A/N: As most (several... some... two or three?) of you know, I haven't been in the EH fandom for a while; I've been writing a small novel for the anime Bleach. However, my EHRC sister Rue asked me (back in November...) to write a story where something grosses Hood out. Given that this is a man who finds monkey brains fascinating rather than disgusting, this was a tall order, and got back-burnered (is that a word?) while I surrendered my soul to the Shinigami. (Only about five of you will get that joke...) However, a chance to meet up with another EHRC sister, Joyce, prompted me to drag this story back to the forefront (and my muse back from vacation. She's not happy with me right at the moment...)

Warnings: People with sensitive stomachs might want to read with caution; after a necropsy, Rachel tries to figure out what will gross out the unflappable Jacob Hood.

Dedication: To Rue for the idea, of course, and to Joyce, for inspiring me to actually get off my arse and write it, XD. Thanks, guys!

So, I am now ending this exceedingly long Author's Note and presenting you with:

GROSS

It was a sheep.

Or rather, it had been a sheep, before a questionable concoction of chemicals had coddled it and the county coroner had cut it up.

Fighting down a grimace, Rachel rubbed her temples and desperately wished for a few more hours of sleep.

"Have you found anything?" she asked quietly, struggling to sound bored and unaffected by the sight - and worse, the smell - of week-old pickled sheep innards.

"Nothing helpful," Hood answered, busy inspecting some unidentifiable bit of entrail. His voice was only slightly muffled by the blue mask covering his nose and mouth. The county coroner, overseeing Hood's exploration of sheep-bits, had provided not only the mask, but also the smear of Vicks Vapor-Rub on the inside of it, overwhelming most of the odor. Rachel, who had been playing up her bodyguard vibe at the time out of sheer irritation, had not been offered a mask, and didn't want to risk fracturing her tough FBI image by asking for one.

Which was why she was standing as far away as the walls of the autopsy room permitted, trying very hard not to gag.

"I think we're done here," Hood said with a sigh, dropping something that Rachel really hoped she couldn't identify carefully into one of the stainless steel bowls lined up on the table. "Doctor Regina, thank you."

"Of course," the coroner answered calmly, bowing Hood and Rachel out of the autopsy room with an air of being glad to see their backs. "Glad to be of assistance to the government."

"Monkey brains, sheep guts, doesn't anything gross you out?" Rachel demanded a few minutes later, waiting impatiently for Hood as he calmly scrubbed his hands in the big bay sink.

"The thought of swallowing live fish? Other than that, not particularly." He'd finished washing his hands and was vigorously scrubbing them dry with a paper towel when it finally occurred to him to wonder, "Why do you ask?"

"If you didn't notice me turning green in there, I suppose I'm doing better than I thought..."

"Oh. I thought that was just the lighting," he teased, ignoring her glare. Tossing the used paper towel neatly into the trash can, Hood collected his coat from a peg on the wall and shrugged it on. "It's past lunchtime. You hungry?"

Given what she'd just been watching - and smelling - she really shouldn't have been, but... "Starved. You?"

"Mm-hm. Any preferences for lunch?"

Grimacing, Rachel tried to banish the visual of sheep innards in stainless steel bowls. "Anything but haggis."

They wound up getting fast-food chicken, from a chain that Rachel swore made the best milkshakes anywhere, and ate at an outdoor picnic table to savor the mostly-clear air. (The exhaust fumes from the road nearby were hardly worth noticing after the morning they'd been through.)

And Rachel - unable to avoid picking at a subject that irritated her - was still relentlessly grilling Hood about anything that might gross him out.

"Dirty toilets."

"I've walked through sewer systems, Rachel."

"Maggots?"

A snort.

"Menstruation."

"I was married for five years..."

"Vulture vomit?

"It smells bad, but no. Where are you coming up with all these?"

Rachel shrugged in response, absently dunking one of her thick waffle-cut fries into the whipped cream topping her milkshake before popping it into her mouth. "Dunno, I'm just - what? What's the look?"

"Rachel," Hood began, very slowly, "did you just put whipped cream... on a french fry? And then eat it?"

"Yeah..." Vaguely amused, Rachel repeated the action.

"Now that," Hood muttered, shaking his head, "is gross."

(laughs) I know, it's a bit of a cop-out. But hey, me + sleep deprivation + writing = crack. (Wait until the first of April. Then you'll see just how cracky I can be!)

And I prefer chocolate ice cream or honey on my fries, although plain/salted is good, too. The fast food franchise Rachel is referencing is Chik-Fil-A, which really *does* have the best milkshakes I've ever found, and the best waffle fries.

Aaand now that my A/Ns have exceeded the length of the story, I'll sign off with 'It's great to be back' and 'Reviews are love.'

Thanks, guys!