Author's note: I own no one in the NCIS: New Orleans series. Rights/material belong to CBS. Important side note. In this 'universe', for lack of a better word. Only thing that sets it apart from the regular one is the biological swapping. Meaning, men are the ones bearing children in this scenario. Please read and review so I know if this is something worth continuing or not :)
Christopher LaSalle's life was basically an open book. From his older brother's history of mental instability, to his stint as an Alabama transplant with the NOPD. However, there was one thing he fought to keep under lock and key. Question was. How much longer until this secret was exposed.
Him and Percy had become closer over time. This was rough terrain at first. He was hesitant to jump into another relationship after Savannah's untimely death. Instead, choosing to immerse himself in meaningless sex and long nights away from home. Now, life was pulling the rug out from underneath him again. The former ATF agent, his 'off-the-book' girlfriend, had announced her rash and completely unforeseen resignation. The team was still trying to adjust since Brody became nothing more than a ghost, two years prior.
It seemed as though he couldn't catch a break. And yet, there he was. Holed up in the station's restroom. Praying like Hell that neither Gregorio or Pride came searching for him. Lost in his own mind, attempting, albeit vainly, to calm himself. Hearing nothing but his own tensive breathing. Bile stinging at his throat. But this time, he was able to thankfully, keep it down. A fairly unsteady hand rose. Clenching what Chris could only describe as "brass tacks in a plastic shell". In other words, a pregnancy test.
Two distinct pink lines. Bringing an unforgiving punch to the gut, in the mother of all reality checks. Rubbing at his face, simply trying to process everything. Steel blue eyes narrowed, glaring at the piece of plastic. As if the piss stick was somehow liable for his current state. He takes another deep breath, shifting his feet a bit. In a mental war of whether or not to toss it out with the rest of the rubbish. That's when he heard it and froze.
"Christopher, you alright?"
Came Dwayne Pride's mix of fatherly and concerned voice. Chris's eyes widen, he starts hastily wrapping the test in paper towel. Slipping it in the inside pocket of his leather jacket. Barely taking three seconds to wash his hands before calling out in response with that charismatic Southern drawl.
"All good, King"
He opens the door to see his boss. That deep, furrowed expression of dread etched upon his face. Chris flashes his classic crooked smile. Although, this did little to persuade his superior to thinking otherwise. Best course of action was to carry on as any other day. But he knew deep down. Pride wasn't the type to dismiss things so easily. It would resurface sooner or later.
The two men make their way towards the main doors of the squad room. Chris glances over to see that same fretful, battered look. The young man's brow shot up in an almost playfully conceited manner.
"Kiiiiiing..it's fine"
This earned a chuckle out of the senior agent. Much to Chris's surprise. They reach Pride's desk just in time to catch Tammy heading out. The New Yorker flashes a small pouty smile at the men as she passes.
"And where might you be headed, Ms. Gregorio?"
King queries. His expression now more settled, relaxed. She slips on a pair of sunglasses before setting foot outdoors.
"That would be to get caffeine directed intravenously. One cup ain't doin' it"
She quips. Without warning, Pride's phone chimes. He glances at it briefly before tucking it away. Eyes surveying both agents.
"Looks like you'll have to reschedule that transfusion. We've gotta body"
"Petty officer first class, Ryan Holt. Found by a civilian, dead in Bourbon Street.."
Pride briefs his team as they near the crime scene. Chris could feel the nausea rare its ugly head once more. Pulling down the brim of his hat to not only shield his eyes from the sun. But any unwanted attention from his colleagues.
He ducks under the crime scene tape. Coming eye to eye with the deceased. The color almost immediately drains from his face. As Gregorio was in the process of kneeling down to take photos of the area, she couldn't help but notice the poor man's alarming pale appearance.
"LaSalle, is somethin' wrong?"
No sooner had the words even left her lips. The Southern boy rushed as far from the perimeter of the scene as possible and vomited.