Begins just before A Bullet Runs Through It. My OC meets our fav detective and well, things just go from there. I hope I manage to stay true to Brass. Feel free to kick me if I stray too far. Of course, CSI doesn't belong to me. If it did, Brass would be the Sheriff and Grissom would've never left.

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It was evening, after hours for my little shop in Las Vegas and I had stopped by the market for a few items while on my way home to change for a dinner meeting with my accountant. I had everything I needed except for some produce and rounded the end of the aisle to head that way when another shopping cart banged into mine. A scowling man with an almost round face and a fireplug body with broad shoulders drove the offending cart. He had middle-aged spread going on minus the paunch that afflicts so many men his age. He looked so damned squeezable in his jeans and tight fitting polo. At second glance, he looked solidly built and again, those broad shoulders, built to be cried upon. His short sleeves revealed serious biceps that hinted at power that seemed out of place at his age. A five o'clock shadow was evident, especially over his upper lip and his hairline had receded, giving him a high forehead, lined with wrinkles. And although he was scowling, there was a hint of mischief in his deep blue eyes. Only about an inch taller than me, he was short in my book. Most of the men in my life have been six feet or over, emphasis on the over. But there was something in this "little" man that attracted me instantly.

"Excuse me," he growled, mischief still lighting his eyes.

"Pardon me," I blurted out at the same time.

He shrugged. "Truce?"

"Done," I smiled.

I wanted to linger, meet this man, but my appointment didn't allow time, so glancing at the produce I smiled again and headed that way. I felt his gaze as I crossed to the department and fought the temptation to look back. After making my selections, I checked out and headed to my car wondering if I would ever see "my little man" again. I hoped so.

About a week later, I did see him. The bookstore down the street was robbed and as I stood in my shop doorway watching the excitement, I spotted him. He was nicely dressed and a badge dangled from his jacket pocket. I watched as he talked to the shop owner and then a few witnesses. He seemed efficient, serious about his job, with no hint of mischief until another man about his age showed up. I couldn't hear what was said, but there was some teasing going on; I could tell by the nuances of the two men's body language. The other man went into the bookstore but "my little man" remained outside. His back was to me now and I watched as he shifted his weight, flinched his hand and then slowly turned in my direction. That he had felt my gaze, I was sure. His eyes found me and an impish grin broke out on that craggy, weary face of his and for a moment, I felt connected to my little man. Then a uniformed officer spoke to him drawing his attention away and that was the last I saw of him for several weeks.

There was a gun battle across town and as I watched the news, I thought I caught a glimpse of him in the background of some of the video. If it was he, I was glad to see him standing up and apparently healthy. An officer had been shot and I knew it was a bad time for the Police Department, especially those involved in the incident. The news went on and on about it for several days as they sorted out the events until finally, it wound down and another story took its place.

A few days later, I was back at the market when I saw him. His dress was very casual and he was wearing a heavy five o'clock shadow. His body slumped in weariness and he wore sadness like a second skin. It hurt to see him looking like that.

I saw him turn down the coffee aisle so I headed down the next aisle and turned, just in time to crash into his cart. He hadn't seen it coming and his head shot up, anger etched into his face, until he saw it was me. And then, like a leaky tire, he let out all his air and settled into a deflated slump again. He tried to muster a smile but the sadness that enveloped him prevented anything more than a hint at the effort. I smiled at him, tilting my head in curiosity, suddenly very concerned about my little man.

He saw the concern; it registered in his eyes and again he attempted a smile. Our eyes locked at that point and I didn't want to look away, afraid that if I released his gaze, something would be lost forever. "Maybe we should stop meeting like this," I suggested.

A slight wince crossed his features but his eyes didn't leave mine. He was looking for hidden meaning in my short statement. He started to say something but held back, settling into a waiting posture. "There's a coffee shop around the corner…" I suggested.

He glanced in the direction of the store window as if going outside would be painful. "I um…" he nodded negatively. "I'd better not…" He looked miserable.

I decided to change my tactic. Extending my hand, I introduced myself. "I'm Anna Bolen," I offered.

His head tilted and I saw his fingers twitching as he debated whether to introduce himself or not. He took my hand and said very quietly, "Jim Brass…" His eyes darted around, as if he feared someone overhearing him.

"So…you don't like coffee?" I asked.

"Yeah, I do," he said, a little energy returning to his demeanor. "I um…well, I'm just trying to stay out of public places right now."

I could feel the frown forming on my face and tried to fight it off, but he was very confusing. Why wouldn't he want to be in public? I wondered. "Well, how about my place then? It's just a couple of blocks away."

His eyes narrowed and he looked surprised. "You don't watch the news much, do you? I'm asking because if you did, you wouldn't be asking me to your place."

"I…yeah, I watch it….some. Why?"

"You know that shoot out a few days ago? The one where the cop was killed?"

I nodded that I was aware of it. "It was all over the news for days."

"You heard he was killed by friendly fire?"

"Yeah, that must be terrible, I mean…it's terrible in any case, but that a fellow officer is responsible…"

"Yeah, it is. I'm the guy; the bastard that shot him."

I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. It hurt to hear the anger, the misery in his voice. As I watched him, I could see he was preparing himself for whatever bad thing that would happen next, total rejection or an angry diatribe. The phrase about kicking a dog when it is down came into my mind. This man had been kicked and hard and it showed. He was as wounded as any of those that might have been physically wounded in the shootout. Maybe more so because his wounds were deep and would never heal. At least those who had died in the gunfight were at peace now. This man would never know peace again. I was looking into the eyes of a man who desperately needed a friend, needed understanding, and as I looked at those broad shoulders, I realized he was in need of a shoulder to cry on. So I offered mine. "The offer for coffee stands," I said confidently.

He was genuinely surprised and a little guarded. He wasn't sure of my motives. "I um, wanted to ask you for coffee when we first time ran into each other but I had an appointment. I've been hoping to run into you again ever since…so here we are. I've waited for weeks to meet you, I'm not backing down now," I told him.

Relief washed over him and I could see him beginning to relax. "You sure? I mean, you don't even know me. You usually take strangers home with you?"

"No, but you're not a total stranger. I saw you at the bookstore and I know you are a cop. If I can't trust a cop, who can I trust?" I realized immediately that I'd said the wrong thing. His face fell. "Besides," I tried to recover, "you have a gentle face."

He snorted. "Yeah, right. Nobody's ever accused me of that before…"

I smiled. "But you do…at least, that's what I see." He smiled, finally. It was a little smile but it was a start. Then I jotted down my address and phone number. Handing it to him, I added, "Give me about a fifteen minute head start and I'll have some hot coffee by the time you get there."

"How about a half hour?" he asked. "I need to run these groceries by my house."

"Okay, thirty minutes then, but not a minute more." I could see he was looking forward to the cup of coffee. "Right," he said. "I'll be there."

We parted company and I headed for the checkout. Within minutes, I was in my car and headed home. He'd exited the market just as I started my car and I waved at him. He nodded and grinned as he walked towards his car. Finally, I had a name for my little man, Jim Brass.

By the time his car pulled into my drive, I had coffee made and sweet rolls warming in the oven. "Wow, it smells delicious in here," he stated as he stepped into my house.

"Thanks. I put some rolls in the oven; they should be ready any minute. You ready for that coffee?"

"Rolls? Wow, that's nice…yeah, coffee sounds great about now," he said as he followed me into the kitchen.

I pulled the rolls out and poured our coffee, indicating that he take a seat at the table. Once the food and beverage was taken care of, we began to chat. "So, all I know about you besides your name is that you have a shop near a recent crime scene," he began. "You from here originally?"

"No, I would have thought my accent would have given me away," I chuckled. "I'm a Southern girl; lived all over the South and still have a place in the mountains of Virginia. But I moved here about five years ago."

"Wow…a place in the mountains?"

"Yeah, on the western slopes of the Blue Ridge. It's beautiful. I thought about selling it when I moved here, but I just didn't have the heart to do it. I go back once or twice a year and spend some time there. It…restores me."

"Man, I could use a place like that…a place to get restored," he said wistfully.

"You have an accent too…New York? Or is it New Jersey, I'm hearing?"

"New Jersey…Newark. But I moved out here years ago…almost twenty, I guess." He grimaced. "Boy, I didn't realize it'd been that long."

"So what brought you out here?"

"I needed a fresh start. Things had gotten pretty bad back there. My marriage had failed and I'd uncovered some rotten apples in the department there. I was drowning and I need to get out."

"Why Vegas?" I was curious.

"I dunno, it seemed like a good place to start over. Far away from all of that and they needed cops. Seemed like a good career move."

"Hmmm," I nodded thoughtfully.

"What about you? Why did you move here?"

"Business. Mine wasn't doing so well back in Virginia. Vegas seemed like a going and growing place, so I decided to move it here. So far it has proven to be a good move."

He nodded, mentally searching for the next topic, I could tell. "So…any family?"

"A son; he's in the Army…in Iraq right now."

"Oh, wow…I'm sorry. That's got to be worrying you."

"It does, but it is what it is. Things aren't as bad as they were for his first tour, so that makes it a little easier. He's due home in a few months and I'll be glad when I know he's back stateside."

We stared at nothing, the conversation sobered by thoughts of my son in harm's way until I asked him, "What about you? You have any family?"

He grimaced. I'd hit a sore spot again. "A daughter but we aren't close. I've tried but…"

More silence. Then I reflected. "Kids…it seems that no matter how old they get or how far away they are, as parents we always worry about them."

"Yeah," he agreed with a heavy sigh. "I wasn't around much when Ellie, that's my daughter, was growing up. And after I moved here, I didn't see her but a few times a year. It made things …difficult between us."

"They never understand, do they?"

"No. But I can see where she took it wrong, maybe thought I didn't love her. I think she still believes that."

"You do though; your voice when you speak her name gives you away."

"Yeah, I do Maybe one day…" he shrugged.

"You know, my parents split when I was a kid. I knew the reasons why and knew that it had nothing to do with me but still, I never could get over the feeling that it was somehow my fault. Maybe if I'd behaved better….or maybe there was something I should have done that I didn't…"

"Yeah," he shifted in his seat, "I had a family counselor tell me that once…that kids feel that way. I've tried to reassure Ellie, but it doesn't seem to matter." His eyes met mine. "So you were from a broken home?"

"Yeah. They split when I was ten. It was messy; my Mom finally had to call the cops. I didn't see my Dad for months until things began to settle down between them. But even then, it was always tense when he'd come to pick me up. And if he were even a little late bringing me back, she'd call the cops. I felt like the whole world knew about our troubles. It did teach me not to be too judgmental about others though. You know, the old 'people who live in glass houses thing…"

He smirked. Yeah…but we all do, you know."

I nodded. "So your parents must have made it…together I mean."

"Yeah," he brightened. "Mom and Dad were a perfect fit. They had that whole Ward and June Cleaver thing going and she seemed happy with her role. Dad worked hard all of his life to provide all the necessities and also helped us with college. And Mom made sure that his slippers were waiting when he got home every evening, that the paper was ready for him, and that dinner was on the table promptly at 6:30. I can count on one hand the times I heard them argue and even then, neither raised their voice in anger. It was what I thought marriage should be….what I wanted it to be. Instead, I landed in a hornet's nest."

"My husband and I fought like crazy. I thought that's what married people did. And I lived in fear that one day, he'd get fed up and leave like my father did. It took years for him to convince me that he was in it for the long haul. When I finally believed it, the arguing just sort of faded away and we had some really good years."

"So…what happened?"

"He worked for a defense contractor. He was in The Pentagon on 9/11." Tears formed in my eyes as I remembered.

"Oh hey….wow….I'm sorry."

"Thanks, but I'm okay. It took awhile, but I'm okay now." He looked uncomfortable, like he was unsure of what to do.

"Really," I said as I reached over and patted his hand. "It's okay."

He looked stunned. Then he looked down at my hand over his and suddenly his other hand was on top of mine, gently squeezing it. I turned my hand, clasping his as our eyes met. And suddenly, desire for something more than friendship overwhelmed me. I wanted this man and I needed him to want me. I think he felt it too because his eyes widened and panic seemed to fill them. And then he began to relax again, the beaten look was gone. "I um… have some things I need to get through…you know, about the shooting…the review board and all," he said. "But after that's all done, I'd like…I mean, if you don't mind, I'd like to call you and…you know, take you to dinner?"

"When's the review board?"

"Next week."

"Why wait so long? I mean, we could go to dinner before, couldn't we?" I knew I sounded overly eager but I didn't care. Like I said, I wanted this man.

"I'm not going to be very good company until it's over. And I want…well, I don't want to have that hanging between us. I'd like to begin clean…"

"Yeah, okay. I think I understand."

We talked awhile longer about nothing important. And then he said it was time for him to go. I didn't want him to leave and honestly, if he hadn't seemed so determined to wait until dinner the next week, I'd have made a play right there. But something told me the timing would be all wrong and I'd lose him, so I held back. Instead, I settled for a very chaste peck on the cheek and waved good-bye as he backed out of my driveway. And then I went inside to wait. It was the longest week of my life.

BRASSISHOTBRASSISHOTBRASSISHOTBRASSISHOT

Hope all you Brass lovers out there like the beginning. Let me know what you think and I'll keep writing.