Geekfiction Summer Blockbuster Ficathon
Sometimes you really need a woman
Author: JellybeanChiChi
The following is a CSI fan fic. Here is my entry for the Geekfiction Summer Blockbuster Ficathon. My prompt: “I’ll get you my pretty, and your little dog too!” from the Wizard of Oz.
Disclaimer: Nope don’t own CSI. Or the Wizzer of Oz.
Many thanks to VR Trakowski, beta and friend extraordinaire. And special thanks to CSIGeekFan for looking this over as well. And finally, a little props to Beaujolais who encouraged me to do a Jim-centric fic. Hope you all enjoy.
--
Usually when Jim Brass pulled his Dodge Charger into the driveway of his house it was a relatively low-key affair.
Not so on one summer morning.
When he turned into the driveway, Jim could see his neighbor, Yvette Beck, waving him down, a pair of infant car seats at her feet. Jim parked his car and got out, taking off his sunglasses and putting on his neighborly smile.
“Hi Yvette. Something wrong?” Jim said as he approached the women in her late 20s.
“Mr. Brass, I’m so glad you’re home,” Yvette said, a look of exhaustion and anxiety on her face. “I really hate to ask you this, but I could use a big favor.”
Jim noticed the woman’s face, but more importantly he noticed the screaming 3 month old twin boys crying in their respective car seats. Jim bent down to take a closer look and tickle a toe or two. “What wrong, big guys?” Jim tried to coo and soothe the infants to no avail. “Yvette, hon, are they sick?”
“I think so, Mr. Brass. And I hate to ask you this, but I’ve been up with them all night and I want to take them to the doctor. But it’s difficult with Monica. …”
Jim looked sympathetically at the woman, who was a single mother for the time being. Her husband, Philip, a Marine reservist, had been sent overseas more than two months ago. Yvette was a strong girl, but out of Jim’s loyalty to a fellow Marine, he had promised to help out the young mother and wife whenever necessary.
Of course, he had thought that might mean helping out with yard work, plumbing and car repair. But if helping out meant babysitting, then Semper Fi.
“Would it be easier if I watched Monica while you were out?” Jim asked, sheepishly but without reservations.
Yvette breathed a sigh of relief, barely audible due to the twins wailing. “Oh, God, Mr. Brass. You have no idea what that would mean. They had to squeeze me in, which means they might not see the boys and me for a while. Would you mind terribly staying in the house with Monica?”
“Sure, not a problem,” Jim said kindly. “Give me a couple of minutes to change and I’ll be right over.”
“Oh, God. Thank you so much. I’m going to get their stuff in the car.”
Jim secured his sidearm in its appropriate place, and changed into a more comfortable polo shirt and pair of slacks. When he arrived at the Beck home, Yvette still had that frazzled look of someone who had listened to the incessant crying of a baby… times two. “I hate to say this, but I didn’t even have the chance to feed Monica yet,” Yvette said apologetically.
“Hey, don’t worry about that. We’ll chat over a bowl of cereal or a plate of eggs,” Jim said, his hand on Yvette’s shoulder. “I’m guessing you have coffee already made?”
Yvette smiled at the older man. “New pot. Just 20 minutes old. Please help yourself to anything, Mr. Brass. Oh, and here is my cell phone number, in case you need it. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”
Jim gave her one of his cards, after he scrawled his cell number on the back. “Here you go, Yvette, in case we’re outside or something.”
Nodding her thanks, Yvette put the card in her pocket. Next, she juggled her purse while attempting a dual hand grab of the two car seats. But Jim quickly took one off the ground and followed her to her car. Once they were secure, Yvette gave a wave to Brass and drove away.
“Poor kid,” Brass said to himself.
He walked back to the front door of his neighbor’s house and when he came in, a 3-year-old girl in a pink- and yellow-checkered sundress stood in front of him. She couldn’t weigh more than 25 pounds, and her shoulder-length sandy blonde hair was askew in several directions.
Despite the bed head and sleepy eyes, the toddler knew her manners. “Welcome,” she said with a smile.
“Well, hello Monica,” Brass said bringing his body eye level to the pint size hostess. “Do you remember me, sweetheart?”
“Yup,” Monica replied.
“I’m Mr. Brass from next door.”
“Yup.”
“I’m going to watch you while mommy takes the babies to the doctor.”
“Yup.”
“How about some breakfast, sweetheart?” he said, extending his hand.
Monica looked at him and then his hand. Then she gave him “five” and giggled while she nodded.
Jim let a smile creep upon his face as he clasped his paw over her petite hand. “You’re a woman of few words, aren’t you Monica?”
“Yup.”
“Ah, if only you were 40 years older,” Jim thought as he guided the youngster to the kitchen.
Once in the kitchen, Monica betrayed her earlier testament of being the silent type. Jim learned there was a wrong way to make chocolate milk. “No, Mista Brass. You halfta put da milk in da blue cup wit the cover for da strawl. That way I don’t spill.”
Jim did as he was told. He also took specific instructions on how much chocolate to pour in the milk and how many times to stir.
“239 times, Mista Brass.”
“239 times? Monica, can you even count to 239?”
“Yup,” she said confidently.
“OK, I’ll stir, you count.”
“OK,” Monica replied. “One, two, three, four, five, eight, 19, 42, 11, 100, 278, 12 million, 71, 239.”
Jim stopped, secured the lid, and placed the straw before giving it to the pint-sized Rachel Ray. “How’s it taste?”
“Good, but needs more counting.”
“I’ll remember that next time.”
After breakfast of cereal and juice for the little one, and a fried egg, toast and coffee for the bigger one, the duo thought about what to do next.
“Do you like dress up?”
“You know, that’s not my favorite game,” Jim said. Marines or not, there was no way he was going to be a Barbie doll. “How about Candyland?”
“No… Do you know Wizzer of Oz?”
“Yeah, yeah. That’s a good movie. Did you want to watch it?”
Monica got off her chair and ran off to her room. While Jim turned in his seat to see the youngster shuffling away, before he could take two sips of coffee, she was back. She seemed to have tried to put her hair in pigtails. But the source of her proud smile was upon her feet.
“You like my chose?” she asked, modeling her red sequin slippers.
“My, Monica. They are lovely, just like Dorothy,” Jim said.
“Yup,” she said. In her hands was a basket with several items, including stuffed animals of the four main characters of the movie. Monica took them out one by one and laid them on the table next to Jim’s coffee cup.
“Dis is Scarecrow. Dis is Lion. Dis is Tinnan. And dis is Dortashe.” Then the little girl looked around the room, causing Jim to smile and join her in investigating whether the two were alone. Once convinced, the girl shared her secret in a loud whisper. “Know what?”
“What?”
“I call her Monica. Ifs a better name.”
“I agree,” Jim said approvingly.
Monica started playing with the characters and offering dialogue from the movie, which impressed Jim because it seemed like she had memorized the script. But something was missing.
“Monica, hon? Where’s Toto?”
“No Toto,” Monica said, and then she enthusiastically extracted a ceramic dog from her basket. “Only Mista Checkers.”
Once the quintet was complete, the two played once more. Monica spewed more dialogue, and Jim supplied his best imitation of the guard at the Emerald City gate, “But nobody can see the Great Oz!” The quote made Dorothy giggle, which prompted Jim some more.
“Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain,” Jim said as he fumbled with imaginary knobs and levers.
Both were caught up in laughter as Monica clutched Mr. Checkers. Seeing the little girl with the messy pigtails and ruby red slippers, Jim couldn’t help to say one more quote. Using his best witchy voice, he said, “I’ll get you my pretty and your little dog too.”
Apparently, his impression was a little too good. He wasn’t expecting the blood-curdling scream from the little girl. Her face reminded Jim of Tippi Hendren from that famous scene from The Birds. And to emphasize her unexpected fear, Monica dropped her ceramic dog, which broke in three pieces on the floor.
“Mista Checkers!” Monica exclaimed.
“Oh, honey,” Jim said, feeling like the world’s biggest schmuck. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sorry.”
“Mista Checkers is gone,” Monica said with such sadness, Jim actually felt a knife rip his heart. He had to fix this and now.
He knelt on the floor and picked up the pieces of Mr. Checkers. “Scratch that,” he thought. “I am the world’s biggest ass.”
“Monica, don’t worry, Mr. Checkers… he just needs an operation. And I know I can fix him. No problem.”
“Really?”
“Really. Listen, let’s go next door to my house and I’ll get the … special operation ointment to fix him up.”
Monica seemed absolutely upbeat. “Can I be da doctor?”
“How about you be the nurse.”
Like so many women, Jim saw Monica had mastered the patented female expression-change-at-the-drop-of-a-hat game; she had gone from utter fear to sadness to delight to now disdain at his chauvinism. With hands on her hips she said, “Girls can be doctors too!”
Just as she mastered the game, Jim was so bad at it himself. With the ball in his court, he did the only noble thing - apologize and surrender. “Of course they can. You know what? How about you be the doctor and I’ll be the surgeon?”
“Yup.” It was fast becoming a trademark reply.
While Jim wrote a quick note to Yvette, in case they missed each other, the phone rang. It was Yvette warning Jim that she probably would be another hour and a half before she came back.
“That’s no problem, doll. But we had a little accident with Mr. Checkers, so we going to my house to see if we can glue him together. Then we’ll come back here.”
Yvette was laughing over the line. “Good luck, Mr. Brass. And again, I appreciate this.”
After Jim hung up, he took Monica’s hand to take her next door. Monica bounded into Jim’s house, which looked a lot different from her own. Jim thought maybe she would be more comfortable on his screened patio where there was more light. Plus, she wouldn’t wander around his house, which was not child-proofed.
Monica seemed to approve of the patio, which included a few plants inside the screen, and more outside in the fenced-in yard. “Can I see da flawers ousside, Mista Brass?”
“Sure, hon,” Jim said, propping the screen door open for Monica. “Just stay around where I can see you. I’m going to get the special ointment.”
Jim hurried to his office and quickly found the surgical ointment - Superglue. He came back to the patio in no time and saw Monica was smelling flowers outside.
“Watch out there, Monica. There are bees that like the flowers as much as you do.”
“Yup.”
While she played, Jim got ready for surgery on the patio table. Jim put a stepping stool so that Monica could see what was going on top of the table. After putting all three pieces of the dog down, he opened the new tube of Superglue gingerly. This was the heavy-duty stuff, so he didn’t want any on his hands.
“OK, Dr. Monica,” Jim called without turning around. “We’re all ready.”
Monica ran in and didn’t bother with the screen door. She stood next to Jim on the stepping stool, and looked around his body. “What I do?”
“Well, you are the doctor, so you have to make sure the patient is happy and not scared,” Jim said, making sure the Superglue is out of her reach. “Can you talk to Mr. Checkers while I apply the ointment?”
“Doun wordy, Mista Checkers. Docta Brass gonna fix you,” she said in a soothing voice.
While Jim applied Superglue between two pieces, Monica continued to talk, but in the middle of another “doun wordy,” Jim heard an intake of air from the little girl and heard a swat on the table. “BEE!” Monica exclaimed. “Mista Brass there’s a bee!”
Jim was caught off guard with the tube of Superglue in his hand. “What?” But before he could react or anything, Monica swatted his arm, causing Jim to squeeze on the tube. Then Monica yelled. “Your neck!”
Jim felt a prick and his hand instinctively flew to the back of his neck. Unfortunately it was the hand that squeezed the tube of Superglue on his hand. Now the hand was stuck on his neck and in the hair on the back of his head.
Jim bit down hard on his lip to suppress the “Son of a bitch” that was certain to leave his mouth. His hand was stuck and when he pulled, he felt like he was going to take a clump of his hair and scalp with it.
While Jim fooled with his hand, he forgot to watch Dr. Monica, who decided to fix Mr. Checkers herself. He didn’t turn his attention back to her until he heard. “OH NO, GLUE!” But when Jim looked toward the table, he felt something he wished he didn’t. Monica was trying to wipe the excess Superglue on the back of Jim’s shirt. The next words out of the youngster’s mouth didn’t surprise Jim one bit.
“OH NO. My hand stuck!”
“Monica, it’s OK. I’ll get you unstuck.”
“But I no want to be stuck to you forever.”
“Honey, you’re not going to be stuck to me forever…”
At that point, Monica started crying, so Jim tried to turn around and console her, but every time he did, she moved in a circle in the same way. To take Monica’s mind off the situation, Jim started making it a game out of it.
“Monica… where are you?” and Jim would turn around. “I can hear you but I can’t see you.”
Soon giggles commenced and Monica calmed down, offering Jim a chance to inwardly panic and figure out what the hell to do. He couldn’t wait more than an hour for Yvette, so he thought of his options. There were not many. They would have to go back into the house, but at least now he wouldn’t have to worry about keeping an eye out for Monica.
“Come on, sport. Let’s go make a phone call.”
Brass walked with a slow, short gait to accommodate the pint-sized freight car behind him. They went to the kitchen where he was able to extract a glass from the cupboard with his left hand and then went to the refrigerator to get some milk. He took two chairs from his table and placed them next to each other. Monica sat in one drinking her milk, and Jim in the other, with his back to the girl.
The detective awkwardly took his cellular from his pocket and pushed the down arrow and then the number “4” hoping to get some help.
Fortunately, the call was answered.
“Hey, it’s Jim. … Umm, been better. … Hey, you still at the office? … What a surprise. I need you to come by my place right now and bring some stuff with you. … Yes, right now. … No, not that kind of stuff. Actually, I need nail polish remover and scissors. … Don’t ask… just come over now.”
Jim shut his phone and let out a sigh.
“Did you invite a friend ober for a play date, Mista Brass,” a tiny voice said from behind him.
Jim tried to turn around as best he could. “No, sweetie, a friend’s coming over to help us get unstuck.”
Since scotch wasn’t one of the items his friend would bring (although he offered), there would be no play date today.
Gil Grissom had no idea what he would find once he reached Jim’s house. But upon seeing his friend open the door, Grissom let out a huge grin and extended his right hand for a shake. It was a gesture he knew Brass couldn’t reciprocate because, well, his right hand was already occupied.
“What’s the matter, Jim? Too good for a handshake?”
Jim wanted to say something, but little ears censored him. “Well, how are you, Gil? How nice of you to come by.”
Even Grissom was perplexed by the niceties. “Jim, how the hell did you …”
As Jim brought his left hand to his mouth to “shh” Grissom, Monica popped from behind Jim’s back. “OHHHHHH, you said a bad word, Mista!”
Grissom looked at the girl and then at his friend, who shook his head and smiled. “You did say a bad word, Gil. What do you say?”
Grissom swallowed a chuckle and said, “I’m sorry for what I said.” Then he stooped down to Monica’s level and spoke to her. “Hi, my name is Gil. Are you stuck there?”
“Yup.”
“So, are you his shadow or his conscience?”
“I’m not a shadow! I’m Monica.” Her voice was tinged with a bit of annoyance. She didn’t know what to think about this guy who says bad words. “I doun know what conjuice is.”
“Have you ever seen Pinocchio?”
“Yup.”
“Remember Jiminy Cricket?”
“Yup.”
“That’s a conscience.”
Monica pooched her lips and let her eyes stray up. She was obviously deep in thought. “I’m Mista Brasses… conjuice.”
“Good choice,” Gil agreed, who stood up and saw Brass give him the evil eye.
“Thanks, buddy,” Jim said, sarcastically.
“My pleasure,” Gil said, as he strode into the house and placed several items on the table.
“Mista Brass,” Monica urged, using her free hand to shake Jim’s free arm. “I need to go poddy.”
“Perfect,” Jim thought. But before he could speak, Gil approached Monica and kindly spoke to her.
“Well, we can’t have you stuck before you use the bathroom,” Gil smiled. “I’m going to use this scissors to unstick you from Mr. Brass, but I can’t have you moving.”
“Hey honey, why don’t you sing a song for Mr. Gil from your favorite movie,” Jim said.
“Yup,” Monica said. “And you sing wit me.”
“Yes, Mista Brass, you have to sing too,” Gil said, to the delight of Monica. She was starting to like him.
“OK, you start sweetheart.”
Monica cleared her throat and belted, “We’re off to see da Wizzer! Da wunderpull Wizzer ah Oz!”
In no time, Grissom painlessly cut the piece of polo connecting Monica’s hand to Jim’s back. Once dis-attached, Jim breathed a sigh of relief and turned to Monica. “OK, honey, Mr. Gil will help you get the glue and material off you hand after you go potty.”
“But Mista Brass I hap to go in MY poddy.” At this point, Monica was doing the very familiar fidgeting. “And I gotta go now!”
Jim really didn’t want to go outside, but he had no choice. “OK, let’s go, hon. Gil grab those ceramic pieces and Superglue from the outside patio, along with the stuff you brought, and meet us next door. You’re responsible for Mr. Checkers.”
As Jim rushed Monica out the door, Grissom was left standing in the kitchen dumbstruck. “Who the hell is Mr. Checkers?”
--
Once inside her house, Monica shot straight to the bathroom. When she came out, Brass picked her up and placed her on the kitchen counter so Grissom wouldn’t have to stoop down to extract the material from her hand. With his meticulous precision, Grissom used a healthy amount of acetone to remove the material and excess glue with nothing but tweezers and cotton swabs.
“How does that feel, Monica?” Grissom asked.
“My hand feels hard,” she said.
“Don’t worry, it will for a bit. Why don’t you wash your hands and I’ll fix your ceramic dog.”
Well, now Monica was questioning her liking of this Mista Gil. “His name isth Mista Checkers. Don’t you member?”
Brass just had to laugh. Grissom took it will a grain of salt. “I apologize, Monica. Please go wash your hands while I fix Mr. Checkers.”
“Yup,” and with that she skipped into the bathroom.
After Grissom finished gluing, Brass asked him to place the toy in a top cupboard, where it wouldn’t fall.
“Didn’t Mr. Gil do a nice job?”
“Yup. Tank you Mista Gil.”
“You’re very welcome, Monica.”
“OK, hon, that should be ready in about an hour,” Brass said to the youngster. “Now can you play in your room while Mr. Gil helps get me unstuck.”
“I sorry the bee did dis to you, Mista Brass,” Monica said, eyes downcast.
Both men sported grins. “That’s OK, sweetie,” Brass said. “Now, you get going.”
--
After Monica left, Grissom picked up the items and followed Jim to the bathroom.
“So,” Grissom asked. “A bee did this to you?”
“Ha ha ha ha,” Brass replied, before shutting the door. Once closed, the neighborly Jim turned to the pissed off Captain Brass. “Shut the hell up. She surprised me and then I felt this thing on my neck.”
“You tried to kill it didn’t you?” Grissom tsked tsked. “Instant karma’s going to get you, Jim.”
“Shut up.”
Although Grissom enjoyed the laugh, he was stalling about dealing with the dilemma at hand. “Jim, why don’t I take you to the barber now?”
“I can’t leave Monica here and I’m not going to take her with us. And I’m not staying like this waiting for her mother to come home,” Jim said with much frustration. “Don’t be a jackass, you’re going to have to do this.”
“You should have called a woman.”
“Really? And who would that be Casanova?”
“What about Catherine?”
Jim snorted. “Are you crazy?”
“You’re right. She would never stop laughing.”
“And she’d be snapping damn photos. Now would you stop stalling and just do this.” Grissom grabbed the scissors and started clipping, an ever-present nervous scowl on his face.
Jim grimaced every once in a while. He wasn’t in the kindest moods at the moment. “You know if you weren’t such an idiot, I could have called Sara,” Jim said heaving a sigh as he watched locks fall. “But no. You have to get all stupid and use the, ‘She vants to be alone,’ excuse so you don’t have to go after her. Well, let me tell you, buddy, that’s a load of bullshit and you know it. You’re just a chicken shit.”
“You really think you should make judgments like that when I have scissors so close to your face?” Grissom said, surprisingly with neither sadness nor anger in his voice.
Brass turned his head to look at Grissom. Although three of his fingers were still comically stuck in his hair, his voice still was strong and fierce. “I don’t give a shit if you had a gun to my head. You would still be a chicken shit. And because you’re too scared to go after the woman you love, I’ve stuck here sharing a toilet seat with a rubber ducky with a 50 year old man slipping his fingers in my hair like some pathetic old man gay porno.”
At that, Grissom set down his scissors and pursed his lips in a familiar Grissom fashion. Jim used his free hand to rub his face and the back of his neck. “Ah shit, Gil. I…”
But before Jim could continue, Grissom took out his cell and dialed a number. When Jim opened his mouth, Grissom simply put up a single finger. Someone seemed to have picked up the line on the other end of the call.
“Hi,” Grissom said lightly. “I need you to come to Jim’s house for me and bring something with you. … What do I want you to bring?” Grissom asked as he looked at Jim, who rolled his eyes. “How about the camera? … Yes, the camera.”
Jim was sure Catherine was on her way. That was until he heard Grissom’s last words on the phone.
“Ten minutes? Great. … OK, hon. … I love you too.”
Grissom closed his phone, gave a very satisfied look to his friend and left the bathroom.
Jim sat there laughing to himself.
Those would be the most welcome, embarrassing photos he might ever take.
THE END