For The Recordů

2 DEC 2000

Suisan "Sue" R.

Drawn by the sounds of laughter, Captain Simon Banks came out of his office to see Daphne, the latest addition to the secretarial pool, standing by Jim Ellison's desk. But there was no sign of the detective. Curious, he walked over to the secretary. "Daphne, are you looking for Ellison?"

For some reason, his question and Daphne's negative shake of her head sent the whole bullpen careening off into laughter again. Then Joel Taggart got his attention and, following the man's pointing finger, Simon leaned over the desk to see the chino-clad legs slide further under Jim's desk. "Ellison!? What are you doing under your desk?!"

No answer. But his simple question had sent the men and women of Major Crimes into fits again. Looking around, Simon noticed Daphne holding a micro-cassette player and, as he watched, she hit the play button. His teeth nearly lost contact with his cigar as the soft voice of Ellison's latest 'lady friend' issued forth from the speaker...

"Motorcycle. Two riders. Shotgun that uses flechette rounds. OH! Damn, that's good. Hmmm, but for the other scene... Her heart nearly stopped when he stepped out from behind the glass brick shower enclosure. He was the embodiment of every classic Greek sculpture she'd ever seen. And he knew it. There wasn't an ounce of shame in John Allison..."

His treasured afternoon treat, an Arturo Fuente cigar, hit the tiled floor, and Simon nearly joined it there. It was no secret that Jim's lady was a writer of some sort, but this? This was too much. Recovering his composure as best he could, he leaned over the desk to stare at his detective, who was still hiding under his desk. "Jim? Is there some logical reason that Elle used your issued micro recorder?"

Okay, he didn't think it was possible, but Jim was doing his best to prove him wrong. You COULD stuff a six-foot plus detective into the tiny cubby under a standard desk. And still have a little room left over. Grinning hugely, he said, "Ellison, you DO have an answer for me, don't you? Or are you just inspecting the drawer rails under your desk for wear and tear?"

As Simon risked a quick glance towards the other law enforcement officers in the bullpen, he felt the desk he was leaning against jump off the floor.

"Ouch! Damnit. What else could go wrong?" Finally! The voice of James Ellison was heard!

However, it was the last straw for Simon. Keeping a straight face around this group was difficult, and he joined the rest of his crew in laughter as Ellison finally crawled out from under the desk, his face an unbelievable shade of bright red. Even as Jim watched, an expression of utter horror crossing his face, Daphne ejected the tape from her recorder and handed it over to the captain. Simon accepted the 'evidence' and placed it inside his vest's pocket. "Jim, my office... Now, if you please?"

If it had just been the tape, in private, no audience, Jim was pretty sure he could've sweet-talked Daphne out of the tape. But no, she had to bring it into the bullpen and PLAY the damn thing loud enough for everyone to listen to. IF had just been the one scene, about the motorcycle, he could have weathered the storm. Instead it was the other scene. The one that had made him blush when he read it over her shoulder as she rapidly typed it out this morning.

Rubbing his abused head, trying hard to ignore the still snickering chortles issuing forth from his coworkers, Jim reluctantly followed Simon into the privacy of the Captain's office. Simon was already seated behind his desk, his fingers flying over his computer keyboard as he hooked up to whatever Internet service the man used. A wave of mild vertigo passed over Jim and he almost missed his Captain's words.

"Sit down before you fall down, Jim. You managed to knock yourself a good one out there."

Jim sank gratefully into the offered seat. "Simon, I can explain..."

"Really? Oh, this should be good."

How come he suddenly felt like a teenage kid again, being called on the carpet in front of the school principal? Jim stammered, "I, uh, well...." This wasn't coming out right.


He didn't think it possible, but Jim could've sworn that he felt his face heat up even further as his embarrassment grew. Taking a steadying breath, Jim launched into his attempt to explain. "Elle hates to lose track of what she calls 'plot bunnies'. She's forever grabbing napkins, coasters, whatever's handy to jot notes down on, and, well, she saw me using my micro recorder one day, admired it and, well, I bought one just like it so she could keep her notes." Simon wasn't helping out here, instead of just saying 'that's fine' or something like that, he merely made the gesture that meant "keep going" -- forcing Jim to finish the tale. "Well, I must have grabbed the wrong recorder this morning."

"Uh, huh. So what you're telling me is that you managed to turn over one of Elle's tapes to Daphne to transcribe by mistake?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you can promise me that this won't happen again?"

"Uh, no sir. It won't."

"Good." Jim stood up to leave when Simon waved him off, dismissing him, only to be halted by the Captain's next words...

"So, for the record Ellison, what's the web address for Elle's stories?"

**** End ****

Notes: Loosely based on a similar incident that my hubby and I went through a few years ago. Yes, it IS possible to stuff a six-foot, solidly built man under those tiny desks.... <G>

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