Scene Stealer - Fic: Detective Armani
Title: Detective Armani
Author: Aingeal
Rating: PG
Pairing: None, it's a gen, though I am sure those of you with slashy goggles on can make something of it.
Summary: Detective Armani reflects on a first meeting.
Thanks: Thank you to lozenger8 who answered my 11th hour need for a quick beta.
Notes: This second bit of fic is set during the first meeting of Fraser and Ray at the station. It's 721 words long.
Disclaimer: I don't ownt he boys but I lock them in a closet occasionally.
Detective Armani
I’m still in shock as I stare after you, remembering the words you just told me; ‘like you, he is pretending to be someone he's not.’ How the hell do you know? I’ve only just met you and already you’ve realised the one thing about me that most people don’t bother to notice.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I turned around in that holding cell, a Mountie, a real life Mountie, we don’t see them in Chicago. Then you asked for Detective Armani. I admit I was mad at you. You even apologised ‘I’m sorry, Detective Armani’. You got all confused when I said that wasn’t my name. Who hasn’t heard of Armani? Did you grow up in the middle of nowhere? You only believed me when I showed the label.
You’re not the Armani type, I could see that. I tried not to look at you as we walked back to the bullpen, but I couldn’t help it. You weren’t wearing a red uniform so you didn’t look like Dudley Do-right, but you still looked like you don’t belong here. It’s like someone just dropped you in the middle of Chicago.
I was still mad when we made it back to the bullpen. I shouted at you but you just took it. I’m not used to having someone just be calm about it. Here, you yell at someone, they yell back, that’s the way it always was at home and it’s the same all over Chicago. The fact you didn’t yell meant already you had an advantage over me.
I took the crumpled piece of paper from you and read the number. I knew which case you meant. Of course, I could have guessed it was the dead Mountie the minute you asked to see me. It’s not like anybody else would be interested in someone getting shot thousands of miles away. I’ve met people who didn’t care about someone getting shot on the same street as them. Only a Canadian would be interested.
You told me he was your father. Your father. I knew then why you cared so much. You only wanted one thing and I spent my time yelling at you, complaining you interrupted a bust. This wasn’t just a case to you and suddenly it stopped being just a case to me. It stopped being just someone who was shot thousands of miles away - it became a father who was shot thousands of miles away and his son was now here, wanting to find his killer.
I wasn’t listening to you when you talked about the man in the cell, I was so sorry I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? I’m sorry for your loss? There was little point in me saying those words when I called your Dad ‘the dead Mountie thing’. So I didn’t say a word.
But then you said about the man in the cell and I was half listening, taking it in. I was thinking about how my boss handed me the case file and told me to work on it. I hadn’t bothered with it, put it to one side. Then you looked at me, really looked at me and came out with that line about pretending.
I could see you were mad at me, but you didn’t say a word. You just took off your badge and walked away. You knew what would work with me. If you’d yelled, I wouldn’t have thought about what I was saying or wouldn’t have thought about it at all. You did that.
You looked at me, really looked. You didn’t call me a jerk for insulting your dead father, you made me think about that on my own. I barely know you and yet you managed to look past the Armani.
But as you walk away out of sight, part of me wonders, is this case, are you, the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time? I’m going to find you. I’m going to work on this case and give you something. You saw me under my attitude and I owe you for that. I’m going to find out who that guy in the cell was, but I’m going to make a few phone calls first, then maybe we can talk.
Author: Aingeal
Rating: PG
Pairing: None, it's a gen, though I am sure those of you with slashy goggles on can make something of it.
Summary: Detective Armani reflects on a first meeting.
Thanks: Thank you to lozenger8 who answered my 11th hour need for a quick beta.
Notes: This second bit of fic is set during the first meeting of Fraser and Ray at the station. It's 721 words long.
Disclaimer: I don't ownt he boys but I lock them in a closet occasionally.
Detective Armani
I’m still in shock as I stare after you, remembering the words you just told me; ‘like you, he is pretending to be someone he's not.’ How the hell do you know? I’ve only just met you and already you’ve realised the one thing about me that most people don’t bother to notice.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing when I turned around in that holding cell, a Mountie, a real life Mountie, we don’t see them in Chicago. Then you asked for Detective Armani. I admit I was mad at you. You even apologised ‘I’m sorry, Detective Armani’. You got all confused when I said that wasn’t my name. Who hasn’t heard of Armani? Did you grow up in the middle of nowhere? You only believed me when I showed the label.
You’re not the Armani type, I could see that. I tried not to look at you as we walked back to the bullpen, but I couldn’t help it. You weren’t wearing a red uniform so you didn’t look like Dudley Do-right, but you still looked like you don’t belong here. It’s like someone just dropped you in the middle of Chicago.
I was still mad when we made it back to the bullpen. I shouted at you but you just took it. I’m not used to having someone just be calm about it. Here, you yell at someone, they yell back, that’s the way it always was at home and it’s the same all over Chicago. The fact you didn’t yell meant already you had an advantage over me.
I took the crumpled piece of paper from you and read the number. I knew which case you meant. Of course, I could have guessed it was the dead Mountie the minute you asked to see me. It’s not like anybody else would be interested in someone getting shot thousands of miles away. I’ve met people who didn’t care about someone getting shot on the same street as them. Only a Canadian would be interested.
You told me he was your father. Your father. I knew then why you cared so much. You only wanted one thing and I spent my time yelling at you, complaining you interrupted a bust. This wasn’t just a case to you and suddenly it stopped being just a case to me. It stopped being just someone who was shot thousands of miles away - it became a father who was shot thousands of miles away and his son was now here, wanting to find his killer.
I wasn’t listening to you when you talked about the man in the cell, I was so sorry I didn’t know what to say. What could I say? I’m sorry for your loss? There was little point in me saying those words when I called your Dad ‘the dead Mountie thing’. So I didn’t say a word.
But then you said about the man in the cell and I was half listening, taking it in. I was thinking about how my boss handed me the case file and told me to work on it. I hadn’t bothered with it, put it to one side. Then you looked at me, really looked at me and came out with that line about pretending.
I could see you were mad at me, but you didn’t say a word. You just took off your badge and walked away. You knew what would work with me. If you’d yelled, I wouldn’t have thought about what I was saying or wouldn’t have thought about it at all. You did that.
You looked at me, really looked. You didn’t call me a jerk for insulting your dead father, you made me think about that on my own. I barely know you and yet you managed to look past the Armani.
But as you walk away out of sight, part of me wonders, is this case, are you, the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time? I’m going to find you. I’m going to work on this case and give you something. You saw me under my attitude and I owe you for that. I’m going to find out who that guy in the cell was, but I’m going to make a few phone calls first, then maybe we can talk.