mandy9578
CSI Level Two
:lol::lol: Here's another one of my fics. Haha, I feel like a pimp!:guffaw:
LAST SONG SYNDROME IS A BITCH!
By mandy9578
Category: Romance/Humor
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don’t own Flack, Stella and Danny. I’m just borrowing them! I promise to return them in mint condition after I’m done playing with them. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS.
Author’s Note: This was inspired yet again by feathergirl926. We’ve talked about this months ago but it was only now that I’ve finally put the idea to paper, well, um, not exactly. You guys know what I mean! :lol: Oh yeah, it’s to finally type the idea out. This was really, really fun to write! I really hope you’ll enjoy reading this.
Last song syndrome--To listen to music before going out of the house, and having the last song you hear before leaving stick in your head all through your journey, and beyond. Is usually accompanied by subconscious humming. This syndrome is particularly dangerous when the song happens to be the most pathetic, crappy, albeit catchy song ever. Definition from UrbanDictionary.com
Don Flack and Danny Messer were driving along the busy streets of Manhattan. They just got called off a crime scene and were now just a block away from yet another one. Stella Bonasera, coming straight from the crime lab, was already there, waiting for them to arrive.
Danny, sitting shotgun, was so engrossed with texting someone on his cell phone that there wasn’t room for much conversation. Flack, on the other hand, was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, concentrating on the traffic before him.
♫♫ “…You will be popular! You're gonna be popular! I'll teach you the proper ploys when you talk to boys, little ways to flirt and flounce. Oooohh. I'll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair, everything that really counts to be popular…”♫♫
Danny couldn’t believe his ears that he stopped fiddling with his cell phone. “What the fuck?!? Flack, are you actually singing your little head off,” Danny asked incredulously, trying to smother a laugh.
“Huh? What? Singing? No, I wasn’t,” he denied vehemently.
“Yes, you were,” Danny insisted.
“No I wasn’t,” Flack replied as he pulled into a parking space a uniform had reserved for them.
Both getting down from the vehicle, Danny continued his assault on Flack. “Yes you were! And by the sound of it, you were singing some girly song.”
“No I wasn’t singing some girly song,” Flack said through gritted teeth.
“Just admit it man! No need to be ashamed. We all do it anyway. Wait, correction. People do it, just not me,” Danny rattled off. He was sporting a huge grin on his face while Flack looked really pissed.
“Shut the fuck up, Messer,” he said under his breath, trying to sound really menacing but clearly he was failing.
Stella was waving them over to the crime scene. “Hey Danny! Hey Flack! Over here,” Stella greeted them. “Flack, why do you look like you’re about to beat the crap out of Danny? And Danny, why do you look like a cat that swallowed the canary,” Stella asked with a smile on her face, knowing that Danny was teasing the life out of Flack by the looks of things.
“Well, your boyfriend over here was singing in the car. I wouldn’t have minded but he keeps denying he was,” Danny told Stella, as both he and Flack ducked under the crime scene tape.
“Oh really? So what was he singing,” Stella asked Danny as if Flack wasn’t even there, a grin starting to form on her face. She actually had an idea what Flack was singing.
“I’m not really sure but it’s got the word popular in it. Come to think of it, I’ve heard that song before! It’s…it’s from that Broadway musical about the Wicked Witch of the West. Um, I’ve got it! It’s…it’s from Wicked,” Danny exclaimed triumphantly.
Stella was laughing out loud now. They were actually attracting attention from the uniforms securing the crime scene.
“Huh? How do you know,” Flack asked, red-faced.
“Haha! You are sooo busted Flack,” Danny said gleefully.
“Shit! Shit! Shit,” Flack muttered. “I repeat, how do you know,” he asked Danny again.
“I haven’t seen it on Broadway, if that’s what you’re implying. Worked a case once where the evidence included an iPod mini containing some songs from Wicked. Witness who owned it…auditioned for a part in a school production. So why were you singing that girly song anyway,” Danny inquired, without missing a beat.
“Blame her,” he said, pointing at Stella.
“What! What do you mean blame me,” Stella said, still laughing.
“Yes, Flack, why blame your girlfriend all of a sudden,” Danny chided.
“Well, Stel here kept telling me how much she would love to see Wicked. So I bought tickets and we went to see it last Saturday night. Even bought her the CD, she loved it so much. Mind you, it was great! But Bonasera here,” Flack paused, clearly exasperated. “…She kept playing the CD over and over and over again the entire day Sunday. I even got it ringing in my head like a broken record! Song won’t leave me in peace! Now you know why I was singing that…that song,” he said, spitting the words out, scrunching his face.
“So now you call me Bonasera,” Stella said with mock-anger. “Huh! Just for that! Hey Danny, wanna know something else,” she said with a wicked glint to her eyes, looking at Danny while ignoring Flack.
“Stel, don’t you dare,” Flack said trying to interrupt Stella.
“Of course, Stel, I want to know more juicy tidbits about our boy Flack here,” Danny said, humor clearly touching his speech.
“Donnie here was singing it in the shower this morning as well. It actually woke me up even before my alarm went off,” she said, clearly laughing now.
“Flack, you are such a girl,” Danny said in a teasing voice, laughing along with Stella. Flack, on the other hand, was clearly getting redder by the minute, shuffling on his feet.
“…He was so into it, didn’t even hear me open the shower door…Was even busy making funny shapes with his hair full of shampoo…. He looked so busted. All he could he mutter was a lame ‘hehe,’” she said humorously.
“Oh Stel,” Flack said in a whiny voice. “That was just between the two of us! Now Messer here knows! Shit! Fuck,” he continued, slapping his forehead in frustration.
“You betcha Flack, my man,” Danny retorted.
“Anyway, Flack you were sooo cute singing in the shower. You were singing your little heart out like a little girl,” Stella went on teasingly.
“Hey! I don’t do cute, just so you know. And I don’t sing like a little girl,” Flack said, hoping against hope that Stella and Danny would finally drop the subject.
“Ah, but you do, Donnie,” Stella said, patting him on the cheek.
“Don’t you both have evidence to examine,” Flack asked Stella and Danny, trying to change the subject.
“Don’t you have witnesses to interview,” Stella replied pointedly.
“Okay, okay! Fine, just stop teasing me already,” Flack said in an agitated voice.
“Nah, never will happen! Not even when hell freezes over,” Danny told him matter of factly, a speck of laughter in his eyes.
“I really, really hate you guys! Shit! Last song syndrome is such a bitch,” Flack said with feeling.
“Love ya too, Donnie,” Stella said playfully to Flack, finally making her way to the evidence she has yet to examine, Danny following suit.
Flack was left there scratching his head wondering if he’ll ever live this one down. Clearly not!
Fin.
A/N 2: For those of you who don’t know, the song Flack was singing is called Popular. As mentioned here, it’s from the Broadway musical Wicked. Oh and by the way, I don’t own the song either. I just love the musical. :lol: As Flack said, “Last song syndrome is a bitch!” It really is. :lol: We know we’ve all suffered from it! :lol: I’d sing a song and my sister would suddenly start singing it as well. She’d go, “I hate you!” since she’d hum it the whole day. Sometimes I intentionally sing something she hates so I can infect her with LSS! :guffaw: Anyway, thanks for reading! Now please leave me a line or two! You know you want to! :lol: Seriously, I would love to know what you think of this fic.
LAST SONG SYNDROME IS A BITCH!
By mandy9578
Category: Romance/Humor
Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don’t own Flack, Stella and Danny. I’m just borrowing them! I promise to return them in mint condition after I’m done playing with them. They belong to Anthony Zuiker, Jerry Bruckheimer and CBS.
Author’s Note: This was inspired yet again by feathergirl926. We’ve talked about this months ago but it was only now that I’ve finally put the idea to paper, well, um, not exactly. You guys know what I mean! :lol: Oh yeah, it’s to finally type the idea out. This was really, really fun to write! I really hope you’ll enjoy reading this.
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Last song syndrome--To listen to music before going out of the house, and having the last song you hear before leaving stick in your head all through your journey, and beyond. Is usually accompanied by subconscious humming. This syndrome is particularly dangerous when the song happens to be the most pathetic, crappy, albeit catchy song ever. Definition from UrbanDictionary.com
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Danny, sitting shotgun, was so engrossed with texting someone on his cell phone that there wasn’t room for much conversation. Flack, on the other hand, was drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, concentrating on the traffic before him.
♫♫ “…You will be popular! You're gonna be popular! I'll teach you the proper ploys when you talk to boys, little ways to flirt and flounce. Oooohh. I'll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair, everything that really counts to be popular…”♫♫
Danny couldn’t believe his ears that he stopped fiddling with his cell phone. “What the fuck?!? Flack, are you actually singing your little head off,” Danny asked incredulously, trying to smother a laugh.
“Huh? What? Singing? No, I wasn’t,” he denied vehemently.
“Yes, you were,” Danny insisted.
“No I wasn’t,” Flack replied as he pulled into a parking space a uniform had reserved for them.
Both getting down from the vehicle, Danny continued his assault on Flack. “Yes you were! And by the sound of it, you were singing some girly song.”
“No I wasn’t singing some girly song,” Flack said through gritted teeth.
“Just admit it man! No need to be ashamed. We all do it anyway. Wait, correction. People do it, just not me,” Danny rattled off. He was sporting a huge grin on his face while Flack looked really pissed.
“Shut the fuck up, Messer,” he said under his breath, trying to sound really menacing but clearly he was failing.
Stella was waving them over to the crime scene. “Hey Danny! Hey Flack! Over here,” Stella greeted them. “Flack, why do you look like you’re about to beat the crap out of Danny? And Danny, why do you look like a cat that swallowed the canary,” Stella asked with a smile on her face, knowing that Danny was teasing the life out of Flack by the looks of things.
“Well, your boyfriend over here was singing in the car. I wouldn’t have minded but he keeps denying he was,” Danny told Stella, as both he and Flack ducked under the crime scene tape.
“Oh really? So what was he singing,” Stella asked Danny as if Flack wasn’t even there, a grin starting to form on her face. She actually had an idea what Flack was singing.
“I’m not really sure but it’s got the word popular in it. Come to think of it, I’ve heard that song before! It’s…it’s from that Broadway musical about the Wicked Witch of the West. Um, I’ve got it! It’s…it’s from Wicked,” Danny exclaimed triumphantly.
Stella was laughing out loud now. They were actually attracting attention from the uniforms securing the crime scene.
“Huh? How do you know,” Flack asked, red-faced.
“Haha! You are sooo busted Flack,” Danny said gleefully.
“Shit! Shit! Shit,” Flack muttered. “I repeat, how do you know,” he asked Danny again.
“I haven’t seen it on Broadway, if that’s what you’re implying. Worked a case once where the evidence included an iPod mini containing some songs from Wicked. Witness who owned it…auditioned for a part in a school production. So why were you singing that girly song anyway,” Danny inquired, without missing a beat.
“Blame her,” he said, pointing at Stella.
“What! What do you mean blame me,” Stella said, still laughing.
“Yes, Flack, why blame your girlfriend all of a sudden,” Danny chided.
“Well, Stel here kept telling me how much she would love to see Wicked. So I bought tickets and we went to see it last Saturday night. Even bought her the CD, she loved it so much. Mind you, it was great! But Bonasera here,” Flack paused, clearly exasperated. “…She kept playing the CD over and over and over again the entire day Sunday. I even got it ringing in my head like a broken record! Song won’t leave me in peace! Now you know why I was singing that…that song,” he said, spitting the words out, scrunching his face.
“So now you call me Bonasera,” Stella said with mock-anger. “Huh! Just for that! Hey Danny, wanna know something else,” she said with a wicked glint to her eyes, looking at Danny while ignoring Flack.
“Stel, don’t you dare,” Flack said trying to interrupt Stella.
“Of course, Stel, I want to know more juicy tidbits about our boy Flack here,” Danny said, humor clearly touching his speech.
“Donnie here was singing it in the shower this morning as well. It actually woke me up even before my alarm went off,” she said, clearly laughing now.
“Flack, you are such a girl,” Danny said in a teasing voice, laughing along with Stella. Flack, on the other hand, was clearly getting redder by the minute, shuffling on his feet.
“…He was so into it, didn’t even hear me open the shower door…Was even busy making funny shapes with his hair full of shampoo…. He looked so busted. All he could he mutter was a lame ‘hehe,’” she said humorously.
“Oh Stel,” Flack said in a whiny voice. “That was just between the two of us! Now Messer here knows! Shit! Fuck,” he continued, slapping his forehead in frustration.
“You betcha Flack, my man,” Danny retorted.
“Anyway, Flack you were sooo cute singing in the shower. You were singing your little heart out like a little girl,” Stella went on teasingly.
“Hey! I don’t do cute, just so you know. And I don’t sing like a little girl,” Flack said, hoping against hope that Stella and Danny would finally drop the subject.
“Ah, but you do, Donnie,” Stella said, patting him on the cheek.
“Don’t you both have evidence to examine,” Flack asked Stella and Danny, trying to change the subject.
“Don’t you have witnesses to interview,” Stella replied pointedly.
“Okay, okay! Fine, just stop teasing me already,” Flack said in an agitated voice.
“Nah, never will happen! Not even when hell freezes over,” Danny told him matter of factly, a speck of laughter in his eyes.
“I really, really hate you guys! Shit! Last song syndrome is such a bitch,” Flack said with feeling.
“Love ya too, Donnie,” Stella said playfully to Flack, finally making her way to the evidence she has yet to examine, Danny following suit.
Flack was left there scratching his head wondering if he’ll ever live this one down. Clearly not!
Fin.
A/N 2: For those of you who don’t know, the song Flack was singing is called Popular. As mentioned here, it’s from the Broadway musical Wicked. Oh and by the way, I don’t own the song either. I just love the musical. :lol: As Flack said, “Last song syndrome is a bitch!” It really is. :lol: We know we’ve all suffered from it! :lol: I’d sing a song and my sister would suddenly start singing it as well. She’d go, “I hate you!” since she’d hum it the whole day. Sometimes I intentionally sing something she hates so I can infect her with LSS! :guffaw: Anyway, thanks for reading! Now please leave me a line or two! You know you want to! :lol: Seriously, I would love to know what you think of this fic.
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