"Jesus." Russ groaned, stupidly trying to rub away the near-migraine thundering in his head.
The details were still a bit blurry, but the basics of the night before are there. Stag night. Strippers. A lot of alcohol. Possibly Russ dancing drunk on a pole. With a feather boa. He's just praying he's not the only one with a bit of Jack Daniels amnesia, and that if he did twirl around in plastic chaps, they've forgotten about it too. Honestly though, half of them look as bad as he does, so his chances of surviving the embarrassment seem pretty high.
His biggest competitor for worst headache is probably Font. Poor guy looks about two minutes away from stumbling onto his face and vomiting on his shoes. The only reason Russ was still (mostly) stable on his feet was because Milt was in their office, watching him with keen eyes. It's a pain to keep his back straight and fight off the want to massage his head. It feels like Milt is just waiting for Russ to screw up and walk face first into the station doors. As if he'd give that fed the pleasure. When he undoubtedly does bang his shin on his desk, he blamed Milt for distracting him.
Funk's the best off of all of them, smirking happily and ripping into the box of doughnuts by the crappy coffee maker.
Russ blames Milt for that too.
Trust Mr. Perfect to always bring doughnuts at the most inconvenient time for Russ. Like he plans it before hand, jots a note down in his calendar and everything. Usually he'd be all for free pastries, but hangovers have the magical power to make even the most delicious food suddenly seem like a sin. Rather than being envious watching Funk devour a bacon maple bar in two bites, he just felt queasy. Funk, however, noticed everyone groaning around him and bravely volunteered to commandeer everyone else's share.
"Long night?" Milt smirked, casually slipping his hands into the pockets of his suit pants.
It was too early. Way too early to be dealing with Milt's stupidly charming smile. Curse him for being so casual, leaning against Russ's desk while he sat there moaning in pain. "Shut up." he grumped, plopping his cheek down on the cool top of his station, trying to soak up the sweet relief before the wood underneath him undoubtedly became warm.
Milt chuckled, patted his shoulder, then pushed off, headed towards the small group clustered around the doughnuts.
That annoyingly blue suit finally out of his line of sight, Russ noticed them. He'd been sitting there for a good ten minutes and hadn't noticed them.
"Who bought Holly flowers?"
The team turned fractionally, barely registering his words over Milt's. They probably only noticed at all because Milt had paused to eye the vase of roses sitting gracefully atop Holly's desk, red ribbon tied around the glass. It looked like an awfully romantic thing, with little white pearls weaving in and out through the arrangement, showing up in bight contrast to the red petals. He'd like the way they looked if they didn't make him tense.
Jacocks scoffs, "Oh like you don't know."
"I don't." Russ huffs, "That's why I asked."
"Mmhm." she hummed, turning her attention back to the group, "You must have been too drunk to remember."
His head hurts, "Remember what?"
But she's not listening anymore, they've started chatting amongst themselves again and Russ is left alone, brooding at the vase without a card.
It's only because he's worried for Holly of course. Whoever sent it to her desk obviously didn't know her home address, so they knew her from the station, which could only lead to a dead-beat or a drug dealer, even a criminal. That just wasn't acceptable.
He resolved to have Jacocks check into it later, maybe see if Holly herself knew who her mystery sender was, since there wasn't any card to go off of. He grumbled, pressed his forehead to the desk, and tried not to think about greasy food.
The second gift was a lot more trying on his brain.
Only a day or two after the flowers, another present was found perched on Holly's desk. Of course, she was out when he'd noticed it, and like any responsible police officer, he decided to check to make sure it was safe. Not that chocolates in a heart-shaped box weren't safe... but it was easy to drug food. Especially chocolate.
He swiped them off the desk casually, hoping no one would notice before he could get them out of the way. He slipped the lid open, fingering a chocolate out of it's wrap before carefully examining it. Looked fine, and upon further inspection it smelt fine too. Then again, Rohypnol was colorless and odorless. Taste it was then. He popped it into his mouth, making a surprised sound when it burst open and a liquid came pouring out.
Scotch. Good scotch. Mixed with the milky chocolate casually melting on his tongue, it really was amazing. Russ actually let himself shut his eyes for a moment and enjoy the taste. How lucky he would be if someone would buy him chocolates like this... He snapped back to attention, coughing into his fist and trying to hide his chewing as Font began passing him a questioning look.
He was about to secretly try and stuff another one into his mouth when Milt popped up out of nowhere behind him, "Chocolates? Nice."
Russ jerked forward, the chocolate practically flying out of his hand. He was about to lose it to the floor, and if he hadn't fumbled around for a good couple minutes, he would have. His tumbling managed to knock the chocolate up into the air just a couple extra seconds, enough time for Milt to lean into his space at least.
Russ was certain he'd stopped breathing for a minute or two. The chocolate was in his hand, crushed. Milt's fingers, tightly coiled around his own, were holding steadfast with such intense force that the alcohol was running down and through his fingers in dribbles and chocolate chunks.
"Let go of my hand."
"Oh." Milt hesitantly took his hand away, eyes passing between Russ's and the chocolate-y mess they'd made, "Yeah. Right."
Russ sighed, "Don't tell Holly."
Milt frowned, confused, "Don't tell Holly what?"
"That I took her chocolates."
A contemplative look passed over Milt's features momentarily. He nodded, hummed, and bid him a good morning before heading back to his own office, leaving Russ alone, confused and scraping chocolate and liquor off his palms.