Disclaimer: I do not own Emergency or any of the other shows I borrow characters from. They belong solely to their creators and the networks that have the rights to them. I just like to see what happens when I mix very different people together. I'm also a little odd and have a very active imagination.

I hope you enjoy the story so far.

Susanne

Kaleidoscope

"What the hell?"

Nick Stokes stood on the sidewalk. Above him was a reasonably blue sky beyond the smog. The sun was a little past noon. A little shaky, Nick ran his right hand through his hair and took another look around.

He didn't recognize the street. It appeared to be a commercial area. Small shops ran up and down both sides of the double lane avenue. A few of the parking meters were occupied but there was something odd that the trained observer couldn't quite put his finger on it. Cars drove by as he stood stunned and watched.

Then it hit him. While the vehicles seemed to be relatively new for the most part, they were from the late sixties, early seventies. Fear began to creep through his system. The Level 3 CSI pulled his cell phone off of his belt and flipped it open. As he hit the speed dial number he wanted, he glanced at the signal intensity. There was none. The clock was blank as well.

People that passed the young man, wearing outlandish outfits, either studiously ignored him or watched him with open interest.

"Damn," Nick muttered under his breath. Fighting panic, he clipped the phone back onto his belt. His unit was nowhere to be seen and his kits were gone. Down the street was a phone booth. Wow, he couldn't remember the last time he'd noticed one of those. As casually as he could muster, the LVPD CSO walked down the street. Somehow, he'd wound up in California, at least that's what the license plates of the vehicles were telling him.

Just as he reached the phone booth and moved to go into it, Nick had to pause and let a man with a large afro, four wheeled roller skates and a huge ghetto blaster perched on his shoulder glide by. He had sweat bands on his wrists, short shorts and a neon coloured tank top on. If he'd been African American, he would have been a character from a bad seventies movie but even Caucasian he was hard to take.

Finally, Nick practically jumped into the relative safety of the glass walls. He reached into his back pocket to get to his wallet while he took a closer look at the phone. The fear got worse. There was no credit card slot. There were no buttons. Taking a steadying breath, Nick tried to not notice that his finger shook as he plunged it into the hole and began dialling the number for the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Grissom would be able to help him figure out what was going on.



"Hey, man. Are you all right?" a young man asked. He wore a tie-dyed t-shirt, ripped jeans and flip flops was standing outside the booth, looking in at him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," Nick responded as he listened to the line ring. He'd dialled collect and was waiting for the computer voice to ask for his name.

"Operator. How may I direct your call?" a female voice came over the line.

"What?" It slipped out before he could stop it. "Sorry. Yeah, I'm trying to reach the Las Vegas Crime Lab. Area code 406-555-7432." There was a pause.

"I'm sorry, sir. That number is not in service. Is there another number you'd like to try?" the operator asked. If she was becoming impatient Nick couldn't tell from her voice.

Within minutes they'd run through every phone number he could remember and those stored in his cell phone. None of them worked. Sweaty and more than a little shaky, Nick placed the phone back on the receiver. The world around him seemed to waver before his eyes.

Unsure of what else to do, the young CSI rested his head on the glass of the booth and rubbed at his eyes. Taking a few deep breaths, most of the vertigo passed.

There was a loud banging on the door, bringing Nick back to reality. He glanced at the woman standing outside the doors as he quickly opened them and slid out. She had really big hair and was wearing a bright orange polyester jumpsuit. As he passed by her, he was hit full force with strong perfume and noticed the while boots covering her feet. "Excuse me," he muttered, his slight Texan accent slipping through.

Rather than standing in the middle of the sidewalk, obstructing traffic, he moved over to the nearest wall and leaned against it. He tried to come up with a solution as he watched the menagerie pass by. Hoping against hope, he checked his cell phone again. Nothing.

"Beam me up, Scotty," a young guy chuckled as he walked by, pointing at the electronic device.

"They don't have those yet," a female voice stated from Nick's right. Startled, he turned toward the woman. She was a good six inches shorter than him but probably fifty pounds heavier. She was wearing black jeans, hikers and a fleece shirt. He saw the same fear reflected in her brown eyes behind the black wire-rimmed glasses. Trying to be casual, she had her back to the same brick wall and was scanning the pedestrians.

"Are you serious?" Nick asked.

"I'm afraid so," the woman answered. "When do we wake up?"

"Soon, I hope. I'm Nick Stokes." He offered the woman his hand.

"Rachel Dunn." Her grip was surprisingly strong as they shook hands. "How is this possible?"



"What exactly is 'this'?" Nick asked.

"It's the year 1972. As near as I can figure it's June 30th. What year should it be?" She wanted confirmation that she wasn't nuts.

"2008." Nick glanced around to see if anyone was paying attention to them. So far so good.

"Same here. Are you from here at least?" Rachel was trying to keep it together but she was getting closer to panicking with each passing minute. Finally, she put her head down and concentrated on breathing with her eyes closed.

"No, I'm from Las Vegas." Nick found it moderately comforting to have someone else in the same position. However, it didn't bring them any closer to a solution to their present situation.

"At least you're in the right country," Rachel breathed. She glanced up at the taller man beside her. "I'm from Canada and I don't do crowds well."

"Oh," was all that Nick could think to say.

"Do we go to the police or should we stay away from them? I've seen too many X-File episodes, I'm a little paranoid," Rachel stated. All she really wanted was for all this to end.

"I'm not sure that we have much of a choice," Nick replied, chuckling softly. Standing here wasn't helping them. Looking for inspiration, the young CSI glanced up and down the street. Moving toward them was a read truck with flashers on top. "Now's a good a time as any."

He stepped out into the street and flagged them down. As they pulled up along the curb, he read the stencilling on the side of the vehicle, Los Angeles County Rescue Squad 51. Two men in dark blue uniforms and blue shirts climbed out.

"What seems to be the problem?" the one with blond hair and blue eyes asked over the hood of the truck.

"We seem to be lost," was the first thing that came to mind. Somehow telling the man that they were 34 years out of date wasn't really going to help too much.

"We?" the man who'd climbed out of the passenger side asked.

"Yeah." Nick turned, expecting to find Rachel beside him but she wasn't there. Scared that the woman had vanished, he searched the immediate area with his eyes. Relief flowed through him when he spotted Rachel still standing against the shop wall. The second man, with dark hair and brown eyes, stood against the side of the vehicle with his arms crossed over his chest. His partner had joined him.

Hesitantly, Rachel crossed the sidewalk to join the little group. Old habits die hard, however, and she hung back along the outer edge of the group.



"Where are you supposed to be?" the blond man asked. The name tag on his shirt pocket said Fireman Roy DeSoto. The other man's name tag said Fireman John Gage.

"Um." Nick wasn't quite sure where to begin now that he had to explain the situation.

"What street are you looking for?" John asked. He was really beginning to wonder about the couple. Since it appeared this was going to take a while, he paused long enough to inform LA that they were currently unavailable.

"It's more like 'what city'," Rachel murmured.

"What was that?" Roy asked. He hadn't quite caught what the woman had said.

"We seem to be in the wrong city," Nick said, feeling that generalities were probably best.

"How did you get here?" John asked.

"Um." Nick glanced at Rachel for help but the woman just looked back at him. "We're not sure."

Fireman Roy DeSoto was getting a strange feeling about the duo. Their clothes seemed a bit off and so was their story. The fear and confusion he read in their eyes was very real. Leaving the two, he motioned his partner a short distance away so they could talk privately. "What do you make of this?" he asked.

"Something's definitely fishy," was his partner's reply.

"They think we're nuts," Rachel stated as the firemen moved away.

"I'm not sure they're wrong," Nick said.

"Well, let's take them into Rampart," Roy suggested. He didn't want to leave them wandering the streets. Who knew what would happen to them.

"Yeah, we can't leave them here," Johnny agreed.