Title: An Error of Brass Proportions
Author: giwu and hunterseaker
Rating: M for language and adult situations
Genre: Humor
Warnings: No warnings or spoilers
Pairing: A little something for everyone
Disclaimer: Not ours, which is probably a good thing
A/N: This was a plot bunny that resulted in two versions of the same story. Hunterseaker's version has an extra bonus for Lady Heather fans and can be found at csifiction on LJ. Thanks much to the fantastic losingntrnslatn for the beta job.
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"Okay, buddy…whoa…whoa. Easy there, now big guy," said Jim as he wove through the halls of the lab. He half-carried, half-drug his human cargo along the deserted corridors. For once he had been relieved that Judy was away from the reception desk. If he could just make it to his office (with a pit stop in the break room) without any of the lab geeks looking up from their microscopes, life would be good.
"Hold on, we need to go in here for just a minute," he said. His temporarily joined at the hip partner lurched when they made the quick left turn into the break room. Jim held him up with one hand on his chest while he quickly grabbed the items he needed from the refrigerator. With a quick release and spin, he had the man on his shoulder and ready to move once again. "C'mon we are back on the road. Since you supposedly have the night off, I'm going to put you in your office and close the door." Jim awkwardly navigated them around a mop bucket, a 'slippery when wet' sign and a case of unopened bleach left on the floor.
They made it to his office, and completely without incident. Jim helped him to lie down on the couch. He punched the insta-ice pack and mixed the contents before gently placing it (with a layer of paper towels) on his left cheek.
The man on the couch growled and promptly threw the ice pack across the room, letting the paper towels fall to the floor.
"Now, stop that. You've got to leave this on your face," said Jim.
Again, the ice pack went sailing across the room and this time it knocked over some books with a loud crash.
"Damn it! Knock it off. I don't want anyone to know you're here," he said, picking up the ice pack one more time. "You know Ellie used to play this game for hours when she was a baby. One day my ex came home and wanted to know why all of her toys were duct taped to the bars of the crib."
"Gee, Jim, that's fascinating," mumbled Gil. His words were slightly slurred and accented with the spittle that flew out with each one, as he tried to fight his way off the couch.
"That's enough, Gil. Stay still," said Brass. He looked around the office for an ace bandage or a roll of gauze to secure the ice pack to Grissom's head. "With all the creepy-crawly poisonous things you have in here, I would think you'd at least have a first aid kit." Sighing audibly, he knew he would have to improvise. He removed his necktie and looped it around the ice and then Gil's head.
When he was finished, Jim Brass, the seasoned, highly decorated police detective could not contain his laughter at the sight of his friend. But it did nothing to stop the man from trying to remove the ice again. "Don't make me handcuff you to the couch, leave it alone." He swatted Gil's hands away from the hastily tied knot. "Stay, here. Damn it, Gill, I should be back in about an hour," he said.
Grissom lay on the couch and watched the detective walk out of his office. Once he was alone his hands scrambled to grasp the leather of the couch and he tried to move to a sitting position. His body failed to respond and he remained on the couch.
He closed his eyes for a moment, hoping to rest and sleep off the drugs.
Images appeared in his mind. One of the most prevalent was a woman in black with long dark hair. He could hear her voice and he was certain it was one he recognized.
He gave one more try and was able to sit up on the couch. He threw the ice pack away from his face. With a little more maneuvering, he made it to his feet and clumsily took the six steps to his desk. He was tired from the exertion. As he settled into his chair, he closed his eyes and hoped the same woman would appear in his thoughts again.
Grissom opened his eyes moments later in recognition. Lady Heather. It was unfortunate that he was in his office at the lab because now he was groggy, drugged and arouse all at the same time.
He picked up the phone. He must call her. His mind drew a blank on her phone number. It was programmed on his cell, but who knew where it was at the moment. He opened a desk drawer to look for her card. His search grew more panicked when he couldn't find it. He removed the drawer and dumped the contents on his desk. In the middle of the pen, pencils, packets of ketchup, mustard and napkins he found her card. He dialed the number and waited.
"Hello," he rich voice flooded his senses.
"Hhhhheeeatthh," Grissom said. In his own mind, he sounded incredibly suave.
The dominatrix immediately knew this would be no ordinary phone call.
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Charlotte hurried down the hallway. She had taken a quick shower in the locker room and changed. If she hurried, she would only be a few minutes late. Perfectly acceptable for a lady. A flash of her ID and she would still be able to get escorted to her seat before the show started. All she had left to do was to drop the latest fingerprint results on Grissom's desk and she was out of there. His office was dark, but when she turned the doorknob it was unlocked.
She had just entered when she heard a sound. "Is someone here?" she asked, startled. She fumbled for the light switch. Grissom peered at her owlishly as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was sitting at his desk staring at the phone receiver.
"Charlotte!" he exclaimed. "You look magnificent!"
"Okay," she said cautiously. "Thank you, Gil."
"How long is the statute of limitations on being an idiot?" he asked.
"At this point I think it is directly correlated to current behavior," she responded.
"Hmmm…" he paused for a moment and cocked his head. "Nope, not a clue what you mean by that. Right now I would like nothing more than to 'pin you up against a wall and plant one on you like I mean it.' Doesn't that sound like a fantastic idea?"
"I have to go," she said. Obviously, sooner than later." She turned and tripped on her high heel. She realized she was still holding folder with the results. From the doorway she threw it in the general direction of his desk. "This is the analysis you wanted from the 4-19 at the park. Goodnight, Gil." She shook her head and as she turned the corner met Sofia and Catherine.
"Wow, lady," said Catherine. "That is some dress."
"It must be, even your boss thought so," she said.
"Grissom? I thought he had the night off tonight," said Sofia
"So did I," said Catherine. "The schedule says I am acting supervisor." Her phone rang and before she answered it she turned back to Charlotte, "You're certain to bring out the beast in some lucky guy tonight!" After seeing the print tech hurrying down the hall, she flipped open the phone and answered, "Hello?"
Sofia pointed to Grissom's office and Catherine nodded. "I'll meet you there in a minute," she said.
"Hey, girlfriend," she said softly into the telephone. "Wait-Heather, are you okay? Heather are you crying? No, not crying, but laughing. I think he's here, but he was supposed be off tonight. He did….WHAT!? Oh, my fucking, GOD. Let me call you back in a few…" She hung up and walked as quickly as she could the last few steps to Grissom's office.
"Well Helloooooooo, Miss Kitty," Grissom's voice boomed through his office.
"I must be on fire tonight, all the hot chicks are in my office..." his voice trailed off this time and was not as loud as his initial greeting.
Catherine could not hold her laugher. A big, bold laugh escaped her mouth.
"What is wrong with you?" Catherine demanded, seeing a stunned Sofia at Grissom's desk
Sofia turned to Catherine and said softly, "he tried to pinch me. Grissom tried to pinch me. He said he wanted to see if my boobs were real."
"You know, you'd be really hot if you had an English accent," he said to Sofia.
"Gil, seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?" Catherine asked again, this time more concerned.
"Nothing's wrong with me, I'm fine." Grissom said. "Hey, what is a 'spork', anyway?" he asked, pulling a piece of plastic from the middle of the mess on his desk.
"You sure don't look fine." Catherine said reaching over his desk to get a look at his face.
"Don't touch me!" Gil protested. "I'm fine, I just want to know why all the lovely ladies are in my office tonight, that's all," he smirked.
"That's not what Heather said," Catherine said, raising an eyebrow in his direction.
Sara walked into the crowded office with her head lost in a file folder. She was oblivious to the current occupants of Grissom's office.
"So, Grissom…" Her voice began, "what's the status of the trace you found?"
Catherine stood at Sofia's side and quietly watched as Sara kept approaching Grissom's desk still unaware of the other two women standing in front of it.
"Sara, Sara my love." Grissom greeted Sara as his head tilted beyond the line of sight of Catherine's body.
"OOOO KAY" Sara responded as her lips pursed in concern as she looked up from the folder.
"Sara, why haven't we gotten it on?" His voice asked with seriousness.
"What?" She asked in a stunned voice. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"You are so pretty, so smart, and so…so …. so…" He went on ignoring Catherine and Sofia.
Catherine stood in amazement. She watched as Grissom started to get up from his seat and then thought better of it.
"God, it must be my lucky night." Grissom stumbled as he slouched in his chair. "I have all the hot women of the lab here right now and I could have a threesome or moresome," he smiled, not really caring about the words that just came out of his mouth.
"What is wrong with him?" Sara whispered to Catherine.
"We're not sure." Catherine whispered back from the side of her mouth.
"Look, unless you Charlie's Angels Wannabe's have something for me to do, I'm leaving." Gil announced.
"Hey, guys…are we doing assignments in here tonight," said Warrick, stepping into the office.
"Warrick," said Grissom. "Alas, poor Warrick. I knew him, Horatio-a fellow of infinite jest…"
"Oh-kaaayy," said Warrick drawing out the word. "That's supposed to be 'Yorrick' and somehow Hamlet's description of his favorite court jester never really has applied to me." He turned to the three women. "Is there something wrong with him?"
"We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; for he to-day that sheds his blood with me…" intoned Grissom.
"We're still trying to figure out what is going on with him," said Catherine to Warrick.
"Deny thy father and refuse thy name, or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love," continued Grissom.
"What do you think we should do with him?" asked Sofia .
"If we shadows have offended, think but this and all is mended," said Grissom.
"I'm not sure, maybe if we get him to stop drooling, we can figure out how he got this way," said Sara.
Gil looked at her. "Et tu, Brute?" he asked mildly.
"Gil…just SHUT UP," said Catherine. "I can't hear myself think with you babbling Shakespeare."
Nick was at the door moments later. "Catherine, are you all right? Did I just hear you yell? What's everyone doing in here?" he asked in a rush, the tension visible on his face as his eyes swept around the now crowded office.
"Awww, how sweet," said Gil, turning to Catherine. "He came to rescue you. Remind me to show you the copy of a tape I have from one of the security cameras sometime."
Both Catherine and Nick blushed and looked suitably uncomfortable. Grissom's office was not very big to begin with and now there were six people squeezed in to the small space.
"Ssssoooo, Nick. Nicky, my boy, have I ever told you that you are great, I mean, really great you are?" asked Gil.
Nick's discomfort was even more evident. "You know, if everything is fine in here, I think Hodges has some results for me and I'll just leave…"
"No way, Sport-o," said Warrick. "If I am here for the show, so are you."
"Now, Nicky, I have a question for you. How come you don't ask Sara out on a date?" asked Gil. "You do like girls, don't you? According to that tape I have, you appear to like girls."
"Maybe we should start selling tickets to this show," said Nick grimly.
"What show would that be?" asked Greg, standing in the doorway. "What is this, a party?" He glanced from face to face looking for answers in the crowded room.
"GREG!" yelled Gil. "I was thinking of you the other day. My dad used to sing me these songs when I was a kid and we would go fishing." He immediately began to sing:
Me and Superman had a fight,
Hit him on the head with some Kryptonite,
All tumbled all of Superman's brains,
Now I'm fucking Lois Lane .
Jimmy Olsen jumped me from the rear,
I always knew that boy was queer.
The look on Greg's face was priceless. It wasn't very often he was without a quick comeback, but for several seconds he appeared speechless. "Good God, Grissom…if that's what your dad sang to you, I would hate to hear his bedtime stories," he said.
"That. Is. IT!" exclaimed Catherine. "It's time to call in some professional help." She reached for the phone on Gil's desk and dialed a number.
"Doc? Yeah, it's Catherine. Could you come to Grissom's office? Do us all a favor? Bring your bag. No, I don't think he's hurt, but he will be pretty soon."
It was less than five minutes before Doc Robbins arrived, but in that time all of them were treated to some more bawdy songs. One in particular left Sara with pink-stained cheeks and Al managed to catch the last couple of lines.
I don't know, but I've been told,
Sara Sidle is mighty bold.
I don't know, but it's been said,
Sara Sidle gives mighty good head.
"We used to sing that cadence when I was in the army," said Al, as he came in the room. He looked sympathetically at Sara. "If it makes you feel any better we usually inserted the name of our Drill Sergeant instead of yours."
'Yeah, thanks, but that really doesn't help," muttered Sara.
"So what do we have here?" asked Al.
As soon as Gil saw him, a twinkle appeared in his eyes. "Al, you're never going to believe it, I found the perfect Christmas gift for you," he said. Cards from his rolodex and plastic cutlery went flying everywhere as he began rifling through the papers and folders on his desk. "I just had them…a-ha! Here they are." He thrust two pieces of paper at Al, who set his bag on the desk and took the papers from him.
A moment later they witnessed Al's face drain of all color. "Are you insane?" he asked. "Why on earth would you hand me two pictures of rats and say they are the perfect gift for me?"
"No, no. You don't understand. Not those rats, but a pullet from them goes for $250.00. Evidently Bruno and Ali make some really pretty babies. Her next litter is due in November," said Grissom confidently.
Al shuddered and turned to Catherine. "You brought me here for this?" he asked.
"Yes and no," she answered. "I didn't know anything about the Christmas present, but something is wrong with Grissom and I wanted you to take a look."
Robbins nodded and began removing a few items from his bag. "This stuff doesn't get used all that much anymore," he said blowing dust from his stethoscope.
"Hey! That's cold. Ow!" Gil yelped as the blood pressure cuff squeezed his arm.
"Sorry, I may have accidentally pumped it a little high," said Al.
After shining the light in Grissom's eyes he stepped back and looked at him. He reached into his bag again, even though he had already made his diagnosis. "Well, boys and girls, my preliminary diagnosis… Your supervisor is basically…stoned out of his gourd." The complete silence in the room caused him to look over his shoulder.
"You know…all of them look like little baby birds with their mouths open like that," said Gil.
"Speaking of which, why don't you be a good boy; open your mouth and say, 'aaah' and I'll give you a lollipop that's probably twenty years old," said Al.
Gil was about to comply when a voice from the doorway made everyone in the room jump. "WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON IN HERE?" yelled Brass. There was a long pause and the collective group exchanged guilty looks.
"Grissom is acting strangely," said Greg timidly.
"Of course he is," said Brass. "Two of his wisdom teeth were impacted and it took some heavy duty anesthesia to extract them. I was going to take him home, but Vartann called and said if I didn't sign off on some forms, they were going to kick a perp loose."
"Hey, Jim…why don't you ask Catherine out to a show or something," said Gil.
Brass gave Catherine a confused look, and she offered, "He's been a lot worse than that. That's pretty tame in comparison."
"I knew I should have left you in the car," said Jim. "But unfortunately, it's 100 degrees in the shade."
Al had Gil open his mouth and he checked to make certain the gauze was still in place. "You know, he really should have ice on this," he said.
"Don't get me started on that," said Jim. He spotted the corner of his tie underneath the corner of the desk and pulled out the necktie and icepack. "I tried to get him to keep an icepack on his cheek and he kept throwing it around the office. I'm taking him home, NOW." He motioned for Grissom to stand up and quickly reached to keep him from falling facedown onto his desk.
"Actually, his behavior does make sense, now. In a very small percentage of the population, anesthesia can cause a complete loss of inhibitions and some temporary personality changes," said Robbins. "I read a recent study that said many men can maintain an erection during procedures and for hours afterwards. Some men can experience repeated ejaculation similar to what pubescent boys deal with when it comes to nocturnal emissions… "
Eight pairs of eyes were involuntarily drawn to Grissom's crotch. He purposefully covered himself and said unconvincingly, "I spilled a water bottle on my pants." Nobody blinked or tried to argue with him.
"Ew," said Brass. "That explains why the dentist looked at me funny and the dental hygienist gave him her number."
"I got a phone number?" said Gil happily. "I never get numbers."
"Gee, I wonder why that is," said Sofia, rolling her eyes in disgust
Gil rummaged in his shirt pocket until he found the folded scrap of paper. "Gina C. 555-2928. Oh…she sounds…hot," he said with a devilish grin firmly planted on his face.
"On that lovely note, we're out of here," said Brass as he moved in to scoop up the patient.
Nobody offered to help as the two men departed, and an awkward silence filled the air of the office.
"So, just out of curiosity, how long do we get to hold this over his head?" asked Greg.
"A very, very long time," said Catherine. She relocated the assignment folder. "Let's take this to the break room and get assignments passed out to everyone.
Everyone began to leave the office and Catherine looked back as she reached to turn off the light, "Nick? You gonna join the rest of us?" she asked.
"Sure, I'll be there, don't start without me," he said rummaging through the desk drawers. "I just want to find that videotape."
"Oh, sweetie, take all the time you need. And you can consider that your first assignment of the night," answered Catherine. She left, but not before the two of them exchanged a secret smile.
A/N: Please be advised that none of the information presented in this story regarding domestic rats or anesthesia should be considered factual. HOWEVER, Giwu can attest to the fact that a personality change can occur in patients while recovering from the anesthesia of oral surgery. She spent a fun-filled twelve hours picking an ice pack from the floor, repacking the gauze that was repeatedly spit out with high velocity and listening to her mother drop the f-bomb. It has scarred her for life.
Additional A/N: If we don't hear from Giwu after a few days, her mother actually reads the Giwu LJ and has disposed of her…