What Did You Do, Brass?
a/n I asked Santa, but he said I was rotten, so these guys still aren't mine. (Maybe next year if I'm reeeeaaaalllly good?)
"Hey, fruit cups, get back to work!"
Greg cocked an eyebrow and looked at Nick, who mirrored the look back at him from behind the clipboard on which he had been doggedly logging evidence. Greg had stopped to pick up all the logged samples from the scene Nick and Brass were working so his team at the lab could get a head start on processing. Greg mouthed to Nick "Fruit cups?" with a half a grin. Nick turned to Brass, who was striding toward them.
Nick continued to log evidence, but replied to Brass, "Fruit cups, Jim?"
Brass came to an abrupt halt before the two, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded the two coldly. "Just because you two are all happy and together doesn't mean I need to put up with you two wasting time making moon eyes at each other while I've got uniforms that have been standing here for going on ten hours and the bastard who did this is getting away."
Nick pulled his pen away from the clipboard for a moment, long enough to give Greg a puzzled (Stokes #2) look. Greg pulled off his gloves and reached into the front seat of his Magnum. (He'd nicknamed the car Trojan.) He pulled out two large go cups of steaming liquid. He set one down in the back of Nick's SUV, and, sighing, approached Brass with the other, waving it under his nose. Against his will, Brass inhaled appreciatively.
"Brass, I know you are tired and hungry and you mean well. I'm here to get the samples. We won't let the guy get away. But I know you'll be in a better mood after some coffee. C'mon," he wheedled, "It's the good stuff, you know you want some…"
Brass snatched the cup from Greg's hand with narrowed eyes and took a sip. "It's acceptable."
Greg snorted and reached into Trojan again. (The jokes around the lab about that were numerous and tasteless, which of course Greg entirely approved of.) He came out with two brown paper bags.
"Since I'd heard that you were a little grouchy, I thought you might do with some food. So I stopped at that Kosher deli you mentioned once, the one you said reminded you of Jersey? The one with the amazing pastrami? Anyway, I thought it might help the case if the investigators weren't hungry, and I brought you and Nick sandwiches. Pastrami on Jewish rye with Kosher mustard…and one of those giant pickles…but of course…" Greg pulled the bag back out of reach, "If you're not interested, I completely understand," he said simpering mockingly.
Brass sighed and rolled his eyes. He held out his hand grudgingly to accept the deli bag. Greg merely smirked at him as he handed over the bag, then set Nick's turkey on whole wheat in the front of his vehicle, signed the log on the last of the samples he had taken, pecked Nick on the cheek and took off. Nick merely smiled and shook his head, not looking up from his work. Brass had already torn into the pastrami sandwich and let a long, blissful sigh out of his nose as he chewed, groaning quietly and half closing his eyes. He leaned on the back of Nick's vehicle and grudgingly admitted around a mouth full of sandwich, "That Greg, I guess he's a keeper."
Nick , chuckled, still not looking up from his work as he said, "That he is, Jim. That he is. You think that sandwich is something, you should try his Stroganoff."
Brass stilled for a moment and cast wary eyes at Nick. "That better not be an innuendo, Stokes."
Nick looked up from his work at that, laughing. "No, Brass, it wasn't. But thanks so much for that image." He shuddered dramatically. He reached one latex clad, pen holding hand out and clapped Brass on the shoulder. "We just need to find you a nice guy of your own." He smiled broadly as Brass gave him a dirty look.
"Please, I'd like to keep this sandwich down." He took another mouthful of sandwich and chased it with a swig of coffee. He scuffed a worn shoe on the pavement. "I am happy for you guys, though."
Nick looked at him and smiled. "Thanks, Brass. Now let's go get our bad guy."