend toward the light, manages to wrench the door open. The place is deserted so she dumps the woman on a stool and yells out, "Hey, anybody home?"
There's no reply. The coffee actually smells fresh, though, so Beaumont goes around behind the counter and pours some for herself and her friend, who takes it and bends her head to slurp from the mug.
Beaumont's halfway through the quite decent coffee when she hears a safety click somewhere on her left. When her head snaps around, there's Walsh, gun in hand, barefoot and bare-chested, in a pair of ratty jeans.
"Shit, Beaumont, you almost gave me a heart attack," he says before placing the weapon out of sight somewhere behind the partition.
"Likewise," she snorts; her hand eases off her holster. "What the hell are you doing here, Walsh?"
"I live here, what's your excuse?" he says, but he's grinning. "Whoa, your friend's in bad shape."
The friend has passed out with her face pressed against the side of the coffee mug. Beaumont is just glad she didn't puke first, but the night isn't over yet.
"Let me call you a cab," says Walsh.
While they're waiting she finds out that Walsh does live here, behind the diner, which is open at odd hours on his whim. He was taking the trash out back when they came in.
They pour Beaumont's friend into the cab and Walsh blows kisses in their direction as it drives away.
They're walking back to the precinct after somebody's retirement dinner when Walsh suddenly nudges her elbow and says, "Hey, come on."
He slips into a side street, not quite an alley but not a through way, beckoning with his head, and she follows, mystified but trying to match his furtive pace. When they're a ways back from the street she hisses, "What's going on? You'd better not just be stopping to pee."
Next thing she knows, his hands are on her shoulders and his lips are on hers, firmly but quickly. He tries to pull back but she follows, her mouth leaning into his. His grip on her arms tightens just a bit and she grabs the front of his suit jacket.
A few breathless moments later, they stand staring at each other.
"What the hell was that?" says Beaumont. "Not that I'm complaining."
"Wanted to do that forever," he says. "Seemed like the right moment to try it."
"Okay," she says. "Okay. Want to try it again?"
This time he wraps his arms around her waist and she laughs just before their lips connect. At the next interlude he says, "I'm not drunk, by the way."
"Neither am I."
"Not looking for a one-time thing, either."
She pulls his head in for more kissing, deeper, more tongue.
"My car's back at the precinct," he whispers. "Can I drive you home?"
Beaumont shakes her head, then says, "Only if we're going to *your* home."
Jason's bed is wide, low to the floor, and soft. Very soft. When Allison (he started using her first name occasionally after she'd dropped in at the diner) ducks through the partition into the 'living quarters' all she can see is the bed and a door that probably leads to the bathroom. Later she'd notice the desk and industrial metal closet.
She steps to one side, Jason follows her in, and she dives at him, tackling him onto the bed and sitting on him.
"Is that your Smith & Wesson, or are you just happy to see me," she quips.
He rolls his eyes and says, "Both," removes his holster and badge and throws them accurately onto the desk. Taking her face in his hands, he brings her mouth down to his, engulfing her, drinking deeply.
Allison whimpers, just a little.
Jason shifts without breaking the kiss, until he's sprawled half on her, running a hand down her side as far as her knee, then back up again, skimming the side of her breast as she lifts her arms to embrace him.
"Just so we're on the same page," he murmurs against her lips, "I'm going to make love to you now and you're going to come, a lot, and we'll do crazy things to each other all night and well into tomorrow, and then we'll sleep all day and go back on shift with matching shit-eating grins."
"Works for me."