A/N: This little short story comes from 1) trying to come up with an O drabble for my Alphabet Soup series 2) listening to the song Ghetto Superstar (Mya feat. ODB) at 2:30 in the morning (don't ask) and 3) being inspired by Becky's (BeckyCSI) drabble, Gun Shot Residue (I recommend you read and review, if you haven't b/c it's funny). Moving on, this isn't beta-ed so please forgive any mistakes. Oh, I gave a shout-out to one of my other favorite TV shows: Bones.
Disclaimer: My calls to Mr. Moonves have not been returned as of this moment so basically that means I still do not own CSI. I also claim no ownership of Bones.
In the break room, Gil and I were puzzling over a piece of paper that had been left lying on the table. A seemingly nonsensical equation was written on it.
"OTP?" I questioned aloud. My eyes searched Gil's face to see if he had any inkling of an idea of what the acronym stood for.
Casually, he shrugged. "I'm just as clueless as you are," he replied, his brow furrowed in deep thought.
I was repeating, "OTP," out loud in hopes that I would have some kind of grand epiphany when Greg walked in a few minutes later.
"ODB, Sara?" he asked. "The rap artist? Old Dirty Bast—"
"No, not ODB," I interrupted him. "OTP. Grissom and I were trying to figure out what the letters meant."
"Oh, that's easy. It means 'one true pairing,'" Greg stated.
"One true pairing?" I half asked, half squeaked my response. "How do you know this for sure?" I questioned.
He flushed ever so slightly. "Um, this friend of a friend likes to read these stories on some Internet site –it's quite popular –and, well, the person was telling me that Bones –erm, I mean Brennan –and Booth…"
"And who are these people?" Gil interjected.
"They're two characters on this wicked awesome forensic show called Bones or, ahem, so my friend of a friend says… Anyway, they always say that Brennan and Booth are OTP, meaning the one true pairing," he explained.
"Oh," I said, slightly stunned by Greg's revelation.
"Thanks, Greg," Gil added as an after-thought a second later.
He grinned widely. "You're welcome, Boss. Anytime, anytime." He began making his way back to the entrance of the break room when he stopped suddenly and turned back around. "Hey, why did you two need to know that anyway?"
"Oh, um…" I stumbled for a moment for a suitable and semi-reasonable excuse. "It's for a case…yeah, a case and, um, some evidence…" I trailed off, deciding it would probably be better to leave things kind of vague.
Greg gave me a brief, strange look but then apparently decided to accept my answer. "Okay. Cool. Glad I could help." As he left, he muttered something under his breath that I swear sounded a lot like, "I'm not the only one who reads FF? Awesome!"
With Greg gone, Gil and I stared at one another before re-reading the note and then looking back at each other again with a mixture of uncertainty and apprehension in our eyes.
"How did they find out?" I whispered, afraid that the room suddenly had ears and eyes that I previously hadn't been aware of. And who are they? Oh, God… I hope that they haven't been privy to what goes on in his office…behind closed doors and closed blinds…
"Sara, maybe we should wait to talk about this later," he said with a slight emphasis on the last word.
I caught the hint that he meant at our home we now shared together. "Okay, sure." I followed him out of the break room of the Crime Lab as he tossed the piece of paper into the garbage can. Mentally, I made a to-do list. Google to find out what website Greg's talking about and figure out what the hell FF stands for…!
xxx
A few minutes later…
Brass walked into the break room to grab a quick cup of coffee and to take a five-minute breather. When he finished drinking his caffeineated beverage, he stood back up and walked over to the trashcan. Before he tossed in the empty cup, he noticed a sheet of paper lying on top. It read simply: Grissom plus Sara equals OTP. He smiled. One true pairing, huh? Well, that's obvious…
A/N2: What did you think? Like/dislike? Comments/feedback are MUCH appreciated. Thanks!