Word Count: 417
Summary: "Are you sure this is sanitary?"
Relationship: Hightower/Van Pelt
Written for Lydia! Happy Holidays! :)
Van Pelt sighed at the amount of paperwork held up on her desk from their latest case; it had been a rather messy one, and though nothing really ever set her stomach churning—this one made her a little weary about stepping back onto a boat anytime soon. The bullpen was somewhat quiet (except for the soft snoring from Jane—who swore up and down that he didn’t snore).
“Agent Van Pelt.” Van Pelt quickly glanced up from her desk to find Agent Madeleine Hightower standing behind her.
“Yes, ma’am?” The other female agent looked semi-troubled, and bothered but Van Pelt refused to ask why—personal business was something best avoided at work, as she had come to learn.
“I need your help, please.” Van Pelt was unsure if she should grab her gun, but as she went to grab at her gun tucked within her drawer—Hightower shook her head. “No need Agent. We’ll be using our hands for this one.”
Wearily, Van Pelt stood from her desk and followed behind the lady boss—who seemed to have no problem hustling the both up to her office, before opening the door and ushering them both in. Van Pelt had always liked Hightower’s office, but then again—she hadn’t really spent enough time there to gain a second opinion of it.
“I’m having a little problem.” Hightower pointed toward her desk. “Under my desk, lives something.”
“Something lives under your desk?” Van Pelt repeated, and Hightower nodded. “Do you know what it is?”
“Not exactly, Agent Van Pelt.” Hightower hesitated. “I was sitting down at my desk earlier, and I felt something crawling on the top of my shoes.”
“…so, you decided to come find me?” Van Pelt was confused. Why hadn’t the boss gone to find her boss?
“It was either you or Patrick, and would you trust him with anything?” If that was a trick question, Van Pelt knew she would fail. “Please help me catch whatever it is.” She nodded, and moved toward the desk slowly before she bent under the desk.
“Do you have anything we can lure it out with?” Van Pelt asked.
Van Pelt frowned. “I’ll just use my hands then.” She pushed her hands forward in the darkness to feel around under the wooden desk. “Are you sure this is sanitary?”
“I’m positive, Agent.”
Eventually, they found the suspect—a tiny field mouse.
Van Pelt set it free, and everybody (except the mouse) was happy again.