Home of Greg Sanders Slash Fiction
Title: ABC Conversation
Author: Sam
Rating: G/PG
Pairings: No one expicit, but feel free to infer if you like.
Warnings: Ummm.....no.
Disclaimers: Don't own them, aren't they glad, my cat thinks I'm nuts.
Archive: Sure, let me know.
Feedback: On this one? Ummmm....eep.
Ok guys, I hope this one is silly enough. I had the hardest time with the X and finally gave in to the inevitable...enjoy.
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ABC Conversation
"And you would call this...music...?" Grissom faded off, a tilt to his head as he regarded Greg with a look that told him Grissom wasn�t sure he would agree.
"Bach, Beethoven and Rob Zombie," Greg�s eyes shown with amusement and mischief. The volume was down and Sanders was wearing neither a pirate�s hat nor a latex glove on his head. Things in the dna lab seemed almost frighteningly normal.
"Careful, " Grissom told him dryly. "You wouldn�t want to be accused of conforming."
"Doubtful, " the tech grinned, answering the subtle teasing with equally good humor. "In any case, tomorrow night�s tshirt should take care of that."
"Elephants doing the can-can?" Nick piped up, carrying in a field kit of samples for Greg to trace.
"Frogs in punk belching the alphabet?" Warrick opined right behind him. *He* held a large brown paper evidence bag in one gloved hand; the bloodied bedsheet found at the scene. The body was already down at the morgue.
"Guys, guys!" the younger man tsked in fond admonishment. "Nothing near so crude, I assure you."
"Huh," Nick�s grunt as he set his kit on the table was doubtful. "How many times have we heard that one?"
"I lost count, " Grissom snickered, arms crossed, relaxing over by the doorway. "And correct me if I�m wrong, " the older man spoke, ignoring the pointed looks all around, "But weren�t you the one baiting Ecklie with the one that said Lab Techs Do It Under Glass?
"Just cause Catherine likes my...delivery..." Greg trailed off with a leer.
"Kamikaze pilots have a better chance of making it home with that one, Greg." Catherine walked by, her own, smaller, evidence bag in hand. "But...I think you�re cute." The former dancer and mother of one gave him a mildly lascivious and very teasing once over before heading down to Ballistics.
"Let me guess," Head poked in the door, Sara took one look at Greg�s stunned face and snickered, "Catherine�s already been by and is on her way to compare the bullets we found at the scene?"
Mouths closed - well, except for Greg - and no answer forthcoming, excepting the various grins of amusement at Greg�s expense, Sara shook her head with a cheerfully disgusted , "Men.", and made her way to follow her partner for the night.
"Not exactly the smoothest move I�ve seen you make, hoss," Nick chided.
"On the contrary, " Grissom wandered over to examine the evidence his field team had brought in. "Open mouths are generally never a good indicator of intelligence, Greg."
"P-pardon?"
"Quality of speech, Greg, not quantity, " the older man told him, placing his fingers under the tech�s chin and pushing up gently. "Close your mouth."
"Ready whenever you are, Gil."
"Same here, boss."
"Talk to me, gentlemen..."
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Under the stars, Nick worked to stretch the kinks out of his neck, satisfied to hear the cracks as his vertebra popped back in line after hours of sifting through fiber and blood evidence with Warrick and Greg. He had stepped outside the CSI building to get a little fresh air, maybe gain a little more perspective on the senselessness of this case. The air was sharp and clear around him, the cold of the winter Nevada night seeping into the thin shirt he wore as he stood there, staring up at the stars, finding no answers.
Violins. Who would have thought a man would give up his freedom, take another man�s life - over violins. Both victim and murder had been in their seventies. How Spirelli had managed to roll Carver�s body up into that sheet at all, Nick didn�t even want to hazard a guess.
"What you seek...isn�t out here, Nick."
"X-raying my brain again, Grissom?" A smile lifted over his shoulder at the solid form standing next to the exit, allowing the brick and concrete to buffer the effects of the wind. Grissom was worried about him; about all of them. Only Nick had been the only one Grissom had needed to follow out into the cold. Too damned empathetic by half...
Yielding to the sigh, Nick was about to turn around when he felt the hand on his shoulder, heat seeping in through the chilled fabric of his shirt, bringing more than physical warmth in it�s wake. It brought connection, a closeness; it felt good knowing he wasn�t alone. "We got a new case?" The hand tightened a moment before letting go and Nick mourned the chill that rushed to seep back in as they turned to rejoin the living. "DB?"
"Zebra." Grissom corrected, walking with him back into the building, a glance betraying the wry grimace. "Seems someone broke into the Las Vegas Zoo and decided to go hunting..."
End
Sam