Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Author: Geekwriter
Fandom: CSI
Pairing: Greg/Nick
Rating: FRT13 (for language)
Category: humor; pre-slash
Status: unfinished
Archive: just let me know where it's going
Feedback: yes, please
Email: [email protected]
Authors Web Site: http://www.livejournal.com/users/geekwriter143
Series/Sequel: 1 of ?
Disclaimers: I'm not affiliated with anything related to CSI and make no profit
off my
stories.
Spoilers: Nothing specific, but up through the latest episode just to be safe.
Summary: Greg's having a bad day. Nick wants to help.
Author's Notes: This was originally going to be a drabble for my friend
robogirl, who gave
me a list of 5 words to include in it; they were hard words to just fit in, so
the drabble
became this, which will become a series (eventually). The words are at the end
of this
chapter, if you're interested.
------------------------------------------------------
"Piece of fucking shit!" Greg snapped as he jerked on the lock that secured his
locker.
"Fucking piece of goddamn worthless fucking shit!"
"Hey, hey, hey," Nick said from a few lockers down. "Watch your mouth, man.
There are
ladies present."
Greg shot him a withering glance. "Since there are only two people in here
right now, are
you referring to you or to me?"
"I�" Nick thought about that for a moment. "Well, there could be ladies
present."
"We don't work with ladies, we work with women," Greg said as he sat on the
narrow
wooden bench and leaned forward to inspect his lock. "Ooooh, motherfucker's
gonna get
my metal," he grumbled.
"What?"
"Marilyn Manson reference, sorry," Greg said. He sighed and gave his lock
another useless
tug. "It appears my lock has been treated with cyanoacrylate."
"Somebody fumed your lock?" Nick asked, walking over towards Greg.
"No, somebody filled it with superglue."
Nick frowned. "Why would somebody do that?"
"I don't know. Maybe so it won't open?" Greg kicked the bottom of his locker.
"And I'm
never going to find out who did it since everyone has access. We only buy
superglue by the
fucking gallon."
"Language," Nick said.
Greg turned to look at him. "When did you become my mother?"
"Hey, I'm just giving you advice from one CSI to another. You can't curse every
time you
get frustrated because sooner or later, somebody other than another CSI is going
to
overhear you, and that reflects poorly on the entire department."
Greg frowned but didn't argue. Suddenly he sat up straight. "Don't move," he
said to
Nick.
"What?"
"Stay right here and don't let anyone get near that lock."
"Um�" Nick laughed softly. "OK." He smirked as he watched Greg race out of the
locker
room. He shook his head and turned back to his locker, shrugged off his
button-down
shirt and hung it up, then pulled on a soft, red cotton t-shirt. He'd just sat
down to take
off his dress shoes when Greg came back in wearing gloves and carrying his crime
scene
kit. He had to suppress a smile when he saw Greg pull out a jar of fingerprint
powder.
"You're going to fingerprint your lock?" Nick asked. "It's just a prank, man.
Let it go."
"I'll let it go," Greg grumbled. "I'll let it go when I find out who's been
doing this sh�uh,
stuff to me. I'll let it go like a bullet through a balloon."
"You listen to way too much metal," Nick said. "Maybe you need to listen to
some jazz,
classical, something to help you calm down."
Greg looked over at him as he uncapped the fingerprint powder. "Already today
someone
has replaced my coffee grounds with dried leaves and dirt, stolen all my CDs and
replaced
them with Kenny G, Yanni, and Michael Bolton, and when I went to get tacos for
lunch, I
get to my car and it was covered entirely in CheezWhiz."
Nick gasped. "They messed with your ride?"
"Florescent orange processed cheese food all over it," Greg snapped. "They had
to have
used at least ten jars. It took me 45 minutes just to get it all off. Can you
believe there
aren't any all-night car washes in Vegas?"
"I can't believe somebody messed with your ride," Nick said. "That's just not
right. Super
gluing your lock shut is one thing, but you just don't screw around with a man's
car."
"45 minutes cleaning CheezWhiz off it," Greg said. "I didn't even have time for
lunch.
Luckily, Sara shared her carrot sticks with me. Otherwise, I'd have died of
starvation."
Nick felt it wasn't the best time to remind Greg that it actually took three
weeks to die of
starvation.
"No, twirl the brush," Nick said as Greg started to dip the fingerprint brush
into the
powder. "Don't dip it. Twirl it and just let the very ends touch the powder,
you get a more
even distribution that way and a cleaner print."
Greg nodded and shook the powder off the brush, then twirled it as he lowered it
into the
powder.
"That's right," Nick said as he watched Greg work. "Good, don't let the brush
touch the
surface, just let the powder do the work for you. You're good at that."
Greg looked over at him and grinned boyishly. "Thanks. I've been practicing."
"It shows, man. Look, you've got a good one there."
Greg leaned in to inspect the thumbprint on the side of the lock. He grinned
even wider.
"Jackpot."
"It could just be yours."
Greg shook his head. "I know my fingerprints. This isn't it."
"Do I want to know why you recognize your fingerprints on sight?"
"Whose prints do you think I've been practicing on? I've got nine ulnar loops
and one
tented arch." Greg wiggled his left index finger. "This is a whorl.
Therefore, not mine."
Nick looked down at his fingertips. He'd never really noticed what kinds of
prints he had
before. When he looked up he saw Greg looking at him intently. "Arches," he
said. "I've
got arches, not whorls."
"Good," Greg said. "I'd hate to have to kill you." He carefully tapelifted the
print, then set
it aside as he inspected the other partials on the lock. "Smudges," he sighed.
"Sometimes all you get is one good print."
Greg nodded and snapped his gloves off. He tossed his gloves in the trash and
snatched
up the tapelifted print. "Who's working in the print lab today?"
"What? You're going to run it now?"
"Why wouldn't I?"
"It's not exactly protocol," Nick said. "I mean, sure, sometimes you can get
the nightshift
techs to do something for you off the clock, but the dayshift techs don't really
like any of
us."
"The dayshift techs don't like you," Greg said. "But I'm a fellow lab rat."
"You were a fellow lab rat."
"Technically, I still am," Greg said. "Though, according to my salary cut I'm a
CSI.
Frustrating, really, but that's a rant for another day."
"Dayshift never does anything off the record for us," Nick called out after him
as he left the
locker room and headed down the hall.
Greg was relieved to see Mandy in the fingerprint lab. He actually didn't know
most of the
dayshift techs.
"Hey," she said, licking something off her thumb as he walked in. "Chocolate
starfish?"
Greg frowned. "What?"
She laughed and tilted the box she was holding so he could see its contents.
"Chocolate
starfish," she said. "And seahorses. And shells. The starfish are the best,
though. You
want one?"
"I�no thanks."
"You sure? They're from The Netherlands."
"Maybe later. But for now, beautiful, gorgeous, love of my life Mandy�"
She raised her eyebrows.
"You know you're my favorite print tech, don't you?"
"Jacqui's your favorite print tech," she deadpanned.
"Fine, you're my favorite dayshift print tech," he said. "We miss you on
nights, by the
way."
"Yeah, yeah. What do you want?"
He held up the tapelifted print. "Do you know what `off the record' means?"
She grinned and tucked a strand of black hair behind one ear. "Hell yeah.
Dayshift is so
boring. They never ask me to do anything unethical."
"Well, this isn't unethical so much as it's�" Greg frowned. "OK, if you're
being really strict
in your definitions, it's unethical. This print comes from the lock on my
locker which has
been super glued shut."
"Someone super glued your locker shut?" she asked as she put her chocolates away
and
pulled on a pair of gloves.
"No, just the lock. Now, this print is off the lock, and I'm pretty sure it
belongs to
someone who works in the lab."
"So you want me to take the time the city pays me to help solve crimes to
analyze a print
that may or may not come from a practical joker?"
Greg nodded. "Yes. And I want you to pull all the prints of lab employees
while you're at
it. So, technically it's unethical, but�"
Mandy smiled. "Give me the print."
"I love you," Greg said as he handed it to her.
"You know my boyfriend's six-three, two-fifty, right?" she asked with a smirk.
"And you know I'm gay, so we're fine." He grinned back at her.
Mandy cleared her throat and looked over Greg's shoulder.
"And we're not alone, are we?" Greg asked in a whisper.
Mandy shook her head.
"Ecklie?" Greg mouthed.
Mandy shook her head again. "Hey, Nick," she said with feigned cheerfulness.
"What are
you doing here? You switching to days?"
Nick shook his head as he leaned against the door. "You talked her into doing
it, didn't
you?" he asked as Greg turned around.
Greg shrugged as he turned to face Nick, hoping against hope that Nick hadn't
heard his
banter with Mandy. "What can I say? We lab rats stick together." Nick didn't
look shocked
or disgusted, so Greg guessed he hadn't heard.
"Even when one of us turns traitor," Mandy said, poking him in the back. "Give
me half an
hour, ok?"
"I'm not going anywhere," Greg said. "My keys are in my locker." He sighed.
"Why can't I
remember what dissolves cyanoacrelate?" He walked past Nick into the DNA lab.
"Hey,
Benson," he said to the dayshift tech.
"The new girl's been leaving me notes," Benson said as Greg opened one of the
cabinets
and pulled out a thickly bound book.
"Love notes?" Greg asked as he flipped through a few pages.
"Hardly," Benson said. "Notes on proper procedure. She wants to make sure the
lab isn't
contaminated while she's not here."
"She's a little high strung," Greg said, flipping through a few more pages.
"What you looking for?" Benson asked as he slipped a test tube into the
centrifuge.
"I can't remember how to dissolve cyanoacrelate," Greg said.
"Can't say off the top of my head," Benson told him. "Sulfuric acid would
probably do the
trick."
"No, it has to be something that won't react with metal." Greg flipped through
a few more
pages.
"Greg," Nick said from his spot in the doorway of the DNA lab. "You're going
about this all
wrong."
Greg looked up at him. "You think I should try acid?"
Nick laughed. "No. Come on."
"Where are we going?"
Nick rolled his eyes. "You're going back to the locker room to clean up all
that fingerprint
powder you left behind. I'll be back in a minute."
"Why? What are you going to get? Hey, I bet liquid nitrogen would do it."
"Chemists," Nick muttered under his breath.
"I heard that."
"Not every answer comes in a vial," Nick said. "Now clean up that powder. That
stuff gets
everywhere, and you know what a hissy Cath will have if she gets some on her
clothes
tonight."
Greg watched Nick stride purposefully down the hall for a moment before he
returned to
the locker room. He'd just finished cleaning up the fingerprint powder when he
felt Nick
come up behind him.
"Now this," Nick said as he lifted up a bolt cutter, "is much more efficient
than any of your
chemicals."
"You know that's city property," Greg said as Nick moved to cut the lock.
"I think they'll understand." He snipped the lock with ease, then reached to
pull it free of
the locker. "There you go."
"Thank God," Greg sighed as he opened his locker. "I cannot wait to get home
and fall
into a coma after the night I've had."
"Any time," Nick said. He turned to leave, then looked back at Greg, who was
standing
motionless in front of his open locker.
"No," Greg whispered, shaking his head. "No, no, no."
"Are you OK?" Nick asked.
"This isn't happening. This isn't happening to me."
"What?"
Greg reached into his locker and pulled out a shoe. "Loafers, Nick, with
fringe!" He
dropped the shoe as if it was contaminated. He reached into his locker again
and pulled
out a pair of pants. "Dockers?" He dropped the pants and pulled out a pale
pink shirt.
"Polo? What sort of twisted mind am I dealing with?" He dropped the shirt and
shook his
head, then raked his fingers through his hair. "This is worse than I thought."
Nick wasn't exactly sure what Greg was talking about, but he set down the bolt
cutters and
moved towards Greg slowly. "Are you OK?"
"No. This is terrible. My brain is throbbing so hard I think it's going to
liquefy itself and
spray out my ears."
"I have acetaminophen in my locker if you want some."
"At this point, nothing but Demerol would touch it." He sat down on the bench
at stared
at his locker in horror. "They took everything. My Docs, my jeans, my vintage
Circle Jerks
t-shirt from 1987!"
"Calm down," Nick said, reaching out to rub Greg's shoulder. "It'll be OK.
Just breathe
through your nose. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. Calm
down."
"I was twelve years old when I got that t-shirt, Nick," Greg said shakily.
"It's OK. We'll get it back. We'll get it back. Just calm down."
"What sort of sick bastard would put Dockers and a Polo shirt in a person's
locker, huh?"
Greg demanded. "What kind of world are we living in?"
If Greg wasn't so close to hyperventilation, Nick would have laughed. He didn't
see what
was wrong with Dockers and a Polo shirt, but Greg was in no state to argue.
"I can't believe this. I think my corneas have dried out completely from
watching over
eight hours of surveillance footage for Cath, I didn't get my coffee, I didn't
get my tacos,
all my CD's are gone, and now this?" He sounded close to tears.
"Hey," Nick whispered, sitting next to him. He rubbed Greg's back gently.
"You're going
to be OK," he said. "Look, you know how good Mandy is. She'll have a hit off
that print in
no time."
"Yeah," Greg said softly, though he didn't sound like he believed it.
"I mean it. It's just a prank gone too far. We'll find out who did it and
we'll get your stuff
back."
"Hey," Mandy said, sticking her head into the locker room. "I got a match off
that print.
He's a hottie, too. Must be a new hire since I've never seen him before. I
definitely would
have remembered that."
Greg looked over at her with tired eyes. "Are you going to tell me who it is or
do I have to
guess?"
"Travis Watson. Mean anything to you?"
"Watson?" Greg gasped. "That�I�he�I defended him to Jacqui when she called him
a
jingoist just because he said he didn't like Winnipeg!"
"What?" Nick asked.
"I showed him around. I let him drink my coffee. That bastard."
"Uh, Greg, I doubt Travis was the one who sabotaged your locker," Nick said.
"But his print�"
"Do you know where Travis' locker is?"
Greg shook his head.
Nick tapped the locker next to Greg's. "The lockers don't have names on them.
He could
have easily grabbed your lock thinking it was his. He has only been here a few
weeks,
after all."
"But�"
"Besides, he wasn't even working last night."
Greg frowned. "How do you know?"
"Trust me, I would have noticed if he was around. It's not him."
Greg's shoulders slumped.
"Sorry, sweetie," Mandy said. "You sure you don't want any chocolate?"
Greg nodded. "How can I eat when my clothes have been replaced with Dockers and
penny loafers?"
Mandy walked further into the locker room and eyed the clothes in a heap at
Greg's feet.
"Dude," she whispered, "that's fucked up."
"Tell me about it."
Suddenly, she smiled. "And those shoes are pleather."
He looked over at her. "What?"
"I know pleather when I see it, and those shoes are it. Know the great thing
about
pleather?"
"Uh�it's cheap?" Nick guessed.
Mandy shook her head. "No grain. No grain, nothing to get in the way of
ridges."
"You can print the shoes?" Greg asked.
"I'm gonna print the shoes," Mandy said. She reached down and lifted them
carefully by
the edges of the soles. "I'll run these and�" She looked over her shoulder as
Ecklie
walked in to the locker room. "Um, I'll give you a call after shift, OK?"
Greg nodded. "Yeah," he said in a defeated tone of voice. "Whenever." He
kicked at the
Polo shirt at his feet. "Like it matters."
Ecklie eyed Greg and Nick as he walked past their row of lockers, but he didn't
say
anything.
"You want a beer?" Nick asked softly.
Greg shrugged.
"Because you look like you could use a beer. Come on. I'm buying."
Greg shrugged as he kicked his locker shut. "Sure. Why not? It's not like
this day could
get any worse." He looked up at Nick and offered him a weak smile. "Uh, no
offense
meant."
Nick smiled back at him. "None taken. You sure you don't want a Tylenol?"
"I'm sure. I've got heroin in my car, anyway."
Nick glanced at him quickly.
"That was a joke, Nick."
"Oh," Nick said, trying not to show his relief. "It was, uh..yeah. It was
funny."
-------------------------------------------------------------------
The challenge words were:
Carrot
Jingoist
Balloon
Paracetamol (known as acetaminophen in the US)
Starfish
