The Youngest in the Precinct

Jake Is A Terrible Number Two

Sarge moved to the front of the briefing room. "Updates on all open cases," he looked around the room for a response.

"I just got a DOA on Bessomer Street," I informed him, I was desperately hoping he would make someone else be the primary, ever since I'd spoken with Kevin and Holt last night my mind had been working as if I was wearing it backwards. In fact, earlier when Holt and I had left the house, I'd said, "Bye Pop," to Kevin and when I'd given Holt his hug once he was headed to his office I'd said, "Bye Dad." And, as if that hadn't been enough, Amy had to help me turn my monitor on because I couldn't focus for long enough to remember my password. This was going to be a bad day.

"You're the primary. You're in charge. Take Diaz and Peralta." He ordered, causing a pit of dread to grow in my stomach. Not only was he making me take point, but he was giving me the two most difficult seconds to deal with.

"I hate you." I scowled at him, wincing when both Diaz and Peralta turned to me with piercing gazes. "God, could you not? I already have enough to deal with all day without you two having temper tantrums because I told you what everyone around here knows. You're terrible seconds because you refuse to give up control. I'm not dealing with it today. If you piss me off, I'm sending you back here to sit at your desks." I rolled my eyes and spun on my heel, leaving them behind. Stopping at the door, I looked back to see everyone's mouths hanging open, I locked eyes with Diaz and then with Peralta. "Well, are you coming?"
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"Wow," Jake said as soon as he was in sight of the body bag. "This guy must have weighed 500 pounds. I think we have an idea of what killed him, spoiler alert. It was not starvation." He joked. I rolled my eyes at him, noticing how he'd placed himself between Rosa and I slightly ahead, making himself noticeable.

"What do we got?" He asked the CSI that was standing nearest us at the same time as I did. I turned to him with a scowl and waited for him to notice his mistake, to his credit, as soon as he bothered to look at me he realised what he'd done wrong and I was pleased to see that Rosa seemed equally as unhappy with him. "Sorry, sorry, you're the primary, you're in charge." He patted me twice on the arm condescendingly before taking a step back. I turned to face the CSI and motioned for him to go on.

"Frank Patterson, 58 years old, married, no children," I got down on one knee and lifted a corner of the bag to take a look at the man underneath. "Wife found 'im this mornin' and phoned it in." I lowered the bag back into place and turned back to him.

"Okay, any signs of forced entry or a struggle?" I asked.

"No." He responded.

"You sure about that? It looks like his belt had a pretty epic struggle with his stomach." Jake grinned, proud of himself for the joke he'd mad. I, on the other hand, was growing tired of his offensive humour. Usually, I wouldn't mind, but there was nothing funny about a corpse. The CSI chuckled, and I gave him a polite smile in response. He hadn't made the joke, so it wasn't his fault I was upset.

"What are you thinking, Tessa?" Diaz asked.

"Right," I began only to be interrupted.

"I'm calling it natural causes, we got heart medicine over here, a home defibrillator, and a frequent customer gift basket from the cardiac wing of Brooklyn Methodist. This case is open and shut, just like his mouth was constantly. That was my last fat joke, okay." Jake smiled down at me for a second as if he thought that his jokes were the only thing he was doing to piss me off. "Diaz, check and see if there's any more meds in the bathroom. Tessa, see what you can find in the bedroom. I'll take the kitchen." I stopped him when he tried to step around me, turning to look at the CSI.

"Could we have the room for a moment, sir?" I requested, he left quickly, noticing the sharp tone of my voice. Once the bedroom door closed behind him, I drew my fist back and punched Jake in the shoulder.