“A bet's a bet,” Brass insisted. He knew he would win, but heckling Grissom on the road to acceptance of loss was half the fun. “You said Mr. Henry could not have died by his own hand. You bet on it. I collect.”
“That was not his own hand, that was his own wheelchair,” Grissom protested, then sighed. “Fine, fine. You may spank me.”
“No, no. Not me, remember?” Brass proclaimed happily and watched gleefully as Grissom grunted and headed for the rest room and its occupant.
“Warrick, spank me good.”
The younger CSI looked up with his eyebrows all the way to his hair.
Brass watched from a slight distance with his video camera discreetly hidden, smiling slightly as he wondered just how much Sara or Catherine would be willing to pay for the film...
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branchandroot
145 words
Date: 2005-03-27 07:54 am (UTC)Your wild card, tada!
“No.”
Brass crossed his arms. “Yes.”
“No,” Grissom repeated.
“A bet's a bet,” Brass insisted. He knew he would win, but heckling Grissom on the road to acceptance of loss was half the fun. “You said Mr. Henry could not have died by his own hand. You bet on it. I collect.”
“That was not his own hand, that was his own wheelchair,” Grissom protested, then sighed. “Fine, fine. You may spank me.”
“No, no. Not me, remember?” Brass proclaimed happily and watched gleefully as Grissom grunted and headed for the rest room and its occupant.
“Warrick, spank me good.”
The younger CSI looked up with his eyebrows all the way to his hair.
Brass watched from a slight distance with his video camera discreetly hidden, smiling slightly as he wondered just how much Sara or Catherine would be willing to pay for the film...