Disclaimer: I do not own Crossing Jordan.

For those of you who don't know, Brass in Pocket is a wonderful song by the amazing Chrissie Hynde and the rest of the awesome Pretenders. This isn't really a songfic, though (I think they're forbidden, anyway).

Though I'm sort of making fun of the names of certain Oriflame products in this fic, I want all the people from the company to know that I simply adore all those fantastic things they make (and the fact that they're natural and not tested on animals largely contribute to that). Also, I don't sell their products as you might think due to this public praise. I'm just an avid user. :)

Note: I promised to myself I won't be doing one-parters any more. I lied. I promised to myself I'll finish Flowers tonight. I lied. I promised to myself I won't listen to The Pretenders (and Feist) for at least a couple of days. I lied.

However, I'm not lying when I say I did have fun writing this. I do hope you'll enjoy it. :)

P.S. Just in case 'cause I sure as hell know some people who didn't know what that meant… Got bottle is (mainly) British slang. If you've got bottle, it means you've got courage, confidence.

"Nah, it's too early," she thought, shaking her head after having glanced at the kitchen clock for the umpteenth time. It was only three o'clock, which meant that she still had some four and a half hours to get ready. Since practice makes perfection, and she had had lots of practice over the years, if she started at six-thirty, she'd still have plenty of time. But what was she supposed to do in the meantime? She had tried everything: listening to music, reading a book, surfing the net, doing sudoku, even calling Max. Why the heck couldn't she simply sit down and kill the remaining time? Why the hell was she feeling like a seventh grader waiting on her first date? "This isn't even a date," she sneered at herself.

It was raining outside, so – on the very verge of despair – she started contemplating the idea of cleaning her apartment in all seriousness. To anyone who knew her, that would have been a clear indication of the state she was in. For, although she wasn't exactly living in a tip, chores were always delayed as much as possible. She'd even choose paperwork over housework any time. Well, almost any.

However, dusting and vacuuming had to wait for another occasion because, turning around the room, desperately seeking a source of entertainment, she caught a glimpse of a black case. "Oh yeah," she quickly crossed the room and pulled her guitar out. Miraculously, it didn't need much tuning even though she couldn't exactly remember the last time she touched it. At first, she was just strumming, almost absent-mindedly, some Irish folk song, some pretty straight-forward stuff: D, G and A chords repeating all the time. Nothing too challenging, sort of a warmer-up. Then her fingers passed from A to Asus2 and continued their journey along the strings, almost completely independent of her mind. Yes, they do say you play the guitar with your fingers, but first and foremost with your mind. Nevertheless, she knew not the melody of which song was becoming alive under her fingertips. It sounded familiar. It also was something that had been practiced time and again since, in no time, it flowed as smoothly as possible. Though, to be honest, that wasn't a difficult one, either. She hummed to herself, trying to recall the lyrics. Finally, her lips formed an 'o' and she let out a deep, hearty laugh before voicing the words. Got brass in pocket. Got bottle, I'm gonna use it. Intention… I feel inventive… She should have known. It was suitable in so many ways. Yep, she most definitely 'got bottle' and, oh boy, she was gonna use it tonight. Along with the 'brass in pocket,' which in this case was a little something which had cost her… Well, she didn't really want to think about that. It had left her without any actual brass and she still hadn't figured out a not extremely far-fetched way to survive the following month, 'nuff said. It was all Lily's fault. She should have known better than to bring her along.

yesterday…

She was sitting in the break room, drinking her black-as-night-and-hot-as-hell coffee and minding her own business, when Lily peeked her head in. The rest of her body followed shortly. She eased her frame into a chair opposite Jordan's and pulled out a bunch of colorful, maybe a bit too colorful for her co-worker's taste, catalogs from her purse. Throwing a sideway glance, Jordan concluded that she'd better remain silent. She didn't really need to be drawn into a conversation about make-up. Ok, a bit of girl talk wouldn't kill her, but if Lily was selling something… Well, whatever it was, she wasn't buying it. Too much unused make-up at home and too few little green bills in the bank.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something along the lines of: "I've got some unfinished business." Lily started talking.

"Which one?" the redhead almost exclaimed impatiently, pushing one of the catalogs towards Jordan and tapping her fingernail against it, drawing the ME's attention to two different nuances of lipstick.

"Sorry?" the brunette was bewildered. Giving advice on such matters wasn't really her expertise. Nor her cup of tea.

"Antique Silk or Sienna Satin?" Lily asked in such a tone as it was a matter of life or death.

"I-I don't know," Jordan answered, the seriousness in her friend's voice scaring her a bit.

"Antique Silk," concluded Lily. "Yes. Definitely."

Then she stepped back a bit, her eyes narrowing. She studied Jordan's face for a few seconds. Meanwhile, the object of her observation was getting alarmed. What the hell was Lily doing?

"And for you, Jordan," she pointed her finger to the person in question, "Red Velvet."

"I-I don't…," she wasn't buying anything. Period.

"Oh, c'mon, it's perfect," interrupted Lily, putting the catalog just under Jordan's nose. "And it's not even expensive. A friend of mine sells this stuff. If we order it today, we'll get it tomorrow afternoon at latest," she looked at Jordan, finally closing her mouth, but only for a moment. "Just in time for the big night," she teased.

Something inside Jordan was starting to boil. What was it with this place? Everybody was too eager to stick his or her nose right into your business. First Nigel, now Lily, even Bug had made a comment which made Garret laugh (and not half-heartedly). And it wasn't even a date, for crying out loud! Years and years of putting up with Max's questions and comments of the same sort had taught her that coolness was the best option.

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she retorted.

She underestimated Lily, as it seemed.

"Oh, I think you do," she practically squealed. "Just give it a look, will you? I'm telling you, it's p-e-r-f-e-c-t for you."

'To tell the truth, it is,' Jordan thought. 'After all, I currently have only a couple of glosses in stock. I've got nothing so… hot. Maybe I should give it a look.'

"Oh, ok," she said out loud. "Let me see," she took the catalog from Lily.

Quickly, both women were absorbed into a conversation about all kinds of cosmetic products. Flipping the glossy pages, Jordan even started advising Lily, who – of course – returned the favor. They laughed a lot, too. I mean, some of those names were just… inconceivable. Fever, Jekyll and Hyde, Oh Baby, Brad, Freaking Amazing,…

"Oh my God!" Lily almost choked on her tea. "Does this say: 'Nibble My Ear'?" she pointed at a lip liner.

Jordan cast a look.

"It most certainly d-" was all she was able to utter before laughing her head off again.

Some time afterwards, both of them were wiping their cheeks, an occasional wave of laughter shaking their bodies. There was a knock on the doorframe.

"Jordan, I have to talk to you about the au-" was everything Woody managed to utter before the strangeness of the situation hit him. What the hell was going on?

Before he could ask that question on the outside, Jordan spoke.

"Don't talk, just kiss."

At the words, both she and Lily burst into laughter once again. Naturally, she had been alluding to the name of another lip liner. However, there was nobody who would explain that to the poor, puzzled and pretty shocked detective.

Later that day, Jordan and Lily left the morgue together. Previously, Jordan had confided a secret to Lily: she actually didn't have a dress appropriate for the occasion. That, i.e. telling Lily, turned out to be a disastrous decision. For Jordan's finances, at least. She silently prayed that the shop assistant wouldn't take a pair of scissors and cut her poor credit card in half. The damn, beautiful, long, burgundy thing cost almost as much as her monthly rent.

present…

I'm gonna make you, make you, make you notice… Wasn't that just a bit too much to make him notice? I mean, a cheaper dress would do, wouldn't it?

"To hell with it!" she finally decided, glancing at the closet. "I'm special, so special…" she continued, singing. "I deserve an expensive dress. I have to live a little."

She put the guitar away and arched her back. It hurt a little. The clock read: four and three minutes. Still too early.

"A long, hot bath," she said to herself. "Yep, that would do."

She went to the bathroom and turned the tap on. Waiting for water to fill the tub, she mused over the events that had led her to this point.

five days ago…

Ok, she would have volunteered to go to that pick up with Bug even if that thing had been that night. Another case of cold feet. But why? That should have been a police ball, not a date. He had invited her as a friend. Nothing more. Yet, she would have volunteered to go with Bug.

She knew he wanted more than friendship. She knew that he knew she didn't. At least she thought he knew. And at least she was telling herself she didn't. Sometimes she hated herself for toying with his feelings. Sometimes, she would do it on purpose. (Oh, c'mon, don't preach! Like you haven't done anything similar. Never? Come on! You know those days – it looks like the whole world is against you, that everybody hates you. But then you remember that there's that person who loves you. Or at least is in love with you. And although you don't want to go to the next level, you cast a look here, flash a smile there. And here he is. Openly showing how much he adores you. And you feel better. Hey, somebody loves you, after all! And then the next day you feel like crap because you used somebody who cares for you… But that's another story.) Yes, she would. But it had never really occurred to her that he could get tired of that. She had taken him for granted and that happened. Two nights before, she left the morgue alone, having been informed that he had gone to drinks with Devan.

"Dammit!" she tapped her pencil against her report. And why the hell was she so upset about it? It wasn't that she really cared, was it? It was just… the cheerleader took something that she had considered her rightful property. "Not something," a little inner voice moaned. "Someone." And it wasn't fair. Devan just waltzed into the morgue and took him away from her. All right… Maybe she was to blame, too. A little… A lot. But it still wasn't fair. Devan didn't know him like she did. She didn't l… like him like she did.

She sighed. It was kinda humiliating, but she had to do it. She couldn't stand the mere thought of seeing him with that little blonde… cheerleader. She punched in the number.

"Hey, Woody. It's Jordan. You know that ball thing? I was thinking something…"

present…

Lying amidst innumerous bubbles of a patchouli-smelling bath, she grinned like a Cheshire cat. 'Cause I'm gonna make you see there's nobody else here, no one like me… Of course that Devan girl was nothing in comparison to her. And he knew that. And if he didn't, he'd realize tonight. Got brass in pocket…Hmmmm, was that just her mind or there was some dirtiness implied? Yeah, sure, dangling brass could be useful for getting people's attention. But… for a couple of coins you could get those thingies that make teenage boys blush when paying the bill at a drugstore.

How far had they gotten? A good-night kiss or two? Or further? Nah… Probably not even the kiss. Well, if he tried to kiss her tonight, she'd let him. To hell with it, if he didn't, she'd kiss him herself. Should she? Was he going to read something more into it? Was she just reading something more into this evening?

"Oh, Jordan, just relax, you'll figure it along the way," she finally reached a conclusion. If that could be called a conclusion, that is.

After half an hour more, she finally got out of the bath. Five thirty-five. She still had plenty of time.

"Oh, what the hell," she sighed resignedly. "I may as well start getting ready now."

And start she did. She stalled with the make-up. What she hated most was waiting. Not that it happened often. Actually, she was usually late.

Having finished that work of art on her face, she smiled at her reflection. Wow, that was something!

Six thirty-three. And, now, before she started dealing with that classy French twist, she was going to put that burgundy beauty on. Perfect! She spun around a couple of times, allowing herself to see her reflection from every angle. Just perfect! Got rhythm, can't miss a beat. Got new skank, it's so reet… She practically danced into the bathroom to get some pins, daydreaming about floating across the floor in his arms. Just like it used to be. She was able to relive the feeling oh so well. So well that it made her sigh with longing. Just a couple of hours more…

Seven seventeen. Damn the bloody French twist! Who'd say it would be so difficult to make? The damn pins just didn't want to stay in place. She threw her hands in the air, desperate. Apparently, all-natural hairstyle was a no-no on such events. Not that she cared too much. But, a bare neck could be…Yeah, definitely. Especially with those new dangling earrings… Yep, she would most certainly give that annoying hairdo another shot.

Seven twenty-six. Still not a perfect French twist. But cute. Way more than cute. For a person who was always very self-critical (well, at least in regards to this kind of stuff), she was more than satisfied. She grinned at the mirror.

A knock on the door. Only three minutes early. Before she went to open it, she put a thin layer of a fruit-tasting lip gloss over her rouge (which wasn't the Red Velvet, by the way, although she had indeed purchased it). And, of course, there was a final touch – a couple of, okay, a bit more than a couple of drops of a perfume. She had ruled the sweet smelling and girlish ones out. Tonight was the night for her royal highness, the queen of sexy scents – jasmine.

Seven twenty-eight. She finally opened the door. Her ear-to-ear grin matched his. She certainly got more than some of his attention. And the other way round, definitely. Wow! And again: wow! Intention. I feel inventive… Couldn't they just stay here? She felt inventive indeed. And she intended to make at least some of those little ideas come true before the night was through. How? Piece of cake. Gonna use my arms, gonna use my legs, gonna use my style, gonna use my sidestep, gonna use my fingers, gonna use my imagination…