"What bugs you most?"
A CSI fan-fic story, started May 2003; WIP, but I was bitten in a recent plot bunny attack (October 2007) and decided to dust this one off and see where it goes. It is a much longer companion piece to the "Better Brass biography" posted over at the "jimbrass" Yahoo group.
The usual disclaimers: none of the CBS or CSI characters belong to me, and I make no money doing this kind of thing. I am not affiliated with CBS or CSI in any way.
Spoilers: this is set sometime between Seasons 4 and 5 (so lots of water under the bridge since I started this fic). Greg Sanders is still in the lab.
Rating: T for adult themes and language in later chapters.
Pairings: Jim/Catherine; Bobby/OFC.
Chapter 06/??
"Nassau Bets"
(A Thursday morning in mid-May)
It had been a good idea. Between the two of them, they nearly finished off the gallon of red wine. The "cheer you up stuff" turned out to be a large plastic storage bin of photographs and school yearbooks. They talked and laughed a lot, late into the night.
Mickey had cried again as she went into more details about her recently-ended relationship, but Brass could see that it was more with relief than anything. She hadn't yet spoken of it with anyone, really, and it was like a burden had been lifted from her back. In a way, Jim had been comforted too when she wept in his embrace: he had never really been available to help Ellie in this way, or at least, it hadn't happened yet. His niece was becoming a surrogate daughter to him, and this time, there was a bond of blood. He truly did love Ellie Rebecca as his child, the child of his heart.
The best part of the evening though, had been the Canton High School yearbooks, known as "The Echo", and the photos of the four Kaye siblings and a few of their cousins as well. Mickey had never seen Jim's high school pictures before, and couldn't help giggling long after he'd finally hidden them away (he wasn't upset with her; he'd gotten the giggles too, after all. Jim couldn't remember when he had been so thin. He had more hair back then too).
They had both fallen asleep in the living room, shortly after midnight. At some point during the night Jim had dragged himself upstairs to his own bed. He had learned after a couple of attempts to wake her that Mickey wasn't leaving her spot on the couch, so he covered her with a blanket against the chill, gently kissed her on the side of her head, and hoped she was comfortable. She looked it anyway, her face untroubled in slumber.
Jim woke with the sunrise, surprised at how rested he felt given the hour and the volume of wine they'd consumed. He showered, shaved and dressed fairly quickly, then headed downstairs with thoughts of coffee and breakfast. As he passed the guest bedroom, the door was ajar and he saw that the bed had not been slept in. Instead, Mickey's travel bag was lying on top of the bedspread, open and partly sorted through. He couldn't help chuckling to himself.
Out in the living room, there was still no sign of his niece. The pillow and neatly folded blanket were stacked on the back of the sofa. He looked toward the balcony and saw that the vertical blinds were opened wide enough to get in and out of the sliding glass door. Coming closer, he could see Mickey on his exercise bike: headphones on, sweating and pedaling God only knew how far (he couldn't see the digital read-out screen but it looked like she'd been at it awhile judging from the sweat droplets that splashed on the deck beneath her and the bike). There was also a faint smile on her face.
"Good for you, Mouse," he said quietly as he went to the kitchen to fire up the coffee pot.
A few minutes later, coffee cup in hand, he stepped out onto the balcony. "Mick," he said, but she didn't hear him over the music from her CD player. He winced at the volume and could hear his mother's own admonishments about his stereo system years ago at the house in Canton. Jim realized that he couldn't have named the group if you paid him a hundred bucks. "Mickey," he said more loudly, stepping into her field of view.
She grinned broadly when she noticed him there and pulled off the headphones. "Hi, Uncle Jimmy." She reached down to switch off the CD. "Van Halen. Best workout compilation I've found yet." Mickey wiped her face with a towel and grabbed the water bottle from the bike's console. "Too bad I can't swim with this headset on; gotta work on that, maybe Best Buy has something I can use."
"You sleep okay on the couch? There was no way I could carry you upstairs," he explained, sitting in one of the patio chairs and sipping from his coffee.
She shrugged, climbing gingerly off the bike. "It was quite comfy, actually. I think I learned to sleep anywhere when I was a graduate student, to tell the truth. Flat broke all the damn time."
Jim laughed. "Good. I'm glad to see that thing still works. I wasn't sure…"
Mickey frowned a moment, then glanced over at the bike where he was pointing. She had to laugh too. "It's one of the better ones on the market, I'm impressed. But I did have to dust it off before I sat down…yuck." She raised her eyebrow at him, using his own mildly sarcastic expression.
He arched one right back at her and chuckled. "Whatever, Doc. There's coffee ready inside."
"Thanks. I'd better get cleaned up and fit for human company first," she said, and then looked down at the empty bottle in her hand before she looked back up at him. "Uncle Jim, thank you for calling in last night. I know you don't like to miss work for personal stuff."
He stood and came over, squeezing her nose affectionately between two fingers. "You're worth it, Mickey, seriously. Phew, and you're right about getting cleaned up first!"
She smacked his arm playfully and went ahead of him back into the house. From behind, Jim saw a two inch, black ink Mickey Mouse tattoo on her right shoulder blade. The character was posed with his hands on his hips and a cheesy grin on his face. It suited his niece's personality perfectly, he thought.
"Hey, that's not a jailhouse tatt, is it?"
"Spring break, 1988. Tommy, Maggie and I all got one at the same time, in St. Augustine." She went to the kitchen to get another bottle of water; he went for a refill on his coffee.
Jim shook his head and smiled in disbelief; he had one or two himself. "What'd your Mom say?"
"Not much," said Mickey. "She has an Irish rose; Daddy has several different ones from his Navy days."
Uncle Jim rolled his eyes, amused at the idea of his older sister getting inked, and he remembered that his oldest brother Pete had gotten a traditional firefighter-designed one when he first joined the fire department in Boston.
"Well, fine. I won't show you my other one then," she told him and he could hear her snickering as she went upstairs for a shower. For a brief moment, he wondered where the hell is it?
Breakfast turned out to be cereal, bananas, orange juice and coffee when Jim realized he needed to get to the grocery store. Mickey had offered her leftovers, but his stomach wasn't ready for chicken Parmesan at eight in the morning. Neither was hers to tell the truth.
"What's the golf course over that way called?" Mickey asked, pointing in the general direction of the balcony.
"Black Hill. I'm not sure who designed it, but it's been out here in Henderson since the 50's," he answered, and a thought came to him: "Feel like playing eighteen today?"
Mickey looked absolutely delighted at the idea. "Seriously? Do you think we can get a tee time?"
Brass shrugged. "Can't hurt to ask. I know a guy at the pro shop, he owes me a favor."
While she cleared their dirty dishes, Jim reached for the portable phone. He also reached over to the counter for a small brown notebook in which he kept addresses and telephone numbers, and flipped several pages before he found the correct one for the pro shop at Black Hill G.C.
"You want to try for this morning? Thursday can't be as busy as the weekends, I'm guessing." She nodded immediately, turning to look at him from the sink. "Good morning, is Vince Livingston in today? Thanks."
Mickey dried her hands on the kitchen towel and leaned against the side counter quietly. Uncle Jim had to smile at her look of anticipation.
"Vince? Hey, Jim Brass. Good, thanks. How's Annie? Wow, already?" He nodded at something the man on the other end of the line said. "Listen, any chance of a tee time this morning? My niece is visiting from Florida and needs to try out some of our desert golf before she heads back home to the humidity. Yeah, 9:26 sounds great. Thanks Vince. See you in a few."
Jim rang off and started to tell her the good news, but Mickey had checked her watch and raced to the guest bedroom for a collared golf shirt to go with her khaki shorts. She knew that most golf courses had a minimum dress code of collared shirt and no metal spikes; in this case, she was exactly right.
They drove over and it only took a few minutes. Jim had loaded his set of clubs into the trunk of the car; Mickey suggested that most courses had decent rentals that she could use. As they walked to the pro shop, Jim had to ask:
"So, you're going to take it easy on your favorite uncle, right?"
She turned and shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose. When did you last play, Uncle Jim?"
He set his clubs against the wooden drop-off rack, and then held the door open for her to go in ahead of him. "I think it was nineteen ninety something. How about you?"
"Last Saturday; there was a best-ball format tournament at the Seminole Lakes by my house. We did okay."
Jim rolled his eyes at her grin, thinking Oh shit.
Mickey opened her wallet and pulled out a corporate credit card. "How about I get this one? We just have to talk about my lab stuff a little bit to make it an official write off," she offered. He simply nodded knowing better than to protest too much. Besides, he could get lunch.
The older man behind the counter immediately recognized Brass and held out his hand. "Good morning, Jim. You haven't been out here in ages," he said by way of greeting.
"Yeah, I know Vince, lotta bad guys to take care of over in Vegas, which gets in the way of my game sometimes. This is my niece I told you about on the phone. Dr. Mickey Kaye, meet Vince Livingston."
"Welcome to Nevada, Doc. What can we do for you today?"
Mickey smiled. "Two for riding eighteen, and I need to rent a set of clubs."
"Any preference? You're a tall young lady," commented Livingston.
"Men's right-handed, please, oh, and a dozen of the Lady Precept MC balls. My stuff is all back home, darnit."
Livingston gave her a wink and left the counter momentarily. When he returned, he had a golf bag full of clubs and placed a box of balls in front of her. He checked his starter's sheet.
"I've got an older Scottish couple from overseas hoping for another twosome; they're extremely nice and have been here all week. You mind pairing up with them? It'll be a good guys against the gals."
She had to laugh at the look from Uncle Jim. "Excellent!"
Vince chuckled too. "Anything else?"
Jim spoke up. "And two buckets. You kids are trying to kill me here."
Livingston pulled out two range ball machine tokens and handed them over to the detective, along with a key and chain. "The starter will call you at about five minutes before you go off at the first tee. Cart number six, Jim."
Brass smiled and gave him a look that said thanks a lot, pal as he followed Mickey out to the electric carts lined up by the door. The attendant had already loaded Jim's clubs onto the cart, driver-side, and nodded pleasantly as the two approached. He took Mickey's rental clubs from her and loaded them on the back as well.
"You're all set, folks."
"Thank you. Which way to the driving range?" Mickey asked as she sat on the passenger side.
The elderly attendant smiled indulgently and pointed to the paved path. "Follow the signs, you can't miss it."
Jim came around from the back where he'd been pulling some items from his golf bag. He shook hands with the man and gave him a cellophane-wrapped cigar, to the man's obvious delight.
"Thanks, Captain. Have a good round today," said the retiree. "You ain't been out here much lately."
Jim rolled his eyes at all of the reminders and sighed. "I know, Sam. The job…"
Sam chuckled as he tucked the cigar into his shirt pocket. "No shit. That's why I retired. Being a cop was hell on my golf, Jim."
Mickey, who had been transferring bottles of water from her backpack to the holders in the front of the cart, was about to ask Uncle Jim how he knew Vince and Sam. Then she realized that there were probably quite a few retired policemen now living out in Henderson, NV, and plenty of golf courses.
Brass put his three remaining cigars in the front compartment and made sure the cart's forward gear was engaged. As they headed around to the driving range, Jim handed over the two metal tokens (they'd get the buckets of practice balls from the machine at the range) and indicated his handful of cigars in the front storage console, next to his cell phone and a new sleeve of Top-flite golf balls.
"It's not going to bother you if I light up out here is it?" he asked.
Mickey smiled and shook her head. "Not at all. I think it's traditional for you guys."
Jim frowned slightly, a question, and wondered if there was an East coast tradition he'd forgotten about.
"Dad, Jack and Tommy always get cigars when we play golf together," she explained, and then she wrinkled her nose. "I tried one once, didn't like it."
Brass chuckled at that. "I get it. How often do you play the 'Kaye eighteen'?"
Mickey grinned before replying: the name had been coined by her mother years before since Margaret and daughter Maggie rarely played in these foursomes, preferring tennis to golf. "Most years it's Thanksgiving or Christmas, but not both since Jack is back at the hospital for at least one major holiday. Sometimes it's Easter."
Jim nodded. He knew that his oldest nephew was a practicing pediatrician, and divorced with two children, in Tampa, Florida.
"Anyway, we usually play pairs in an alternating shot format to see who wins," she continued. "Dad and I rarely play on the same team anymore though; we're not allowed." She had a funny smile on her face just then.
"Why not? I thought it was you and your mother who drove each other completely crazy sometimes," he wondered as they pulled up next to the ball machine. Jim watched as she positioned the small bucket under the dispenser and dropped the token in with a soft metal click.
Mickey actually laughed out loud, over the noise of the ball dispenser. "No, that's totally different, Uncle Jimmy," she said, exchanging the full bucket for an empty and repeating the process. "Mom thinks my life is meaningless unless I marry a Naval aviator, at least a lieutenant commander on his way to an X.O. post in some exotic place."
Jim cocked one eyebrow. "She didn't, and Jack's a good guy." Brass loved his sister dearly, but had been on the receiving end of her "advice" for most of his life. Margaret, now a real estate agent in Ocala after Jack Kaye had retired from the Navy as a Senior chief, was just as pig-headed and opinionated as her little brother James. No surprise there.
"Exactly. No, Daddy and I did team up against the boys one Christmas," she explained as she climbed back into the cart with the second bucket. "Wasn't pretty." Mickey flashed him a positively wolfish grin when she said that.
"What was the bet?" It was only a short drive farther to reach the hitting mats. A few golfers were scattered at the driving range, practicing their long and short shots. Soft exclamations and even muttered curses could be heard from time to time.
The grin widened. "They had to be our personal slaves for the rest of the day. It was really fun." Mickey was giggling when she got out of the cart and carried the buckets to the vacant mats they'd parked by. "Mom finagled the same deal by default so they were busy dudes. Poor things."
While Mickey moved off to one side (he didn't see where), Jim grabbed his driver from the bag and teed up his first ball. It took a few swings and misses before he actually made contact, but he kept up an internal monologue from the last golf lesson he'd seen on TV. (good God, when was that?): head down, eye on the ball, follow through. Head down, eye on the…
On about the sixth or seventh ball, he hit a spectacular drive straight down the middle of the range, at least two hundred yards in flight. It tailed off perfectly, just at the end.
"Hey, did you see that?" he asked Mickey. To his surprise, she hadn't even started hitting yet and wasn't on the mat next to his. Jim turned back toward the cart and found her stretching both legs, facing away from the range. "Oh, there you are." Brass grinned a little sheepishly at himself.
"I didn't see it but it sounded good," she told him as she pulled out a short iron and headed toward their mats. Mickey stretched the club far behind her neck, loosening shoulder and back muscles as she walked.
"What are you doin'?" Jim nodded at her navy blue Boston Red Sox visor. "Like the hat, Mick."
"If I don't stretch, my back will freeze up on me by the third hole," was the reply. "Oh, thanks. Did you know they came out with a pink fan visor like this?" He unconsciously mirrored the disgusted look on her face. "I found this one at Quincy Market, last time I was back."
Seeing Mickey dump out half of the bucket of balls onto her mat, Jim went back to whaling away with the driver. Every other hit or so had him mentally celebrating at how well the golf ball was flying away from him. The others? Well, he didn't want to count those.
Jim finished his bucket long before she did, so he packed up his last club and lounged in the driver's seat of the golf cart to watch. With a contented sigh, he got a cigar lit and sat back. It was going to be a warm day and he was glad to have remembered the ball cap, even if it was from the LVMPD softball tournament two years ago.
He noticed that Mickey was methodically trying out each iron of the rental set with five balls lined up on the carpeted mat, hitting all five with more or less the same swing. Inevitably, the third or fourth ball would strike the wooden distance marker sign (75, 100, 125, 150 yards, and so on) with a satisfying "thunk". If this practice session was anything to go by, his niece's short game was deadly accurate. She had yet to break out the driver or any of the woods, and Jim found himself curious. He also noticed that a few of the other golfers paused to quietly watch her as they made their way to the 1st or 10th tees. Jim couldn't help but feel a touch of pride at that.
Mickey hit one last handful of golf balls using the sand wedge (the shortest of the clubs usually, and the one with the greatest face angle). A couple of the shots landed on a miniature trampoline target about fifty yards away. This made her smile with satisfaction as she came back to the cart to switch to the driver. Apparently the "SW" club was a favorite.
"Just a few with the one-wood, Uncle Jim," she said, heading back to the mat.
He gave a "godfather" wave with the cigar in his hand. "No rush, kid. I'm really enjoying this no-beeper, no-cell phone thing right now."
Mickey grinned, understanding what he meant and hit about a half-dozen shots with the driver. The last one nearly matched his for distance and accuracy on the range so she decided to end on that high note. When she rejoined him at the cart, they drove the short distance to the practice putting green that was situated between the 1st and 10th tee boxes. A few other golfers idled here while they waited to be called by the starter.
"So, what's the bet?" asked Brass as they putted to the same small red flag. "After all, this is your big trip to Vegas."
"Um, I don't know. I don't usually gamble on the golf course unless it's Dad and the boys."
He shrugged. "Nothing complicated then. What do you think?"
Mickey paused and looked at him speculatively for a moment. "OK, how about a Nassau; three on the front and three on the back?"
The detective raised one eyebrow at her, a combination of a smirk and a question that she misinterpreted. "What about five on the front and five on the back?" she offered. "That'll mean I have to win by ten or more."
Jim laughed, surprised. He gripped her shoulder gently, teasing affectionately. "Mouse, I thought you just said you don't usually gamble on the golf course. You sharkin' me?" He chuckled and she finally realized he'd been teasing the whole time.
"Just because I don't usually gamble doesn't mean I don't know how to, Uncle Jimmy. You want the five and five?"
"Sure. What are we playing for?" He could see the wheels turning as she thought about it.
Mickey putted toward another small red flag, and watched as it sank perfectly into the hole. "Dinner at Angelo's before I head back to Florida. That was good stuff." Brass took the hand she offered and they shook on the bet.
"Done," he said, realizing from the crafty look in her eye that he'd gotten off easy. In the next moment, he fervently hoped he didn't lose by much more than ten strokes.
About five minutes before their assigned tee time, the starter called for them over the loudspeaker: "Brass, twosome and Dickson, twosome. Please report to the first tee box. Brass and Dickson, thank you."
Jim adjusted his ball cap and accepted the bottle of water Mickey offered. He grinned broadly around the cigar in his mouth. "Here we go, kid. I'm gonna really enjoy that dinner you're about to owe me." Talking "smack" was part of the Brass family sports book. Mickey just smiled sweetly as she moved her sunglasses in the cart storage space.
An older, well-dressed couple waited at the first tee and nodded in welcome as they drove up. The woman, smiling, held out her hand to Mickey as she got out of the cart.
"You must be the Brasses. Good morning, I'm June Dickson and this is my husband Alastair." Mickey found the soft Scottish accent delightful, and thought this is going to be fun.
"Very nice to meet you," said Mickey. "I'm Mickey Kaye, and this is my uncle, Jim Brass."
Alastair winked at her as he shook hands with them. "Hope you dinna mind duffers, lassie. I saw you over at the driving range."
Mickey smiled modestly. "No problem. We'll use holiday rules."
And they were off. As Alastair had predicted, he and his wife were indeed poor golfers, but were both at an age where they didn't care one bit. Jim got off to a rocky start on the first hole, though he managed a miraculous one-over-par bogey in the end. Mickey, on the other hand, was relaxed and enjoying the morning, letting herself "be on vacation" for a while at least. She ran a string of four pars in a row, and then started to really play well.
Jim and Mickey both enjoyed the conversation and company of the older couple, June and Alastair. Turns out, they were from Inverness, on the east coast of Scotland, and were just ending their Las Vegas holiday. Jim offered a cigar, much to Alastair's delight, and the men ended up riding in the same cart.
TBC