Disclaimer: If you recognize it, I don't own it.

"I'm here to see Brenda Leigh Johnson," the man announced to the idle group in the Murder Room. They all looked up; some frowning mildly, others completely disinterested.

"I'll –" Gabriel started.

"Oh, I think she's seen me," he noted abruptly, peering through the windows of Brenda's office. Sure enough she marched out and headed straight for him, looking none too pleased. Her subordinates tensed slightly; this couldn't be good.

"Dave," Brenda greeted in a tight voice, "what the hell're you doin' here?" And with the tone she was using, even her own detectives began to seriously considering running for the hills. (But this was something they absolutely could not miss seeing.) It was a wonder that this man, who Brenda obviously knew, hardly flinched.

"Hello, Brenda Leigh," he returned pleasantly – almost affectionately. While Brenda looked as if she could blow her top at any second, Dave couldn't seem more at ease. "It's been a long time."

"And what part of 'I never want to see you again' did you not understand the first time?" She snapped, oblivious to the fact that they had an audience. It wasn't even as if she was shouting, however – on the contrary, her voice got lower and deadlier the angrier she got.

Dave responded at normal volume. "I was hoping that you would've changed you mind after all these years." He shrugged, as if it were the simplest concept to grasp. His eyes drifted to her left hand – or more specifically, the ring on her finger. "Oh." He looked crestfallen. "I guess I waited too long." He seemed genuinely disappointed.

Brenda crossed her arms. "This is a place of work. And if you don't leave here right this minute, I'll arrest you for harassin' a police officer."

The conversation had snagged the attention of everyone in the room – even Taylor in his supercubicle had poked his head around the partition, his confusion mirroring everyone else's as he observed the peculiar exchange.

Dave only grinned, saying "You've always been the bossy type. But I gotta say – you've done well for yourself all these years, Bren; all these men working under you, for you." He waggled his eyebrows. "Does all this power turn you on?"

Brenda gaped, flushing, and before she could respond he lamented, "I hope that husband of yours treats you right, Bren. You deserve it." He paused, and allowed his eyes to rake up and down her slight form lecherously.

Someone – most likely Flynn, or Sanchez – shifted in their chair, totally prepared to throw this creep out of the building if it came to that.

"You still look good; you've hardly aged a bit. I wonder – can he make you scream like I could?"

WHAM.

Brenda landed a solid right hook across his face.

Dave stumbled backwards, clutching his bleeding mouth as he muttered choice curse words, and the squad room went very, very quiet.

"And you're still a bastard." Brenda declared. She wrenched his arms roughly behind his back, probably using more force than was necessary and demanded sharply to the room at large, "Handcuffs! I need a pair of handcuffs from somebody."

No one moved; they were all still too stunned by the outcome of the situation to even process to her words.

She twisted to face them expectantly.

Provenza was the first to recover; he tossed her his pair from where he was sitting and she caught them one-handed before slapping them over Dave's wrists in record time. Also probably unnecessary. She shoved him roughly from behind, leading him out of the room. Even in her three inch heels, she only just barely cleared his nose, but it was perfectly obvious who was in charge.

"Walk!" She instructed, marching him towards the interrogation rooms. "We'll discuss this more privately." And they all felt intensely glad to not be in that man's shoes.

TBC…

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