Log in

No account? Create an account
26 December 2008 @ 10:30 pm
Theatrical Muse: Week 263: Question 263  
Name: Dr. Sid Hammerback

Fandom: CSI: New York

Word Count: 678

Write about receiving a present that was not what you had hoped for.

He was doing a bit of work at a restaurant here the kitchen was situated in the middle of the floor, all the features open and available for people to see, as long as they stayed behind the protective see through barriers that separated the kitchen folk from the customers and the outside world. At least, that was what they were meant to do, create a boundary between the stove and the paying customer, the sharp knives that flurried themselves, chopping artistically, all the ingredients needed to make one dish or the other. It didn’t stop people looking through the high rises of sturdy plastic, the constructs of protectiveness lined up all around the kitchen, the midpoint between his domain, and the bar that circled it entirely, the restaurant beyond. Why have a kitchen in the middle of a restaurant? To show of the people at work, of course.

Sid eyed the patrons at the bar occasionally as he worked, filleting a fish deftly with a sharp, thin knife built especially for the purpose. It was both work and a show, this act, more so than cooking usually was when done behind walls, mostly out of sight and out of mind. They were the closest people to him; sitting directly behind the plastic at a surface of what he assumed was high end marble or something similar. His hands working methodically, he breathed in the air of it all and smiled at one woman who had continually met his gaze whenever he had taken the opportunity to peer around. She smiled back, but he didn’t falter, just kept going, kept pushing himself towards the eventual finish that would come at the end of the shift, at closing, when everyone was gone.

The Medical Examiner shook hands with the few people he knew once service had finished that night, when they sat together on chairs, counting things and exchanging stories. There was an underhand gesture from someone seated next to him and a card was slipped into his palm with a cheeky grin. A phone number from someone, that much could be glanced as he put it into his pocket with a wry expression glittering across his face.

“Hello?” Sid spoke, phone in one hand, bag over shoulder, toolbox in the free hand as he made his way home. There had been no name, but a phone number on a card often indicated one of few things, not many. A sweet sounding voice answered and he smiled, step quickening, breath hitching as it whispered to him, told him where he might find her, meet her, and why not? Since when was he the only person on Earth to respond to a card and a phone number and a sultry invitation.

They were halfway undressed, awkward questions of health and out of the way before he had the urge to reach underneath her, to play and be coy.

The voice that uttered from near where the mouth was nibbling on his ear dropped a register.

“Not what you expected?”

Sid couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her, pressing the woman up against the wall forcefully with a smirk of intended playfulness and harmless harshness, teeth bitting suddenly into her neck.

“Don’t think you know how to fool me.” he said, and his voice was lower than hers, but with the same rumble. Searching for what to say next, he used a spare hand to apply pressure to what was still hidden beneath a pair of flared jeans.

“I knew all along.” the man said next, playful and articulate in his ministrations. This was a most truth. He hadn’t suspected initially, but during the course of the evening as they had looked at one another, separated by the plastic barrier, he had gathered information from her, like the so often did.

“And you came anyway. What an enigma you are.” the other man replied, but she wasn’t really a man, not now, not if she didn’t want to be.

Not what he had expected, exactly, but he couldn’t care less.
Current Mood: satisfiedsatisfied
Current Music: Desolation Row - Bob Dylan