With nothing but POI reruns during this time of the 2014 Winter Olympic broadcasts, I thought it a good time for some non-ship "fluff" fiction. :)
Since I have borrowed (once again!) a character originally brought to the page by Wuchel1, I encourage you to read her "Lost in Translation", "Not Just Another Walk In The Park", and a companion piece "Truth and Consequences".

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"Piece of garbage!"

Fusco delivers a swift kick for emphasis. And from the appearance of the large dent in the front panel he's obviously not the first to deliver that particular punctuation following a critique of the appliance. After a ridiculous amount of time during which he had alternately glared at the machine and vigorously punched all the appropriate buttons, he's still no closer to getting a printed copy than when he started.

"The Major gets a new limo. The Attorney General gets new office furniture. And do you think the Comptroller could find just a few measly dollars to get us a new copier…?" he grouses at the metal box, every word steeped in frustration.

He thinks about adding another kick, but obviously that particular action, along with all others, is being totally ignored by the bucket of bolts in front of him. Besides, he spent precious time on that shoe shine this morning and it'd be a shame to scuff it on this pitiful excuse for technology!

"Just three copies! You'd think it could handle that..!"

The cop punches the start button two more times, and is about to give up when… surprise, surprise! The antiquated machine actually turns on. The power light flickers, the control panel becomes active, and with a lot of rumbling and grunting the geriatric apparatus stumbles through its start-up mode.

Well, hallelujah!

Quickly retrieving his paper from the auxiliary table, he slips the sheet onto the flatbed, carefully placing it within the arrowed section - the finicky copier having been known to revengefully spit out blank sheets if the original isn't perfectly aligned within the targeted area. He'd already painstakingly pasted his expense receipts on a standard computer sheet, having learned the hard way that irregular slips of paper are considered waste fodder by the ancient copier, to be absorbed into its bowels, never to be seen again.

But if handled correctly – that is – with the invoices meticulously taped on all sides, the machine can be fooled into accepting a full sheet of the receipts for scanning and copying. Now, if it will just keep on keeping on…

"Hey, Fusco! Someone here to see you!"

He turns at the sound of the cop's voice, one hand gently closing the lid on the copier flat bed. Gently, because he doesn't want to offend it now that it deigned to actually operate. And he really, really needs those copies to get reimbursement from Accounting.

"Yeah? Who?"

"Don't know. But she described you to a T…!" The uniformed officer's comment trails into a snicker, his whole demeanor one of suppressed mirth. "Like…and I quote: 'a chubby teddy bear with curly hair'. Unquote." The snickering continues, driving Fusco to send a daggered glare at the cop, sharp enough to make the uni lose the grin.

"Hey, don't kill the messenger! She's right out there, by your desk."

Fusco sighs in defeat. "What's she look like?"

The officer shrugs. "OK...if you like the grandmotherly types. Though she looks a bit like a cupcake. A really big cupcake…"
And barely suppressing another snicker the officer moves on.

With a final push of a button, Fusco watches the copier finally – finally! – get to work. Whoever it is waiting out there is just going to have to wait a bit longer. He's not taking the chance that this piece of devil's hardware may change it's mind! But thankfully the light is blazing beneath the cover on the flatbed and he breathes a sigh of relief.

It's going to be OK!

He waits patiently while the copier moans and groans through the process of duplicating the flatbed original. Then tabling his hands like a doctor ready to receive a baby – because of course the copy rack had long ago broken off and disappeared – his precious papers are finally dropped into his hands. Still warm, testimony to all the energy the old machine had just to put into birthing this particular delivery.

Damn…this contraption is way too old for this type of activity. One of these days it's simply going to self combust!

"Detective Fusco! Yoo…hooo! Detective Fusco…!"

He freezes, papers still in hand. Oh, no! Not this, on top of everything else!

The salutation is delivered in an unforgettable, high pitched, grating voice which he immediately recognizes even though it's been several weeks since he's last been subjected to it. His first instinct is to run, but he's cornered in the small copier room with only one entry/exit, and nowhere to hide. So he slowly turns around just in time to see what the fashion industry euphemistically terms a 'full-figured woman', maneuver her way through the bull pen.

Built on a grand scale, with a figure not so much an hourglass as a brandy glass, she had carefully plotted her course in such a manner as to not touch a single desk or chair. That in itself being quite an accomplishment considering the furniture was as closely packed as cotton bales in a ship's hold. Probably doesn't want her outfit to get dirty, he thinks.

Yeah, well, lady, it's not the Grand Hotel…!

As she approaches the copier room a sudden thought flicks through his brain, but a quick glance behind the oncoming ship confirms no dinghy following her. Thank God!

"There you are!"

"Uh, yes, M 'am. I am. Is there something I can do for you?"

"Of course! You do remember me, right?" the woman asks in a strident tone.

"Yes M 'am." Like, could he ever forget?

She'd figured in more than one of his nightmares: a matronly woman in bright pink, helmet hair firmly disciplined to hold its shape in any weather, and with more chins than a Chinese phone book. And if that wasn't enough to distinguish her from the park foliage, she'd been holding the leash on a very large horse-in-a-dog-suit…

"We met…" he starts.

"…in the park. You were walking that lovely couple's dog."

Lovely couple. Oh yeah…and then there was that!

"I was walking Bear, " he agreed. "So where is your dog?"

"Ms. Fluffles?" she asks, and then in a conspiratorial tone adds, "The poor dear has a very delicate constitution and with the cold weather today, I thought it best to leave her home."

She rearranges the many ruffles on her walking dress, carefully keeping the material from touching anything nearby, and Fusco is ridiculously thankful that her garb is more a red color rather than the garish pink she'd worn when they first met. Of course with the addition of the white lace collar, small red hat, and a face caked with an omelet of make-up, her whole presentation did remind one of a valentine's cupcake.

He's so going to take a ribbing from his follow officers…!

And a delicate constitution? A Great Dane? The only delicate part of that monster dog was the elaborately jeweled collar the poor animal had been made to wear. The Dane probably feigned illness to keep from getting embarrassed again!

"So how did you know where to find me, Ms…?"

"You can call me Bernadette. And…I followed you!" She replies brusquely. "I know you said you were taking care of their dog that time, but I had to be sure!"

She then scrutinizes the precinct with a critical eye, but with a condescending sniff is apparently willing to tolerate the worn furniture and scuffed floor as she raises her multiple chins and continues imperiously, "When you went into the police station I felt you were telling the truth."

Fusco shakes his head in wonderment as he gestures to the doorway, an encouragement to exit the copier room. Leading the way to his desk, he feels more than one set of curious eyes on him and knows full well, given her description of him, he's never going to hear the end of it from his fellow officers.

"So what can I do for you, M 'am?" he asks, pulling out the extra chair for his guest before seating himself behind the desk.

"Bernadette. And I'm here to report a robbery!" She lowers her ample body into the chair indicated, then pulling it closer to the desk, moves the pencil holder and toy cop statue to the other side of his inbox before placing her large handbag in the newly created opening. Fusco watches in fascination, too captivated by her comment to even object to this blatant invasion of his personal space.

"Okaay... Could you give me some details please?"

"Well, I know how attached Harold is to the dog, and his precious partner would be most upset if anything ever happened to their pet!" She leans forward and fixes him with a gaze sharp enough to suggest there could be more than just fluff between her ears.

"Then I saw this stranger with their dog!" she continues, "And since you are the person who Harold and his partner would ask to care for their pet in their absence I knew this person must have stolen the dog!"

Fusco could almost see the italics on words she emphasized.

"Can you describe the…uh…perpetrator? Height, weight…clothing?"

"Oh, better than that Detective!" she replies triumphantly. "I followed the thief to make sure he wasn't another police officer. Like you, for instance. She flicks her hand impertinently in his direction. "But when he went into an apartment – and a rather seedy looking one at that, if you know what I mean – I took a picture of him! "

She delves into the bowels of her grocery sack sized handbag and pulls out a small digital camera.

Not one that would get stolen anytime soon, he observes. The thing is the same color hot pink as the outfit she'd wore the first time they met and it dangled from a foot long strap covered in some kind of sparkly material. No respectable thief would be seen running off with that item!

"Now, I think if you push that button, it should show the last photo…no, wait, it must be that one. Or is it…?"

Fusco gently plucks the camera from her sausage fingers and finding the photo button, pulls up the image. Bernadette leans over the desk for a better view, her movement wafting a cloud of perfume in his direction. 'White Shoulders'. His ex-wife used the same stuff. He hates it.

"There! And I know where he lives, Detective. We can go get him now." The matron heaves out of her chair, a ship breaching a large wave, ruffles flapping like sails in a wind. She straightens her hat, slips the handbag handles over her arm and stands impatiently waiting as Fusco continues to study the photo.

He finally clears his throat and stands up. "Ah…Ms…uh…Bernadette. I really think you should let me handle this on my own."

"Really…!" The words come out like chipped ice as Bernadette pulls herself up to her full 5 foot 2 height. "I found him, Detective…remember that! And I will be there to make sure justice is done!"

"Uh…yes, M 'am. And I appreciate you wishing to do your civic duty," he hastily replies. "You are to be commended for your loyalty to…uh…your country. But you see, we already know this person and have a file on him. Know where he lives too." He leans closer and lowers his voice for effect.

"He's real dangerous, you know, and I really think you need to let the professionals handle this now." He puts as much warmth as he can in his voice, hoping he's successful in projecting the image of the dedicated public servant looking out for all peace loving citizens. "I wouldn't want you to…uh…get shot."

"Shot? Oh, dear!" she responds, her free hand fluttering to her generous chest, like a bird landing on field of poppies. "Oh, dear! You don't think he'll hurt the poor dog do you?" And she reaches for the cops arm. "Harold and his lovely partner would be just devastated!"

"No, M 'am. We'll prevent that from happening, I promise!"

"Well…" And she looks right then left, as though searching for an appropriate out to the situation, "If you'll promise you'll give this your full attention, right away…!"

"Yes, M 'am. You have my word." With that pronouncement he indicates the front door, a clear invitation for her to now leave. "And I promise the next time you see the dog it will be with Harold and his…uh… lovely partner. Or with me."

"Thank you Detective. You are a fine example of how our police should respond! I will commend you to your boss!" And with that final pronouncement, Bernadette plots a course to sail once more through the bullpen and the hazard of desks and chairs.

Thank God! Fusco slowly lets out his breath, thankful to have survived this…this…valentine encounter with an oversized cupcake!

The cop watches intently until he sees Bernadette actually move through the door, then rubbing both hands over his face settles once more at his desk, lost in thought. He'd rather deal with the stupid copier than have to interact with that…that…woman again! He could just forget this whole incident, but that might just bring the annoying creature back to the precinct at some time in the future.

After a brief internal struggle he pulls out his cell phone and quickly punches in a series of numbers from memory. Leaning back, he listens as it rings, then:

"Leon…! I've got some good advice for you, buddy. Walk that dog anywhere else but the park from now on! Why? Well, let me tell you…."

End

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Note: You can read about Fusco's first encounter with Bernadette in my fic, "The Dog Sitter"