From a Fountain

by Sorsha711

It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he’d find her. JB/OFC

2. Chapter 2 Blame it on Hollywood

Title: From a Fountain, Chapter 2

Author: Sorsha_711
Fandom/Pairing: CSI; Brass/OCF
Rating: M, for language and references to violence; some adult situations
Disclaimer: A quick check of my bank account should prove I'm not making anything off of writing my stories. Sigh! Anything you recognize belongs to the good people that bring us CSI.
Summary: It had been another brutal night and Brass needed… he needed something to give him hope, to give him comfort… to give him a reason to get up in the morning, purpose… a partner, a lover. He knew what he needed; he just never thought he'd find her. JB/OFC

"Water from a fountain quenches the excessive heat which would destroy this life."
Nicola Salvi

From a Fountain, Chapter 2 --- Blame it on Hollywood

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The small lounge nestled at the back of the sprawling casino seemed jarringly quiet and peaceful after the bright lights, echoing noise, and overly energetic crowds of the gambling floor. The piano in the center of the semicircle of tables was unattended for the moment and less than a third of the lounge's seats were occupied. Brass pointed to a table strategically located well away from the stage, yet far enough from the door that the din of the casino wouldn't drown out any attempt at conversation.

Waiting until she had taken a seat in one of the two chairs, he shifted the second so that he was seated a lot closer than was the norm in a restaurant. "Gal that plays the piano here is pretty good, but it can be tough to have a conversation without shouting once she gets going."

A surprisingly mischievous grin accompanied her leaning in to tap the front of his jacket over the slight bulge of his hidden badge. "I did figure that out on my own, Squeaky. I didn't think you were planning to jump me once the lights are dimmed and the show starts… clearly not something that falls under the heading of 'protect and serve'."

Brass let his head drop as a smile ghosted over his face, its transition to a smirk barely halted by the tip of his tongue running over his bottom lip. "I knew I shouldn't have told you that! I had to move all the way across the country to escape that damned name once already."

"OK, no more Squeakies," she promised, the sudden twinkle in her green-gold eyes making him doubt that. "So you moved to escape a bad nickname. Newark I think you said… New Jersey?"

That caused him to laugh. "With my ascent, you have to ask?"

"Well… I would have guessed New Jersey, but there are other Newarks aren't there? Besides, I can't claim to be an expert on ascents of the non-southern variety," she admitted, a smile still lurking at the corners of her mouth. "How long have you lived in Las Vegas?"

"Over twenty years," he offered, signaling a waitress. "Place has changed a lot… most of the old landmarks have been demoed for newer places. Can't find a decent pizza anywhere, but it's been a pretty sweet place to call home otherwise… though the recent collapse of the economy is making it tougher than ever to be a cop."

"I take it the crime rate is up?" she gently prompted.

Rubbing his neck, he nodded. "And then some, but let's save that topic for another day."

A small smile accompanied a nod of agreement. Satisfied that he had managed to introduce the idea that he was interested in possible future dates into the conversation without her jumping up and running for the door, he asked, "So… where in the south is home for you?"

"South Carolina originally… a small town near Charleston, but I lived in Atlanta for the last twenty-five years." Pausing, Julie smiled in greeting to their waitress. "Gin and tonic, please… extra lime."

"Glenlivet on the rocks, Connie … and bring us the bar menu with the drinks. I missed both breakfast and lunch so I really need to grab something to eat," Jim inserted, as he reached over to grab a handful of nuts from the bowl she placed on the table.

Nodding, the older woman replied, "Sure thing, Jim. Glenlivet usually means a rough day."

"Lately, they all are," he agreed, refusing to say more. "How's Tony doing?"

Sighing, she offered, "Chemo's kicking him in the ass, but the doctors think they found the cancer early enough we've got a good shot. We're taking it one day at a time and hoping for the best."

"He's a good guy… great cop," Jim offered. "Tell him I said hello… that we're all expecting him back on the job before much longer. Olson is driving his temp partner up the wall, so Suarez is counting the days until he's back."

A tired smile greeted his words. "I'll tell him. I'm working extra shifts to help make ends meet, so Alan and Sue have been helping me get him back and forth to the clinic for his treatments… he's too sick afterwards to drive himself home. I appreciate you working out letting them swap times on the duty roster those days. Don't know how we'd manage otherwise."

"Hang in there, honey," Brass soothed, reaching over to pat her arm. "Let us know if you need anything and we'll make it happen."

Looking over at Julie, Connie instructed, "Jim's as fine a man as you're ever likely to meet, so treat him right. Well, I need to get back to work… nobody tips a slow waitress. I'll have your drinks and the menu out to you two in a couple."

A faint flush darkened the ruddy tones of Brass's face and neck as the waitress hurried away. "Well, that was… awkward. I promise I didn't bring you here expecting a sales pitch. I…"

"Relax; I didn't think you had… just that you have a fan." A sweet smile accompanied the gentle hand that covered his on the table. "I think it's great you're helping them. I had a friend go through the same thing when her husband was diagnosed with prostate cancer a few years ago. His office didn't do more than send a few cards and a fruit basket. Luckily, Steve had a large family living in the area, so they picked up the slack. Thank God he's in remission and doing well."

Relieved she hadn't made his squirm, Jim observed, "Hope we can say the same a few years down the road. Cops are usually pretty good about pitching in to help each other… crime scene or cancer. If you're not there for one, how can we trust someone to be there for the other? Besides, being a cop is hard enough… pay sucks, hours are worse… stress can eat you up."

"I get that," Julie acknowledged, sensing he wanted to say more… maybe even needed to discuss something that was eating at him, a wound that had yet to heal. Instinct urged her to refrain from asking… at least for the moment, but she had the nagging feeling there was more to his mood than simply a bad day on the job. Memories haunted his eyes, ghosts that only he could see.

Instead, she asked, "Is he doing as well as she says or is it just wishful thinking?"

Sighing, he shook his head. "Can't say for sure… probably a little of both. We're all still keeping it positive. Tony was one of the first cops I meet when I moved here. Connie's worked here for ages, so I make it a point to check by every week or so… just to be sure she knows she's got help too."

Nodding, she fell silent for the few minutes it took for the waitress to deposit their drinks on the table, the requested menu slipped into Brass's left hand. Flipping it open so she could study it with him, he commented, "You can get pretty much anything off their bar menu… they added a tapas section a year or so ago. Interested in sharing a couple… on me?"

"I can't. You only offered…" she began, only to have him interrupt.

"I'm trying to impress a beautiful lady enough so she might go out for a real dinner with me sometime soon, so let's not quibble over the details," he inserted, a smile twinkling in his dark blue eyes. The ghosts had slipped into the shadows for the moment. "Anything you're particularly in the mood for tonight?"

Shaking her head, Julie admitted, "Not really… and there's very little in the way of food I don't like. I've never been here, so order what looks good to you."

Pretending to give the menu his undivided attention, Jim pressed, "And those few dislikes would be?"

Meeting his gaze over the top of the laminated page, she teased, "Am I being interrogated, Captain?"

"I guess I'm a little out of practice in the 'impressing beautiful women' department if I sound like I'm grilling a perp," he lamented. "OK, I'll play fair and start."

Pausing to take a sip of his drink, he began, "Let's see… I hate sweet and sour anything… goat anything, especially cheese… love shrimp and lobster; fish is OK if it's cooked right, but there's nothing better than a thick steak, medium-well with a huge baked potato smothered in butter and gobs of sour cream. I've never met anything sweet I didn't like, but I'll take a lemon dessert before anything else."

"Well, that counts as a serving of fruit, right?" she teased.

"Of course… but I actually like most vegetables and fruits, just don't tell anyone. I have a tough-guy rep to uphold," he joked, grabbing another handful of the peanuts.

"Got it… meat and potatoes, nothing girly."

Saluting her with a tip of his glass, Jim complimented, "You catch on fast."

"Thank you, Captain. I try." Running a finger down the side of her glass to catch the droplets of moisture, she urged, "What else?"

"A burger is my idea of heaven on a bun… no onions... cheddar, no provolone or some other cheese that has no place near a really good hunk of meat," he instructed, watching her finger with a certain amount of fascination, wondering if she realized just how provocative that subtle motion was. "McDonalds will go out of business if they're depending on me to keep them afloat…but I occasionally grab a Carl's Jr. and I have to confess… I'm addicted to In-N-Out, especially their shakes."

"And there is seriously nowhere to get really good pizza this side of the Mississippi, so I wait until I'm visiting back east to feed the need." Forcing his eyes back to her face, he concluded, "Last, but not least some days, I enjoy a beer or the occasional glass of wine, but I prefer a good scotch. Your turn."

"Wow… OK," she agreed, a smile warming her face as she responded to his playful mood. "I'm allergic to pineapple… odd I know, but there you are, so I have to be careful with some cuisines. I pretty much agree with everything you said. I love fish and seafood of all types, but too many years of canned tuna or salmon had about killed my taste for both. I can't comment on the pizza issue, since I haven't had any since I moved here. I think New York is better than Chicago if that redeems me. I love citrus anything and consider chocolate a basic requirement of life… air, water, and chocolate, and not necessarily in that order."

Grinning at his attempt at solemn agreement, she continued. "I confess I occasionally hit Micky D's for their Egg-McMuffin, but that's the extent of my heresy. I have the odd craving for a double-cheeseburger from BK, but I try to keep that a secret. I've never been to an In-N-Out… but it's hard to top a Varsity burger and onion rings, so I don't feel I've missed much. And, before you ask, the Varsity Drive-in is an Atlanta institution. Otherwise, I'm not much for fried food… except for my mom's friend chicken."

"Shrimp is probably my favorite food… or maybe grilled lamb chops," she offered. "I grew up on the coast, so fresh shrimp was a staple of life. We would buy them directly off the boats at the docks in Georgetown… that, or my brothers would go shrimping and crabbing in the marshes. There is seriously nothing in the world like the taste of fresh shrimp!"

"Did you go with them…" he asked, "…fishing and shrimping?"

A wistful smile preceded, "Sometimes, but it bothered me too much seeing the catch after we caught it… it made me feel guilty. I was too much a 'girly girl' I guess. I never enjoyed the food if I helped catch it… or worse yet, was in the kitchen when the crabs went in the pot. I hate the sound of them tapping on the side trying to get out! I guess that makes me sound like a wuss."

"There are worse things to be," Jim teased, oddly comforted by her admission. Some days, he dealt with far too many people that had no such aversion to killing, crab or person. "So… what else?"

"Well… I seldom drink scotch or beer," she added, "I'm more a wine or gin kind of girl… but, I don't drink all that much in any case; two is usually my limit unless I want to make an idiot of myself. I… please don't hold this against me… I tend to giggle and smile too much if I have more than two. It's embarrassing!"

Chuckling, he pointed to the menu. "OK… I've been warned. So, how about #'s 7, 9, 17, 34 and 47? Oh… and # 55. What? I told you I haven't eaten all day… I'm starving!"

-----

The food had far exceeded her modest expectations for 'bar food'; his choices had all been delicious. The singer/piano player had been 'pretty good' as promised… but just loud enough to force them to take a break in their conversation. As the applause from the modest crowd died away as the singer took another break, Julie took a tiny sip of the third drink that had magically appeared before her.

She planned to nurse this one for a long time; she'd deliberately left out the fact she also became 'touchy/huggy' in addition to 'giggly/smiley' if she had too much to drink. There was no way to tell a man she'd just met that without it seeming… like encouragement. Flings or one-night stands were completely outside of her limited range of experience in the dating arena. Having drinks and an impromptu meal with a man she had just met was as close as she had come. It was also as close to a date as she had had in years.

Watching him out of the corner her eye, she noted the lull in conversation caused by the lounge show had allowed him to refocus on whatever was bothering him. Instinct insisted he needed to talk… at least vent the frustration his most recent shift had generated. Trying to sound as casual as possible, she asked, "So, it was a rough day?"

Catching her gaze, he finally nodded. "Yeah, but I mostly work homicide cases. Only good days we get are days where nothing happens… or we break a case. Days we get a new one… those are never good."

Waiting until after he has swallowed a healthy portion of his scotch, she offered, "Want to talk about whatever's eating at you… or would you prefer to completely forget about it for the evening?"

Finishing the rest of his drink in a single gulp, he studied the ice clinking around in the bottom of his glass. "Both… like most people, I want my cake whole and pretty so I can keep it intact to admire, but I want to eat the end piece with all the extra icing too."

Letting her gaze join his in contemplation of the ice, Julie prompted, "Your choice, but I'm a pretty good listener."

"Hummm…"

An oddly comfortable silence settled over their table, broken only by Connie's arrival with a fresh drink for Brass. Nodding his thanks, he let the amber liquid swirl hypnotically over the ice for a minute before taking a small sip. "Been doing what I do too long to expect most of it to make sense, beautiful… murders I mean. I can't tell you how many nights sleep I've lost trying to understand what makes a person kill a stranger, much less someone they were supposed to love. Those days are the hardest ones to take. Today was one of those days."

Jim looked up to meet her eyes when she failed to respond. He found her patiently watching him, waiting for him to say what he needed to say in his own way… at his own pace. Something about her expression hinted she understood more than he knew… urged him to continue. "I work graveyard, so we generally get more than our share of the rough cases. Bad things really do happen at night… but this one…"

"I was at my desk… just after 4 in the morning, buried in paperwork and looking for any excuse to get out of the office when…" he began, only to pause and visibly regroup. "A young woman… actually, she's 16, so she's not much more than a child. Anyway, she came to the front desk and asked to see me… had seen me on TV about another case last week. I was a name she knew so I guess that made me a safe choice."

"She was carrying a baby… pretty little girl wrapped up in a pink blanket," he whispered. "I stood up when she came through the door… motioned for her to take a seat across from me but… she walked around my desk and… handed me the baby."

Sighing, he admitted, "That caught me off guard. Then, I noticed the blood splatter on the front of her shirt… on her arms; the baby blanket had been covering it up. A 16 year-old with a baby asking for a homicide cop at 4 in the morning never bodes well for a happy ending. One covered in blood… that's a no-brainer."

They were sitting so close she felt as much as saw the shudder that coursed through his tense body as the memory of that moment replayed itself in his thoughts. Jim's voice broke slightly as he tried to continue and he stopped to clear his throat. "Seems she and her boyfriend had run away from home when she realized she was pregnant… from a small town in Wyoming. They headed for Vegas hoping to hide in the crowd. That works for most runaways… so well, they get lost… lost forever."

A soft hand covered his a second time, the soothing touch grounding him as she gently stoking the fingers that clinched the glass in his hand… eased it free of his hold before it could shatter under the force of his grip. "It didn't work for them. Her father tracked them down. She'd come to turn herself in… told me I'd find the bodies in a dump in 'the Alphabets' where they had been living."

A faint, "Dear God!" drew his eyes back to hers. Jim clearly read the horror in their depths, vaguely noting that the hazel seemed more a muddy brown than green at the moment. That thought bothered him. He'd already decided he preferred them green with a ring of gold around the center.

"The girl… Carrie… had been at work… small diner off Charleston, when her father arrived at their apartment. Derrick, the boyfriend, had been home alone watching the baby… Rose, they named her Rose," he whispered. "Bastard shot the kid in the chest when he opened the door… never gave him a chance. He was waiting on her on the couch… feeding the baby a bottle, when she got there just after 1… mad because Derrick hadn't been at the bus stop to walk her home. In that part of town… they must have been savvier than most runaways."

The hand that had been gripping the glass turned to grip hers in a crushing hold as he sought an anchor to steady his emotions. "Her father told her to shut up… stop her 'caterwauling' and pack her things… she was going home where she 'belonged'. Then, he calmly got up and walked over to the basket they had been using as the baby's crib… carefully put Rose down for a nap… then wrapped his fingers around her neck. Carrie grabbed a pair of scissors off the dresser… stabbed the bastard in the back, but it was too late."

A gasp of horror slipped from her lips. "The baby…"

"Dead… bastard snapped her neck," Jim supplied. "Seems he was a 'pillar of the community' and didn't want to have his reputation sullied by her bringing home an illegitimate baby. He had apparently been terrorizing his family for years… so, Carrie and Derrick fled when she realized she was pregnant. They knew they had to disappear before he found out… killed them both. Bastard expected her to docilely go back to Wyoming… ignore two murders, including her daughter's."

"So there I stood… holding this beautiful little baby in my arms… knowing she was dead… but… she looked like she was sleeping peacefully," he murmured. "The mom was… in shock. She has these big blue eyes. Her eyes keep coming back to me. No tears… empty. Over thirty years as a cop… nothing prepares you for something like that."

The hand he had been clinching had tightened its hold on his… was crushing his fingers as surely as he was crushing hers. That startled him back to the moment. "I'm sorry, Julie. I had no right…"

The fingers of her other hand lifted to press gently against his lips, halting his apology before he could finish it. "No… you needed to talk, so don't apologize. I just wish there was something I could say to make this easier… make it make sense, but there isn't… is there?"

Looking up, he watched the tears swimming in her eyes, a few overflowing to trickle down her pale face. "No… no. But… it did help talking about it. Maybe I needed to be reminded I can still feel horror and revulsion. Some days… I worry there's nothing left… that I've become dead inside from too many Carries and too much booze."

The fingers that had covered his lips slipped away in a soothing caress of his cheek. "It doesn't look like either one is the case… thought I suspect you almost wish it were. You still care… feel, Jim. We've just met and I saw that from the beginning. You have to be tough to do what you do but … I think you still have to care to be any good at it."

"Like you said, we just met…"

Breaking in she agreed. "Yeah we did, but consider this. I somehow doubt you would have noticed a stranger crying in that mob scene in front of the fountain, much less bothered to try and comfort her, if you were as numb and unfeeling as you're suggesting."

A small spark flared to life in his tired blue eyes. "Well… maybe my noticing had more to do with the fact that stranger was a beautiful woman… one too many Gary Cooper movies as a kid."

A soft smile proceeded, "I'd have guessed John Wayne."

"Him too. Blame it on Hollywood."

Holding his gaze, she shook her head. "Nope, not buying it. Instinct tells me that was pure Brass."

A small chuckle eased the tension that had gripped the table in the wake of his story. The house lights blinked to alert the audience that the next set was about to begin. Settling back into his chair, Jim glanced down at their hands, still tightly clasped on the table. His almost untouched drink sat a few inches away, but he quickly decided he'd rather retain his grip on her hand than reach for the glass. Knowing it had been longer than he cared to speculate since the last time he'd found the idea of holding a woman's hand preferable to having another drink, he smiled slightly and draped his other arm across the back of her chair, slowly shifting it so that it curled over her shoulder. He didn't fail to notice that she made no effort to move away or free her hand from his grasp.

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6-28-2009