Author's Note: Well, this got a little out of control with the UST. But enjoy the ride? ;-)

Five Golden Rings

"All set?" Merri Brody asked, a slight irritation in her voice. He supposed he couldn't blame her. He'd made three trips from the office to the SUV, loading up all the supplies they'd need for the stakeout. It wasn't that there were a lot of items. He just seemed to suddenly remember or think of something they might regret not having for the long hours of sitting in the vehicle, watching the comings and goings of a supposedly unemployed woman in her mid-30s. Marsha Stone was one of the witnesses the two female agents had interviewed the previous morning and with a suspicious alibi had become a suspect. Well, officially a person of interest. And knowing how Percy had been getting on Brody's nerves lately, Chris had managed to persuade Pride into taking the shift with the mouthy newbie, and he and Merri could have a little partner time, like the good ol' days.

It was for her, he'd told himself. Not because having lunch with her and seeing her briefly between running to the NOPD to pick up reports and to the morgue and her interviewing witnesses the previous day just hadn't seemed enough to satisfy him. Not that he had a... um... need that required satisfying.

No. He hadn't gone to bed thinking about how she was doing, whether she was up reading. Or if she was worrying over Emily's possible murder case. Or whether she was even alone. And that thought discomfited him the most, for some reason. The thought that maybe that egocentric ex-fiancé of hers had stopped by on his way through town for a little taste of the woman he both seemed to want and not care about her wants and needs. To Chris, the man just appeared to be stringing her along, playing on the deep feelings she once held for him, preventing her from having a serious relationship with anyone new. That Doc Wilkins had been sweet enough. And Gator had seemed the type to give a girl a good time. But neither man had made it far with her. And Chris couldn't help but think it was a certain jerk reporter who was responsible. Hell, if Merri wasn't the type of independent, self-sufficient woman she was, Chris thought he'd probably have slugged that smug expression off James Lathom's face quite a while ago for treating such a fine woman so poorly.

Well, if he hadn't been wrapped up in his own personal demons while she was trying to deal with hers.

"You sure you aren't forgetting anything?" she asked, the irritation now replaced by amusement.

"Hey, ya ken tease me all ya want, Merri Brody," he said. "But you'll be damn glad fer the provisions I packed when yer stomach starts rumblin' or ya hafta take a piss."

She gave him that look he tended to get a lot from her, the 'did you really just say that?' eyebrow raise.

"I'm not three years old," she said, smile tugging at her lips. "I can control my bladder."

He shrugged, but found himself unable to resist engaging her in the familiar pattern of banter that had somehow gone missing from his life over the past few months. God, he had missed this, working closely with her.

"Jus' noticed sum women seem ta hafta pee a lot," he said. "An' ya do drink a lotta water."

"But do you see me running off to the bathroom all the time?" He wasn't sure what was more amusing. The fact that Merri Brody was having a conversation with him about a topic she never would've discussed with him a year ago. Or the fact that she was seeming to enjoy their interplay. Seeing her light-hearted lifted a weight off of his own.

"Guess not," he said, trying not to match the smile that was threatening to light up her face as they attempted to have a 'serious conversation'.

"It's all in having a tight core," she said, sliding him a facetious glance as she turned the engine over and put the vehicle in gear.

Tight core? He didn't doubt it.

Chris swallowed, unable to find the words to reply to what had been a blatantly dirty innuendo from a woman he'd been somewhat flirty with before but never quite in a sexual manner.

Fortunately, she saved him from the discomfort having to continue to consider her tight core.

"So what provisions did you pack?" she asked after she'd pulled out onto the street and started heading for the neighborhood where their suspect lived, and then took a sip of one of said provisions, a cup of coffee prepared just the way she liked it; a disgusting amount of sugar but no cream.

Twisting in the passenger seat he reached for the white bakery bag and deposited it in her lap.

"This treat's jus' fer you," he said with a smile as she gave him a combination surprised and suspicious look. Really, why would she be surprised at this point that he was giving her things?

"What is it?" she asked, obviously trying not to look as eager as a child waking their parents on Christmas morning. And failing. She was getting into this little game, too. And it was making it all the more fun for Chris.

"I'm not tellin'," he said. "Ya've gotta see fer yerself."

She humphed, squirming a little in the driver's seat as she made a right hand turn and the little white (and somewhat greasy) bag slid around on her lap. Maybe he shouldn't have set it on her thigh clad in her nicest pair of black trousers (not that he noticed they were the ones that hugged her backside the snuggest or anything). He'd hate to see them ruined if the grease got through the bag and into the fabric.

But reaching across and plucking the bag that had settled cozily into her crotch was quite out of the question. She'd just have to live with it until she had a free hand, which given the crazy traffic -literally, it seemed like insane people were out on the road that day- and the fact that they'd borrowed an older SUV from the NOPD's stock of undercover vehicles that happened to be a stick shift... It might have to wait until they reached their destination.

Just across the street and a couple doors down from their suspect's home, there was a rundown house that had just been vacated by the tenants a couple weeks earlier. The owner had agreed to let them park in the driveway even though they couldn't convince him that there wouldn't be any liability issues if he let them use the actual house.

"Deep enough?" she asked, startling and confusing him.

"S'rry?" Her tone hadn't implied it, but her word choice had been a little... well, lewd.

"I said, 'is it in deep enough'?"

Chris had to bite his lip to stifle the 'that's what she said'. As for his stakeout partner, if she'd done it on purpose, she gave no sign, instead looking in the various mirrors and twisting about in her seat to check out the visibility and blindspots.

"I think it ken go in jus' a few more inches," he said, because he just couldn't fricken resist. "Ain't deeper always better?"

She glared at him in a way that was too facetious for him to feel admonished. Rather than pull the vehicle forward however, she cut the engine.

"Have to disagree with you on that one, Chris," she said. "It's all about positioning."

He shook his head. He was losing track of what they were supposed to actually be discussing with all of the double entendres. Not to mention the fact that he was now thinking solely about positioning in terms of his -okay, yes, dammit- incredibly sexy partner's body in relation to his own, in very different circumstances than these- Okay, and now in these precise circumstances... which would involve some awkward contorting and probably someone straddling someone else's lap... in reverse.

He unbuckled his seatbelt, shifting uncomfortably in the worn bucket seat, simultaneously clearing his throat. Forcing the inappropriate thoughts from his head, he wondered at how she thought they would be able to observe their suspect from this um, position. But then his question was shortly answered. Well, after the surprise and confusion that made him stare at her, mouth partially agape as she proceeded to wriggle about until she was climbing in between the two front seats, momentarily placing (oh, dear god) her gorgeous heart-shaped ass right in front of his face. Her snug slacks were stretched across those full curvy buttocks so tightly he could see the muscle shift beneath the skin and fabric, the thin layer of fat rounding out her backside quivering with the motion as she seemed to struggle with something in the backseat.

He wouldn't place his palm on her alluring ass. He wouldn't spread his fingers wide, mold his hand to that beautiful round globe. And he definitely wouldn't give the flesh a little squeeze, testing whether it was the perfect balance of supple and firm that it appeared to be. Nope. He wouldn't touch her. He wouldn't- And then she was gone, clambering into the depths of the SUV.

Taking a few seconds to get his head on straight, he risked peering around his own seat, and was thankful that he didn't find that ridiculously gorgeous ass still within groping distance. Unfortunately, instead his eyes settled on the sight of Merri Brody laying on her stomach, long legs stretching out from the swell of her perfect ass. God, he couldn't ever remember fixating on a woman's backside so intently before. Something was seriously wrong with him. He was beginning to think listening to Pride had been a mistake. Yes, he'd gotten a little out of control, juggling several women and accruing a number of other hook-ups. It had only been a means of avoiding his grief, he could now admit. But quitting women cold turkey was obviously also the wrong tactic. Because now he was confined in close quarters with a woman who knew him better than any but the ones that were blood-related to him. And she smelled deliciously of apples. And had an ass he imagined would feel amazing spooned up against his groin... as he curled his knees up behind hers, wrapped his arms around her, held her close, felt her heart beating through her back pressed against his chest, and buried his face in her neck. Breathing the scent of apples with a hint of vanilla. Warm and solid and reassuring in his arms.

"Got her," Merri said, breaking his highly inappropriate contemplations. Okay, fantasies. They were fantasies. But there was no harm in that. As long as he didn't act on it. She twisted slightly, looking back over her shoulder, and gesturing for him to join her, binoculars held in her other hand. (It wasn't a sex kitten pose. It wasn't.) He squeezed between the two front seats, and joined her, stretching out on his stomach and accepting the binoculars, feeling like they were two kids spying on the neighbors from their tree house fort. They'd have to get the camera out in order to acquire some solid evidence, but sure enough, there was their suspect doing something in the kitchen, visible through the gauzy curtains.

"Told you it was all about positioning," Merri whispered, her voice husky because she'd dropped it slow low.

Chris glanced at her, smiling despite the fact that he was thinking about how he'd never tried making it with a woman currently in the position she was. And that he'd rather like to give it a go with her.

Damn.

If he survived this next week being friendly with Merri Brody, he was going to have to call up one of his lady friends. Sure, he'd been a little abrupt in calling it off, but he'd let them down easy from what had been a casual thing to start with. Surely, Jessica wouldn't mind a booty call? Except, she was a little on the skinny side. None of the girls he thought might be receptive to a proposition from Chris LaSalle (after not hearing from him for three months) had an ass quite like the heart-shaped perfection lying beside him. Not to mention those breasts, and lovely long legs and big doe-eyes and pretty mouth, and warm laugh, and gorgeous smile, and mean right hook.

"I'll get the camera," he said, hastily shimming away from his partner whose apple-with-a-hint-of-vanilla scent was becoming downright intoxicating in the enclosed space. The very cozy space dimly lit by whatever light made it through the probably-not-legal tinted windows, which made spying far easier, anyway but felt a little scarily much like mood-lighting.

"Ooh, can you hand me my coffee and my treat, too?"

LaSalle passed the cup of lukewarm coffee and the white bakery bag to his partner. And then watched with unwarranted eagerness as she unrolled the top and looked inside. She pulled one of the plain cider donuts cooked to golden-perfection out, laughing in that soft, melodic way of hers that made him warm in a spot just beside his heart.

"I don't think I can eat five donuts on my own," she said, offering him one.

"Nah," he said, still grinning at the way her face lit up, how pure and innocent she could look when she forgot all of the burdens of living a less-than-charmed-life. "Them's all yers."

She frowned, but not in an unhappy way. "You sure?"

"Where d'ya think the rest a the dozen went?"

Her doe-eyes went large, and then she laughed as she realized he was shittin' her. He could sure pack the food in, but seven donuts was even a little much for him. Well, eight, since he'd wound up with a baker's dozen. Pride claimed that the shop girl spoiled Chris because he flirted shamelessly with the plump young woman with the adorable little button-nose. But really, he'd only ever given her a smile and a 'thank you, miss.'

Was it his fault if a woman thought that having manners was an intimate sort of invitation? Merri surely didn't think anything of the kind, or else she would've doubtlessly slapped him right across the face for being so forwardly friendly the past few days.

God, if she only knew the thoughts that had been going through his head...

A/N: Oh, LaSalle, you naughty boy! But what is that girl up to, with all of that sexual innuendo? Maybe lonely friends shouldn't spend so much time together… Things are bound to arise. ;-)