The Misadventures of Squeaky and Other Ridiculous Tales

By LMR

Disclaimer: If I had artistic control of Criminal Intent, believe me you'd notice. The IQ level would drop significantly, and the perps would suddenly be named things Professor Plum and Mr. Green.

Summary: "Once we got to the veterinary clinic, I realized he hadn't been exaggerating about the wedge of cheese." A writing exercise in absurdity. Rated K. BA friendship only, but with no stupid extra boyfriends or girlfriends around (yes, KateBA, I hate that, too!).

A.N.: I did not subject my poor, overtaxed Beta to this travesty. Blame only me.

xXx

Once we got to the veterinary clinic, I realized he hadn't been exaggerating about the wedge of cheese. Nathan's mouse was not a happy camper, and I counted myself lucky that my partner knew something about the dietary and gastrointestinal health of vermin.

"It's a mouse, Bobby," I had insisted. "I thought it was supposed to eat cheese." To his credit, his look managed to be neither condescending nor exasperated as he shook his head and started going on about proper, balanced rodent nutrition and the history of animal dietary inaccuracies in the venue of cartoons. He'd been kind on the way to the vet, reassuring me that Squeaky was going to be just fine and could I please slow down a little thank you.

The nurse at the desk, on the other hand, was less charitable. She had given me a scowl that clearly said I was the most evil being that had ever crawled out from under a rock and should never be left alone with any living thing more complex than a ficus.

But the part that really I'd been dreading came after we sat down in the sterile waiting room in our uncomfortable chairs that felt, even to my admittedly slight frame, like they had been designed for preschoolers. "Is Nathan on vacation?" my partner wondered. My dear, naive, meddling partner who really did not need to hear this story.

"No," I said simply, hoping against hope he wouldn't-

"Oh. So why are you taking care of his mouse?"

"Well, it's a little tough to explain. I mean, it's kind of a complicated story," I said, as pointedly as I could manage without being downright rude.

"I'm not doing anything," he offered, obviously thinking he was being friendly.

Great. So he can find all the clues in the world, but he can't take a hint. "Well, the short version is that they have to take care of a cat for the rest of the week."

He jostled his leg. I could tell it was the bored kind of movement and not the impatient or nervous kind by the way he lifted his leg from the toe and didn't swing his heel back and forth. He was feeling... inquisitive. Just what I needed. A curious Detective Goren. Predictably, the next question up was "Why?"

"Our friend's in the hospital, nothing serious." I said the answer as quickly as possible, hoping he would just give it up. Please, Bobby, your innocent ears don't need to hear this! I thought desperately.

"What happened?" he asked. He didn't sound the slightest bit intrusive. Quite the contrary, he seemed concerned. Selfless bastard.

"She slipped." I wondered then why this whole mess couldn't have happened in December when I could have just blamed it on the ice. He was giving me a questioning look, and I knew I was expected to continue. "Bad shoes," was all I was going to volunteer.

"Out dancing?" By then I was wondering how that adorable, if talented little button nose managed to get so far into places it didn't belong. But I couldn't quite contain a tiny snort of laughter at the irony of his question.

"Uh, yeah, actually. Dancing."

"Well, did you at least have fun?" My partner, ladies and gentlemen, always looking for the silver freakin' lining.

"Not really," I responded flatly, not completely sure why I continued to tell him the truth.

"Oh. You didn't meet any nice guys? No prospective Mr. Eameses?" He smiled in what he thought was an encouraging, supportive buddy after your bad date, helps you finish off the pint of rocky road and grouches with you about men kind of way.

"Girls' night in." I knew immediately I shouldn't have said that.

"Girls. In. But dancing?" He shifted. If the waiting room and chairs were uncomfortable for me, I didn't imagine Mr. Jitters would like them too much. No wonder he wanted to keep himself distracted.

"Do you have parrotitis or something?" I wondered, and immediately regretted my waspish tone.

"'Itis' is swelling," he corrected. I rolled my eyes, amused in spite of my exasperation. "I wouldn't think a girls' night in would include uncomfortable shoes."

Damn deductive reasoning. "Stilettos, in this case." Aw, Jeeze, Alex! Shut up!

"Still- Why would- Huh?" he managed.

I finally snapped. "We were playing truth or dare. Her dare was to pole dance in stilettos, she broke her collarbone, Danielle took her cat while she's out and I got stuck with Squeaky!" I said all at once and none too quietly. The ficus woman stared.

"Uh-huh," he articulated slowly. But apparently he decided not to comment. "So, um." He fidgeted. "What was your dare?"

"If you really believe that I am going to tell you that, Robert Goren, then you're not smart enough to be in Major Case," I said, as flatly as I could manage. He put up his arms in a gesture of okay, forget I asked, and the topic was mercifully dropped. I wasn't about to tell him that I'd run around the roof of Danielle's building butt naked singing "The Star Spangled Banner" at the top of my lungs. I could think of only one thing more embarrassing than telling him about my dare.

So it's a good thing he didn't ask what my truth had been.

xXx

I'll leave that one up to you. But you know what I'm thinking. ;) Please review!