Notes: Cross posted to ao3 and Tumblr.
I just wanted a place for all of the Flowers!Verse prompts. Each chapter will be a different flower with a specific meaning related to the the chapter (mostly because I don't know that many songs related to flowers or detectives lol).
Katttym asked: 85. "I'm not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor."
Brittany's had to interview at lot of strange witnesses as a detective, but this one is definitely the most adorable. She's got dark hair and dark eyes, there's leaves stuck in her ponytail and a water stains on her green apron and clever fingers. She's also clutching a bloody towel to her hand and cursing like a sailor. Brittany's pretty sure that if she weren't on duty, she'd be swooning, but she is on duty, so she straightens her windbreaker detective jacket and flips her notebook open and heads to the back of the flower shop.
"Detective Pierce," the uniform says in relief. He turns to the flower shop owner. "This is Detective Pierce," he tells her unnecessarily.
"I heard," the owner says cooly.
"R- Right," the uniform stutters. "Detective Pierce, this is Santana Lopez, the owner of the flower shop." Santana Lopez holds up her cradled hands in greeting, nodding at her bloody towel in lieu of shaking Brittany's hand.
"Right," Brittany says. "You told me that already. When you met me at the door like ten minutes ago."
"Right," the uniform says, and then flees.
"Right," Brittany says slowly. "Anyways. I see you've met Officer Hudson, I promise I'm not as dumbfounded as he is."
Santana Lopez smiles and Brittany's heart skips a beat or ten; she has these adorably deep dimples and Brittany has to remind herself to be professional. "I can already tell you have far more than three braincells to rub together."
Brittany fights to keep her smile in check; while she agrees with Santana Lopez, she really shouldn't be seen talking down on the other cops. "So, Ms. Lopez—"
"Santana, please," Santana interrupts, "Ms. Lopez was my mom, and I love her to death but god help me if I ever turn into her."
Brittany can't fight the small smile. Santana's charming and adorable, despite her attempts at a cool exterior. "Alright, Santana," she says, and Santana looks about as pleased as Brittany feels at saying her name. "So walk me through the robbery."
"I wouldn't call it a robbery."
"Really?" Brittany asks in interest. "Then what would you call someone attempting to rob the place."
Santana smirks, and despite the fact that she's smug, she still just looks adorable, especially because even her smirk reveals dimples. "Attempted robbery."
Brittany's laugh surprises her, and the way Santana's face lights up at it makes her feel all floaty. "Okay, walk me through the attempted robbery."
Santana nods at the failed robber, currently sulking in the back of a patrol car. "He came in here with a gun and started threatening my employees and demanding money. I was in the back so he didn't realize I was there, bringing up an arrangement of orange lilies and carnations for an order. My employees and the robber didn't see me at all and by the time I realized what exactly was happening I was only a couple feet away from him." Santana shrugs. "So I snuck up behind him and smashed the arrangement vase on his head and he didn't move much after that. He has a stupidly hard head and the vase shattered. Hence the hand," she explains, wiggling the aforementioned appendage with her other hand. "One of my workers called 911 and you guys got here pretty quick after that." Brittany jots down notes about Santana's story, glancing up at Santana through her eyelashes when she's not looking. "What's your interest in it?" Santana asks suddenly.
"Huh?"
Santana smiles a little. "You're a detective, right? Why would you be sent to get my statement about an unsuccessful robbery if it didn't connect to something bigger?"
Brittany's lips curl into a smile. "You're clever," she says, "There's been a series of robberies targeting flower shops across Brooklyn. Your's seems to be the sixth one hit."
Santana looks thoughtful. "That's odd. It's not like flower shops are real profitable."
"Exactly," Brittany agrees. "Hence, me," she says, gesturing to herself with her notebook, "Detective Pierce." Santana giggles and Brittany's pretty sure her insides are about to float away. "How's your hand?" she asks instead of embarrassing herself.
Santana shrugs. "It's fine, just a little cut."
"It seems like a lot of blood, I would probably see a doctor about that," Brittany suggests mildly.
Brittany raises her eyebrows and glances down at the bloody towel (and secretly enjoys the way Santana blushes and looks a little breathless). "Really," Santana insists, peeling the towel away. The towel is stuck to the wound and Santana winces and quickly presses the fabric back to her hand. "Ow, fuck," she curses.
"I'm not going to be sympathetic until you go to a doctor," Brittany says.
Santana glares at her, but even that's pretty adorable. "Oh, what do you know?" she complains.
Brittany grins. "Well it's no bullethole," she agrees, "but it shouldn't be bleeding that much."
"You think?" Santana mumbles, but she doesn't seem to be challenging, just thoughtful.
"Once we finish up here, you should really go see a doctor," Brittany suggests.
Santana's quiet for a moment, and when she looks up Brittany's a little surprised by how deep and dark her eyes are; Brittany's sure she could drown in them, and she blinks quickly to regain her focus. "You're probably right, Detective Pierce."
Brittany grins. "I know I am, Santana Lopez, flower-shop-owner."
Santana smiles at her and Brittany's almost positive those dimples are going to be the death of her.
