Title: Scribbling Pad
Author: gyuumajo
Rating: K
Disclaimer: Don't own anything.
Summary: The boys in blue never seem to run out of notepads for them to scribble on, or do they?
Type: General
Author's Notes: A random idea from shopping at a local bookstore. They sold the cutest notepads there and I couldn't resist running away with the bunny that bit me. Forgive me for the OOC and other flaws that came from this un-beta-ed fic.
Fandom: CSI: NY
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It was late. Almost all the shops had closed, or at the very least, were beginning to draw their flimsy aluminum pull-down doors. And Detective Don Flack had chosen that particular instant to reach the last line on his all-important notepad. Cursing his luck, he excused himself from the two CSI who were already on their hands and knees processing the scene. Neither one of them gave him so much as a glance as he slipped under the yellow "Do Not Cross" tape in search of a new pad.
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Half an hour and two blocks later, Flack found himself with a frozen nose tip but still no notepad. Shaking the light flakes of snow out of his hair, he trudged on the slippery pavements and what do you know, a single ray of light pouring out from the only shop open. Breaking into a run, Flack skidded to a halt right in front of the store, a bookstore at that, only to find the "Closed" sign had been flipped to taunt him. He peered inside and saw a young girl bent over the cash register counting out the greens. Thanking his lucky stars, he tapped on the glass as loud as he could. The girl looked up, annoyance written all over her face as she pointed to the sign that hung before him. Flack gave his most charming smile before flashing his badge. He could almost hear the girl sigh as she made her way over to the glass door.
"What can I do you for Officer?" she asked tiredly, as if undemanding cops knocked on her storefront after closing time all the time.
"You wouldn't be selling any notepads would you?" At the raised eyebrow, he quickly added. "It's urgent."
"What is up with you guys today? Running out of notepads at this ungodly hour…" she muttered darkly, not bothering to cover the underlying resent. "I'm left with this. Take it or leave it."
She left him to ponder over her last statement and picked out the requested item. Staring right in his face was an A7-sized notepad, like the one he was using; only his wasn't pink and fuzzy. Of course, the first reaction he got was to burn the abomination, along with the one who held it out to him, but there were notes to be taken, suspects to be interviewed. He couldn't afford to lose his job as New York's finest because of something as trivial as arson or murder so he did what all men were expected to do when faced with such sticky situations—suck it up. Withdrawing a crisp ten-dollar note, he handed over his payment as the girl slapped the offending notepad onto his open palm.
"Sorry for the trouble and keep the change," he bade the girl farewell and returned to the crime scene as quickly as humanly possible, unaware of the evil grin plastered on the girl's face as she pocketed the ten.
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"Where'd you go?" Danny chided lightly, index finger pushing his glasses higher up his nose in an attempt to hide his irritation. "Stella's back at the lab. The neighbors said they heard something and I need you to talk to them with me."
Flack grimaced. Danny would never use that tone of voice unless they were working a really tough case. "Can you believe they told me to shove it and get a real cop to talk to them? You mean I don't look tough enough to be a cop? What's with civvies these days!" Then again, unreasonable neighbors could also result in the usage of said tone of voice.
"Don't let them get to you, Messer. You're the best in what you do," A pat on the back for good measures, Danny looked visibly less agitated as they journeyed down the hall to knock on the door to the right.
"I gotcha a real cop. Now tell me what happened," Danny demanded. Flack showed his credentials and withdrew his new notepad from his coat in preparation of some mandatory note-taking. A stifled laugh, badly disguised as a cough, emitted from besides him instead of the neighbor as he had first expected. Danny quickly looked away, intently studying the cracks on the ceiling in a bid to veer away from Flack's scrutinizing stare.
"I didn't know you're so cute, Detective," the neighbor commented jokingly. This time, Danny failed to hold his laughter in.
"Shut up…"
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The End.