Note From The Author—I honestly haven’t a clue where this came from. I don’t think there was any prompting or anything; it just popped into my head and here it is. It’s completely random and completely silly but once I started I just couldn’t stop, and I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer—I don’t own any of the characters mentioned here.

In one day Stella decided that she hated the color pink. She more than hated it; she loathed it, she despised it with a venomous passion. If a color could be killed, she would make sure that pink never took another breath. She wanted to put on her pointiest stilettos and stomp all over pink until it was nothing more than a gelatinous mass of nothing.

What was so remarkable about it all was that before this particular day she never had any problem with pink. She had pink in her closet and enjoyed wearing it from time to time; she frequently had pink polish on her toenails. She liked pink; that is she liked pink until one fateful day when the color pink would forever forsake her.

She started out the day in a pink shirt. After waking up feeling pretty good, her mood was shattered rather quickly. She went to grab a bagel and on her way back to the lab was almost run down by a pink scooter. While she overcorrected to keep from landing on her butt, she spilled her coffee down the front of her shirt. Back at the lab she opened her locker to discover that she didn’t have a spare shirt and Lindsay’s extra wouldn’t fit her. She was ready to make a run home when her phone rang and she was called out to a scene at a trendy new restaurant. The only option she was left with was to wear one of Danny’s t-shirts.

When she got to the scene it became painfully clear that pink was not her friend. It turned out that her significant other was wearing a vividly pink tie. The fact that he was wearing the tie wasn’t the problem, especially considering she’d seen it before he left their apartment that morning. The problem was the waitress who claimed to have ‘seen it all’ who was clutching at her significant other while crying the biggest, fakest crocodile tears Stella had ever seen. The bleached out blonde who had been nipped, tucked and silicone injected to a size zero and double d cup was dressed from head to toe in startling flamingo pink. Stella might have thought that Bambi, or whatever the hell her name was, was actually upset if she didn’t stop between her hiccoughing sobs to tell Don how amazing it was that they matched and blow enormous bubbles with her gum.

Stella knew she had nothing to worry about, especially since Don kept shooting Hawkes desperate looks, silently pleading that he take the obnoxious waitress of his hands. The Doc wasn’t having any of it, and actually seemed to be enjoying seeing the detective in over his head. Stella couldn’t seem to find the humor in it. She actually had a burning desire to desire to smack the little bimbo all the way out of room. She managed to resist the temptation, but she was almost certain that her eye twitched whenever she heard the shrieking laugh interspersed with the B movie weeping.

They were almost finished processing the scene when she reached her breaking point. She could vaguely hear the conversation going on behind her as she and Hawkes quietly discussed the possibilities.

“We’ll be looking into everybody,” Flack told the girl gently.

“You don’t mean I could be a suspect! I would never ever dream…” She began to hyperventilate. Whether that was an act Stella couldn’t tell. She simply rolled her eyes and kept her train of thought rolling. Then she heard a cough, and felt something pelt her in the back of her head. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” the waitress screeched.

Stella didn’t even have time to react before the other woman was on her. Her hands were pulling at her hair and Stella cried out. Whirling, she slapped the girl’s hand away and glared at the uniform standing at the door. “Get her the hell out of here.”

The officer was smart enough not to question and he shot a nervous look at Stella as Flack made his way over to her. “Stell…”

She held her hand up. “Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is in my hair. Please God tell me it isn’t what I think it is.” The look on his face and Hawkes’ told her all she needed to know. “There’s gum in my hair.”

Don nodded. “There’s gum in your hair.”

“Fantastic. That’s just fantastic.” She stripped her gloves off and threw them rather violently into the trash. “If you’ll excuse me, I evidently have to go see my stylist.” She stalked out of the restaurant, leaving the two men standing in her wake.

“Oh my God Stella.” That was all her stylist could manage to choke out. “Oh my God.”

All she could do was close her eyes and very slowly count to ten. “I know. How bad is it?”

“Maybe you just shouldn’t see it.”

“No, I want to see it.” She heard a long suffering sigh, then she was handed a mirror and spun around. When she saw it she wanted to cry. The back of her hair was tangled in mess of sticky bright pink bubble gum. “Is there anything you can do?” she asked.

“I’ll see what I can do Stella; but I should tell you I’m not a miracle worker.”

When she stepped out of the chair she managed to hold back her tears. She thanked her stylist and paid for the service, and she held the tears in all the way home. Then she walked through the door, walked into the bedroom, saw Flack and burst into tears.

“Stell it’s not that bad.” He stood as quickly as he could and rushed over to pull her into his arms. His hands stroked the six inches of hair she had left, trying in vain to soothe. “I swear.”

She shook her head against his chest. “It’s horrible, it’s absolutely horrible and I damn well hate pink.”

“You hate pink?” he asked, clearly confused.

“I swear to God I’m under a pink curse. I put on a pink shirt this morning and almost get run over by a pink scooter. I spill coffee all over the pink shirt and end up having to go to a crime scene in one of Danny’s old t-shirts. Then I arrive at said crime scene and find get to deal with Malibu Barbie drooling all over you in between her bouts of fake grief. And if that’s not bad enough she spits her freaking day glow pink gum in my hair, spreads it all around when she makes an attempt to fix it, and I end up having to get it all hacked off; and it’s all because of pink!” She felt him shaking and looked up, her eyes wide. “You are not seriously laughing at me!”

He was definitely laughing at her; he couldn’t seem to help himself. “I’m sorry Stell, but come on.”

She smacked him in the chest as she pulled herself out of his arms. “It’s not funny Don,” she told him, feeling the tears prick at her eyes again.

“Stell, I really am sorry. You know I can’t deal with it when you cry, come on.” He pulled her into his arms again and brought his hand up to brush the tears away. “Honest to God it really isn’t that bad.”

“I look like little orphan Annie,” she told him miserably. “It really is that bad.”

Don shook his head. “You don’t look like little orphan Annie. One you’re hair color is all wrong, and two you’re not nearly as obnoxious.” She laughed and he smiled at her. “Plus you hardly ever spontaneously burst into song. Shirley Temple maybe…”

“When did you learn how to dump water all over my anger?” she asked.

He bent to kiss her forehead. “It’s a talent. But seriously Stell, you still look beautiful. You would look beautiful if they had to shave you bald.”

She tilted her mouth up for a kiss. “I think you’re actually serious. I don’t agree with your opinion on the baldness, but it’s sweet of you to say anyway.”

“I try.” He pulled her flush against him to give her the more thorough kiss he’d been wanting since she walked through the door. “I love you, Good Ship Lollypop hair and all.”

“I love you too.” She rested her head against his shoulder with a sigh. “But I still hate pink.”