From a Fountain

by Sorsha711

It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he’d find her. JB/OFC

1. Chapter 1 Rondine al Nido

Title: From a Fountain, Chapter 1

Author: Sorsha_711
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI. The rest is mine, for better or worse.
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, a purpose… a partner, not to mention a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he'd find it… her.

"Water from a fountain quenches the excessive heat which would destroy this life."
Nicola Salvi

From a Fountain, Chapter 1 --- Rondine al Nido

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His first instinct had been to retreat to his house and catch the 'single-malt express'… try to wipe the scene of another senseless murder from the forefront of his memory. The idea of spending his night in a noisy, crowded bar surrounded by strangers held no appeal. Instead, something had led him to the crowded sidewalk in front of the Bellagio.

The press of tourists was already beginning to build in anticipation of the next performance of its famed fountain. While he normally loved, even thrived on, the energy of the Vegas Strip, the jostling crowd was quickly irritating his already overwrought nerves. /Screw this… time to head home and… damn! Days like this it doesn't seem much like home. Sleep… yeah, sleep is what I need./

Still, he found himself lingering, leaning against the ornate balustrade circling the fountain's manmade lake. His gaze had become fixed on a woman taking pictures of the milling crowd, the light from the setting sun gilding her carefully composed features. Unsure of why she had captured his attention, he let his eyes drift over her face and form for clues. He quickly dismissed the likelihood their paths had crossed before… though the nagging feeling he knew her teased at the edges of his thoughts.

Brass tilted his head to the left to see around the bulk a matronly woman that had temporarily blocked his line of sight as she paused to drain the last of a garishly colored drink from the bottom of the plastic replica of the Eiffel Tower. The slight wobble that accompanied the effort suggested she wasn't accustomed to drinking so much, especially this early in the evening… or that this wasn't her first 'tower'. A tall, overly thin man with the start of a promising sunburn glowing on the top of his balding head turned back to loop his arm lovingly around her waist, an empty Stratosphere souvenir glass in his left hand.

The first hint of a smile brightened the hard edges of Brass' face as he watched the pair squeeze into one of the few openings left with a good view of the fountain. A much younger couple rolled their eyes and took position behind them, the young man's whispered, "We need to get Mom and Dad to eat something soon or they're going to be sick," was a sentiment he hardily endorsed… assuming it wasn't already too late.

Looking back at the woman he had been watching, he was intrigued by the mix of emotions clearly evident in her expression. The tolerant amusement he understood, but the sad, even wistful sigh that accompanied it held his attention. It took him a moment to realize why… that it mirrored his own reaction, perhaps his own loneliness. He had simply been better at hiding his sadness than she had. After over thirty years on the job, he knew he had a poker face the like of which any professional gambler would envy.

A fleeting mental grin accompanied the thought, /… if only I had luck with the cards!/

Shifting to rest his left elbow on the stone cap of the corner column, he sorted through her features trying to decide how to categorize her on his personal ratings scale. /Pretty… very pretty, but not really beautiful. Petite… maybe 5'2" or 3", so even in heels she would be shorter than me. Light blond hair… hazel eyes, more green than brown. Maybe… early, mid 40's. Slim not skinny… sweet curves in all the right places. I do love curvy woman… and this one's a 'Pocket Venus'./

A faint sigh was quickly disguised as a deep breath as he let his focus shift to watch the first jets of water blast from fountain, the soothing tones of the great tenor Luciano Pavarotti swelling from the speakers hidden in the column beside his left hip. /OK, she's exactly my type; not going to do me any good though. I'm getting too old for a weekend fling with another tourist… assuming she's even interested. Probably a husband or boyfriend around… doesn't look the type to hit Vegas alone. Dressed too conservatively for a Saturday night of partying... plus, way too trusting and naïve for her own good. She isn't even keeping an eye out for pickpockets… or strangers eying her up./

Unable to stop himself, he looked her way again. The hint of a smile the tipsy couple had inspired faded, leaving his face an unreadable mask. She had put her camera away for the moment and was watching the fountain with absolute absorption. A single tear slipped down her right cheek, swept away by a distracted hand. The stiff breeze that had been blowing all day whipped her shoulder length hair around her face, its erratic movement at odds with the utter stillness of her features. A faint shiver coursed down her back despite the temperature hovering in the low 90's, hot for early March even by Vegas standards.

The water softly settled back into the quiet of the pond as the jets slipped from view, the press of the crowd thinning quickly in the wake of the show. A small flock of ducks appeared along the edge of the lake hoping for a free meal of bread crumbs thrown by the next group of spectators. Still, the woman lingered, lost in her private thoughts. Even from six feet away, he could make out the faint whisper that slipped from her lips.

"You'd have loved it, Drew. It's not fair that you never got to see it… Vegas, but… life isn't fair, is it, sweetie?"

It didn't take a trained detective to figure out the unspoken part of her whispered, one-sided conversation. Someone named Drew… probably short for Andrew, had wanted to come to Vegas… see the fountains, but never got the chance. That thought led to the next logical conclusion; that her Drew had died before the opportunity to accompany her to the desert had presented itself. It also explained the tear, the tremor… the wistful look on her face as she watched the older couple snuggle in companionable, if slightly drunken, contentment into their place by the balustrade.

A second sigh, this one clearly audible, left his lips as he realized he was genuinely disappointed… being the host of a Vegas vacation fling was depressing enough at this point in his life. Having a fling of any sort with a grieving woman mourning the loss of a husband or lover she obviously still loved was definitely not in the cards. He didn't need the hassle and she didn't need the guilt. He was still feeling the blowback from his ill-advised affair with Rita Nettles and the last thing he needed was more of the same. Still, something about her intrigued him… a fact that left him feeling confused and disappointed by their brief 'almost' encounter.

/Time to go home, old man,/ he mused. /A few drinks and I'll forget I was even tempted. I'll have forgotten her face before I make it back to the car./ Something about that last thought didn't quite ring true, even to his jaded ears. /Last thing I need is another weepy woman like Rita… though I doubt there are many like that sorry bitch./

Starting to turn away, Brass' blue eyes met and locked with the hazel gaze of the woman he had been studying. Apparently, his sigh had been loud enough to be heard… loud enough to capture her attention. /Great! Awkward moments are such a blast!/

"First time seeing the Fountains?" /Damn! Why did I open my…/

A faint nod. "Yeah. I've been putting off coming here since I moved to Vegas. They're… lovely."

An odd tugging sensation held him captive to the conversation. /Not a tourist… still, I so don't need a needy, grieving woman in my life. I have enough of my own problems.../

Even knowing that, he found himself asking, "How long you been in town?"

Sighing, the woman turned to stare out across the lake. "Since the middle of January."

A graying eyebrow lifted in silent inquiry. "Why did it take you so long? The Fountains are usually one of the first stops everybody makes when they hit town."

Swimming hazel eyes slowly turned back to study her companion in the now deserted semicircular bump-out installed by the hotel-casino's designers to allow those viewing the fountain to queue out of the main flow of the pedestrians on the sidewalk. "It seemed too much like… saying goodbye again."

Nodding slightly, he murmured, "Husband?"

A jerky shake of the head. "No… my son. Drew saw a TV program once… about the engineering and construction of the fountains. Talked about it for days afterwards. He wanted to be an engineer, so the how's of making this work intrigued him. He planned to move here after college, but… I ended up here instead."

"What…" he began, belatedly realizing how intrusive his questions had become. "I'm sorry. I have no right to pry."

"Iraqi."

"Pardon?"

"Iraqi," she repeated, the soft, slightly slurred endings of her words hinted she was from somewhere in the American south. The husky, broken quality of her voice underscored her grief. "Drew joined the Marines out of high school… to earn money for college. He died in Iraqi three years ago."

Watching as a second tear slipped down her cheek, he whispered, "I'm sorry."

Nodding slightly, she seemed to settle into herself. "I should be the one apologizing to you. I'm sorry if I put a damper on your evening. Listening to someone talking about war and death isn't much of a way to spend your Saturday night."

"No apologies needed," he promised, a rueful smile failing to erase the dark images of the latest murder scene he had worked from his mind. "I'm not even sure why I came down here tonight instead of going home, but… let's just say my mood was already pretty damp before I got here."

"That bad, Captain?"

Startled, Brass straightened from his leaning position and faced her. "How did…"

Pointing to the front of his suit jacket, she half smiled… a faint lifting of the corners of her lips, but a smile that failed to reach her eyes. "You're wearing your badge."

An embarrassed groan accompanied a nod as he reached up to detach his badge from the pocket shield he habitually wore while on duty. After slipping both securely into the inner pocket of his jacket, he admitted, "I didn't realize I still had that on. I guess I was… distracted when I left my office. Jim Brass."

Reaching over to accept the hand he extended in her direction, she offered, "Julie… Julie Littlejohn."

The handshake lasted a little longer than the standard quick press of fingers typical for a casual greeting… involved the actual clasping of hands, but neither noticed that fact for several seconds. Both were distracted by the tingling sensation that coursed through their bodies as their hands came into contact. Jim finally let hers drop as he noticed the blush spreading over her throat as the moment became awkward.

Suddenly unwilling to step away and watch her walk off… unsure what, if anything, he could do to stop her, he offered, "Look…can I buy you a drink… or cup of coffee? I know we just met, but… the thought of going home to an empty house isn't really something I want to face at the moment. Somehow, I get the feeling you might be feeling the same way."

Brass watched the play of emotions flitter across her expressive face… surprise, a touch of panic… interest… uncertainty… a hint of anticipation. "I…"

Tapping the front of his jacket over the top of his now hidden badge, he found himself grinning genuinely for the first time since going on-shift the night before. "Cop… sworn to protect and serve. Just a drink, nothing more. Hell, my nickname when I was with the Newark PD was Squeaky… as in squeaky-clean, so I should be safe enough."

A quiet laugh, also genuine, was his reward. "Maybe, but something tells me safe isn't the best word to describe you, Captain."

The crime scene from earlier in the day shifted to the back of his mind for the moment. Chuckling, he felt his eyebrows waggle in a playful leer. A second laugh encouraged him to offer her his arm.

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A/N: I made a trip to Vegas about a year ago and this story came to me was I playing tourist. The recording of Luciano Pavarotti singing Rondine Al Nido was playing when I stopped to watch the Fountains dance for the first time. It was late afternoon and the sun was bouncing off of the buildings and dancing on the water. Obviously, it was an amazing sight, so I decided to gift it to Jim and Julie. The bittersweet quality of the aria seemed to fit their first meeting… it seems to suit Jim.

Anyway, one of the ducks in the pond transformed into a plot bunny and attached itself to my leg. I had to pay extra when I checked my bags at the airport because the damned thing refused to let go. I decided I had better start writing if I wanted to avoid some nasty scars, maybe walking with a limp permanently! I have twelve chapters (not all contiguous sadly up to and including the Epilogue) that have been sitting on my hard-drive since last summer. Yes, I have a little problem… I get an idea and have to start a fic while the muse is whispering. Sigh, I have a total of nine open WIP's in my Brass folder alone! I was trying not to have too many open WIP's out there, but…

So, why am I posting this now? RL is playing hell with my life… a very painful back injury, nasty sinus infection, and severe allergic reaction to an antibiotic that both the doctor and pharmacy knew I was going to be allergic to but neither caught it in time to keep…. Crapfest barely scratches the surface of this month!!! Until I get some of the meds all of this has necessitated out of my system and get caught back up at work, I lack the mental focus to make any progress on final edits of the next chapter of By Design, so I'm starting the posting of this one since it only needed a few little tweaks (and the Rita references… had to add those!).

Hope you like how this one starts. Feedback work be great… and/or a few friendly notes would be real moral boost at this point! I'm using my best 'puppy dog' eyes as I write this… though I'm not sure how focused they are! LOL

Finally, in case you're interested, the lyrics to the referenced aria follow with the English translation in parenthesizes. There are some pretty good videos of the Fountains playing this song on YouTube if you want the visual. I saw it play quite a few other songs while I was there, but this one was the most moving and special… at least to me.

"Rondine al nido" by Vencenzo De Crescenzo

Sotto la gronda della torre antica una rondine amica,
(Under the eaves of an ancient tower a friendly swallow)

Allo sbocciar del mandorlo é tornata. Ritorna tutti gli anni,
(is back, for the blooming of the almond tree. It comes back every year)

Sempre alla stessa data; Monti e mare essa varca per tornar.
(always on the same date; Mountains and seas it crosses to come back.)

Solo amore quando fugge e va lontano
(Only love when it flees and goes far)

Speri invano e non torna piú. Nella penombra dolce della sera passa la primavera.
(You fruitlessly hope, but it will never come back. In the sweet evening dim light spring passes.)
Cinguettano le rondini nel volo, Ebbre di luce e d'aria.

(Flying swallows in the dim light, inebriated with light and air.)

Ed io son triste e solo; Monti e mare tu non varchi per tornar.
(And I am sad and alone; mountains and seas you don't cross to come back.)

Mia piccina, fosti tutta la mia vita; Sei fuggita e non torni piú.
(My little girl, you were all my life. You went and never came back.)

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6-23-2009