C.S.Island
A/N: This was written in response to Sweety's challenge at UtB. The challenge was posted in 2002, but hopefully it's okay to do it now. The premise is CSI meets Gilligan's Island. I realize I made Nick stupid, but, hey, somebody had to be Gilligan. I actually adore Nicky. Special thanks to Chuck's Butterfly Page (www.aa6g.org/lepidoptera.html) for the butterfly info. Please forgive the scary formatting. Though I've never had a problem uploading documents to FF.net before, for some unearthly reason this one would not upload properly, so I had to send it as a text file. Arrrgh!
Spoilers: PwF
Disclaimer: I don't own a darn thing, certainly not C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigation or Gilligan's Island.
The weather started getting rough, and the tiny ship was tossed. The large waves threw the boat about like a rag doll. Jim Brass struggled to keep control of his craft, but he was fighting a losing battle. Nick Stokes, his voluntary first mate, desperately bailed out water with an old bucket. Hard rain pelted them as they worked to remain afloat. The passengers huddled in the cabin. If not for the courage of this fearless crew, the S.S. M.O. would be lost. How could this be happening? This was supposed to be a simple three- hour tour. The last thing anyone remembered was a horrific lurch as the boat ran aground.
Brass slowly became aware of his surroundings as he squinted in the early morning sunlight. He was lying on a white sandy beach, mere feet away from a patch of palm trees and lush tropical vegetation. Where the hell were they? Struggling to his feet, he called out for the others. "Grissom? Catherine? Anyone?"
One by one, his six companions made their way through a gaping hole in the hull of the boat and attempted to orient themselves to their surroundings. Grissom performed a verbal head count, "Jim, Nick, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Greg...uh, me. That's it. Good, we're all okay."
"Okay, I'll bite," Sara ventured. "Where are we?"
"Looks like Tahiti," Warrick mumbled.
"It looks like a tropical island," Greg offered without explanation.
"A tropical island?" Catherine was incredulous. "In the middle of Lake Mead?"
Seemingly oblivious to his friends, Grissom had wandered over to a nearby tree. He returned with a closed fist and slowly opened it to reveal a beautiful blue butterfly. "Morpho Sulkowsky," he explained as the butterfly flew away. "It's found only in the Southeast Asian Tropics."
"I've never seen a blue one before," Greg noted.
"It's not actually blue," said Grissom, ever the instructor. "It acts as an optical interference filter that absorbs all of the colors except blue, which it reflects."
"More importantly," Sara interrupted. "What is it doing in the North American desert?"
Grissom flashed her a grin and shrugged, "You got me."
Warrick had been pondering the situation and formulating a plan. He pointed to a lofty hilltop. "That looks like the highest point as far as I can tell. Someone needs to hike up there and see what there is to see."
"I'll go," Greg volunteered.
"I'll go with you," Warrick agreed.
While Greg and Warrick were gone, their friends set about other tasks. Brass tried the two-way radio without success. Grissom, Catherine, Sara and Nick sorted through their supplies to determine what could be salvaged. Nick lugged another suitcase onto the sand. "Eight bags, Catherine? We were only supposed to be gone three hours."
Catherine smirked, "Well, now I'm glad I brought them. At least I have clean clothes, makeup and jewelry."
"We need to find a safe water source," Grissom warned, holding up a six-pack of Evian. "This won't last long."
"Since there are no deserted islands in Lake Mead, I'm sure we'll be home by nightfall," Catherine reassured them.
Warrick and Greg returned with startling news: They were indeed alone on an island, the entire span of which was visible from the mountaintop.
"You must be joking," Sara groaned. "How did we get shipwrecked on an uncharted deserted isle in Lake Mead? It's impossible."
"It seems as though we slipped into an alternate universe during that storm," Grissom concurred with her assessment.
Brass had been listening from the deck of the M.O. "The radio's shot. We could be here a while."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*
As the days passed, the need for a more substantial shelter than the shipwreck became evident. They worked long and hard to construct huts according to Grissom's well-designed blue print. Soon they discovered they had only enough energy and building materials for four huts. They were going to have to decide on living arrangements.
"I'll bunk with Sara," Greg volunteered enthusiastically.
"In your dreams, Greg," Sara teased.
"You will not bunk with Sara, Greg," Grissom snapped. "Obviously, the two women should share a hut."
Sara and Catherine both looked at Grissom doubtfully. Though she didn't say it, Sara decided she would rather live with Greg. She had to admit, though, that it made sense for she and Catherine to be roommates.
"The rest of us will draw names to determine our roommates. Last name in the hat gets to live alone," Grissom proposed, desperately hoping to be the last name in the hat. He scribbled the men's names on slips of paper, folded them and dropped them into Nick's cap.
"I'll go first," Nick reached into the hat, pulled out a slip and read it aloud. "Jim!"
"Here goes nothing," Greg said and drew a name. He quickly ran and pulled Warrick into a bear hug. "Roomie!"
Grissom smiled broadly and left to move his things into the smallest hut.
Catherine and Sara moved in together. Sara called dibs on the bunk furthest from the door. She placed her small bag on the floor next to her bed and flopped onto the handmade mattress. "Done!"
Catherine, on the other hand, had a bit of a challenge. Her eight suitcases required a great deal of space. She carefully arranged her belongings in strategic locations. "I can't believe you brought so much stuff," Sara commented.
Catherine held up a shimmering gold lame dress, "You never know when you might need an evening gown."
Next door, Brass and Nick were settling into their new home. "I get the top one!" Nick claimed, hopping into the higher of the two hammocks.
"No argument here," Brass responded dryly.
Warrick was already tiring of Greg's exuberance. The spiky-haired lab tech bounced around, voicing his thoughts on interior decorating. "We could totally put a bead curtain here!"
"Where are you gonna get the beads?" Warrick asked. Why couldn't I have gotten nice, mellow Brass?
"Beads, rocks, whatever. You have to have vision. Artistic flair," Greg continued. "Ooh, and a lamp! Yes, we could make a hula dancer lamp to put there. Sweet!"
"Whatever makes you happy, man."
Grissom lined up his books on his small shelf. He didn't know why he brought books for an afternoon outing, but he was glad he did. He sat back on the bed and sighed contentedly.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Dinner!" Catherine called out. She and Sara set the table and waited while the others filed out of their huts and took their places at the table.
"You know, once I got out of that Bed and Breakfast, I swore I'd never serve anybody again," Sara reflected.
The group dined on a variety of fruits and berries they had scavenged on the island. Warrick, Nick and Greg had gone fishing and returned with nothing but fish tales. They were all growing quite weary of fruits and berries.
"Ugh, I can't eat any more of this," Brass pushed his plate away.
"I like it," Sara opined.
Nick rolled his eyes, "That's because all you ever eat at home is rabbit food. Some of us are used to real food."
"There's a lot more on the vegetarian menu than this stuff, Nicky." Sara downed her glass of coconut milk. "Anybody for pie?"
"Let me guess-coconut?" Warrick grimaced.
"Is there anything else?" Sara answered cheerfully.
Grissom wondered about the efficacy of his latest invention, "How's that oven working out?"
"Not too shabby," Catherine responded.
"I have a plan for an irrigation and plumbing system. We could have running water soon."
"How about a plan to fix the hole in the boat?" Brass asked dryly.
"We don't have the materials. I'm working on a windmill, though."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Sara removed her clothing and slipped into the bathtub. Grissom's plumbing system worked flawlessly, and she really enjoyed a hot bath. She reached for the urn of bubble bath, only to find it empty. Oh well, she thought, I'll just ask Grissom to whip up another batch. He was a pretty handy guy to have around. She wondered if there was anything he didn't know. That's right, he doesn't know what to do about 'this'. Closing her eyes, her body fell into a state of deep relaxation.
Gil stepped into the small bathroom, flipped the sign on the door around to read "occupied" and disrobed, eagerly anticipating the hot shower. He pulled the curtain aside and his jaw hit the floor. There was Sara, naked in the tub. Oh God, can't think...naked...
Sara gasped when she heard the curtain slide aside, opened her eyes and saw a very naked Gil Grissom standing there with a stunned expression. "What-what are doing here?"
"The sign said it was available...I didn't mean to...oh, God," Gil stammered. His state of undress made it impossible to conceal his growing pleasure at the sight before him. Cupping his hands proved to be ineffective as his face reddened.
"Oh, I forgot to turn the sign around! I'm sorry!" Sara apologized as Grissom hastily stepped back and closed the curtain. She regained her composure as the humor of the situation struck her, "Hey, Grissom?"
"Yes?" he responded, his voice shaking.
"We're out of bubble bath."
Sara heard the bathroom door slam and knew she was alone again. Wow! That was an impressive sight! She grinned to herself, laughed off her embarrassment and attempted to reach her previous state of relaxation.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Making their way along the roughly carved trail through the brush, Brass and Warrick reached the lagoon. They hadn't caught any fish in several days. Today, they had tried placing the net a little farther out. Brass bumped into Warrick when the taller man suddenly stopped. Their net was lying empty on the sand.
"What the hell happened here?" Brass bellowed.
Nick looked up from the bush where he'd been gathering herbs for Grissom, "I know," he shook his head. "Someone left that net in the water and some poor fish got trapped. It took me ten minutes to get them all freed."
"You what?" Brass couldn't believe his ears.
Warrick put his arm across Brass's chest, "You let our dinner go?"
"Dinner?" Nick blushed, realizing his mistake.
Brass whipped his skipper's hat from his head and smacked Nick in the back of the head with it. Nick ran into the trees with Brass in hot pursuit. Laughing, Warrick replaced the net in the water. "How's the fishing going?" Grissom asked, pulling up in his pedal-powered car with Greg in the passenger seat.
"Don't ask. Nice work on the wheels."
Brass reappeared from the jungle, "Hey, Gil, how's the boat coming along?"
"The glue didn't hold. But wait until you see the malaria vaccine I made," Grissom announced proudly. Greg retrieved his fishing rod front the trunk of the car and cast his line into the lagoon. Almost immediately, there was a tug on his line. He pulled back as hard as he could, but whatever he had hooked was very large.
"Hey, guys! Some help here, please?"
The four men together were able to tow the object onto the beach. It was metallic, ovate and covered with seaweed.
"It looks like a space capsule," Gil noted. The printing on the side was illegible to the CSIs.
"What is that, Greek?" Warrick guessed.
"Russian," Grissom told him knowingly. "I'll look it up in my book."
Greg placed his finger on a tiny red button, "What does this do?"
"Don't touch that! Maybe it blows us up," Brass pushed the lab tech's hand away, but the damage was done. A red light adjacent to the button began flashing rhythmically. "Oh, swell. That can't be good."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
A crowd gathered in Gil's hut, anxiously awaiting his translation of the writing on the capsule. He closed the book and turned to his fellow castaways.
"It's a space capsule all right. Must be left over from the 60s. It likely contains Cold War secrets. The light is a homing beacon and Greg activated it."
"Which means?" Catherine asked.
"Which means the Russians are going to come looking for it."
"We're going to be rescued!" Sara and Greg hugged.
Fighting the urge to pry them apart, Grissom continued, "We'll build an elaborate signal fire and light it as soon as we see the plane."
When they had found an appropriate spot, they set about building their fire. They had decided to spell out the letters S.O.S.
"Shouldn't the S.O.S. be in Russian?" Sara suggested, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Damn, it's hot." She found herself imagining how nice it would feel to be in Gil's cool hut. Despite his brilliant air conditioning system, she knew they could create plenty of heat.
The remaining fuel from the boat was poured over the wood. It was ready for action.
"We should probably take shifts as lookouts," Grissom instructed.
The lookout schedule organized, they retired to their huts for the evening.
Grissom's study of island flora was interrupted by a soft knock at his door. He opened it to find Sara standing outside with two steaming cups of coffee. "I saw your light on and thought you could use some coffee," she said sweetly and entered the small hut. "Great job on the coffeemaker, by the way."
"Thanks," He smiled, taking a cup from her. Motioning toward the bed, he said "Have a seat. Drink it with me."
"Do you think we'll actually get rescued?"
Grissom sat next to her on the bed, "I hope so."
"In a weird kind of way," she admitted, "I hope we don't."
"Why not?"
"Because at home, I've never felt I could just drop by your place for coffee," she smiled wistfully.
"Sara...it's, it's complicated." Grissom stared at the floor.
"I know. But sometimes I wonder if we don't make it more complicated than it needs to be. Sometimes I think I want our friendship back, but then I realize I'm fooling myself," She paused to look at his face. "I could never be happy just being friends with you. Not anymore."
Gil seemed to experience a complete separation of mind and body. Before his brain could stop it, his body moved toward her, took her into his arms and kissed her. He knew that once he gave in to his feelings, he would never be able to go back, but he was powerless to resist her.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Morning brought no news. No airplane had been sighted during the night, and now Nick was on lookout duty. The gang spent the morning around the huts. Sara, Greg, Catherine and Warrick squared off in a lively bowling tournament on the bowling alley Grissom had designed, complete with ball return. Grissom buried himself in a microbiology text. Brass lounged in the chaise, still wondering why the boat couldn't be fixed.
"Well," Grissom got up from his chair and stretched. "It's time for my watch." As he ambled through the bushes toward the lagoon, he pricked himself on some overhanging thorns. We need to pave this trail. I'd better put that on the project list.
"Nick?" Gil called out, unable to see the younger man.
"Up here."
Gil looked up to see Nick high in a palm tree, staring intently at a distant object. "What are you doing?"
"Looking at that pretty ship. It's a big one."
"Ship?! What ship?"
Nick dropped the telescope down so Grissom could take a look. The ship was steaming away from them, the Russian letters on the side becoming smaller.
"Nick!" Grissom couldn't contain his dismay. "Why didn't you yell so we could light the fire?"
"It wasn't a plane," Nick defended. "You said to yell if there was a plane."
"If I were you, I wouldn't come down from that tree."
Yes, this is the tale of our castaways
They're here for a long, long time
They'll have to make the best of things-
It's an uphill climb.
No boat, no light, no motorcar
Not a single luxury
Like Robinson Crusoe, it's primitive as can be
So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile
From seven stranded castaways
Here on C.S.Isle...
A/N: This was written in response to Sweety's challenge at UtB. The challenge was posted in 2002, but hopefully it's okay to do it now. The premise is CSI meets Gilligan's Island. I realize I made Nick stupid, but, hey, somebody had to be Gilligan. I actually adore Nicky. Special thanks to Chuck's Butterfly Page (www.aa6g.org/lepidoptera.html) for the butterfly info. Please forgive the scary formatting. Though I've never had a problem uploading documents to FF.net before, for some unearthly reason this one would not upload properly, so I had to send it as a text file. Arrrgh!
Spoilers: PwF
Disclaimer: I don't own a darn thing, certainly not C.S.I.: Crime Scene Investigation or Gilligan's Island.
The weather started getting rough, and the tiny ship was tossed. The large waves threw the boat about like a rag doll. Jim Brass struggled to keep control of his craft, but he was fighting a losing battle. Nick Stokes, his voluntary first mate, desperately bailed out water with an old bucket. Hard rain pelted them as they worked to remain afloat. The passengers huddled in the cabin. If not for the courage of this fearless crew, the S.S. M.O. would be lost. How could this be happening? This was supposed to be a simple three- hour tour. The last thing anyone remembered was a horrific lurch as the boat ran aground.
Brass slowly became aware of his surroundings as he squinted in the early morning sunlight. He was lying on a white sandy beach, mere feet away from a patch of palm trees and lush tropical vegetation. Where the hell were they? Struggling to his feet, he called out for the others. "Grissom? Catherine? Anyone?"
One by one, his six companions made their way through a gaping hole in the hull of the boat and attempted to orient themselves to their surroundings. Grissom performed a verbal head count, "Jim, Nick, Sara, Catherine, Warrick, Greg...uh, me. That's it. Good, we're all okay."
"Okay, I'll bite," Sara ventured. "Where are we?"
"Looks like Tahiti," Warrick mumbled.
"It looks like a tropical island," Greg offered without explanation.
"A tropical island?" Catherine was incredulous. "In the middle of Lake Mead?"
Seemingly oblivious to his friends, Grissom had wandered over to a nearby tree. He returned with a closed fist and slowly opened it to reveal a beautiful blue butterfly. "Morpho Sulkowsky," he explained as the butterfly flew away. "It's found only in the Southeast Asian Tropics."
"I've never seen a blue one before," Greg noted.
"It's not actually blue," said Grissom, ever the instructor. "It acts as an optical interference filter that absorbs all of the colors except blue, which it reflects."
"More importantly," Sara interrupted. "What is it doing in the North American desert?"
Grissom flashed her a grin and shrugged, "You got me."
Warrick had been pondering the situation and formulating a plan. He pointed to a lofty hilltop. "That looks like the highest point as far as I can tell. Someone needs to hike up there and see what there is to see."
"I'll go," Greg volunteered.
"I'll go with you," Warrick agreed.
While Greg and Warrick were gone, their friends set about other tasks. Brass tried the two-way radio without success. Grissom, Catherine, Sara and Nick sorted through their supplies to determine what could be salvaged. Nick lugged another suitcase onto the sand. "Eight bags, Catherine? We were only supposed to be gone three hours."
Catherine smirked, "Well, now I'm glad I brought them. At least I have clean clothes, makeup and jewelry."
"We need to find a safe water source," Grissom warned, holding up a six-pack of Evian. "This won't last long."
"Since there are no deserted islands in Lake Mead, I'm sure we'll be home by nightfall," Catherine reassured them.
Warrick and Greg returned with startling news: They were indeed alone on an island, the entire span of which was visible from the mountaintop.
"You must be joking," Sara groaned. "How did we get shipwrecked on an uncharted deserted isle in Lake Mead? It's impossible."
"It seems as though we slipped into an alternate universe during that storm," Grissom concurred with her assessment.
Brass had been listening from the deck of the M.O. "The radio's shot. We could be here a while."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*
As the days passed, the need for a more substantial shelter than the shipwreck became evident. They worked long and hard to construct huts according to Grissom's well-designed blue print. Soon they discovered they had only enough energy and building materials for four huts. They were going to have to decide on living arrangements.
"I'll bunk with Sara," Greg volunteered enthusiastically.
"In your dreams, Greg," Sara teased.
"You will not bunk with Sara, Greg," Grissom snapped. "Obviously, the two women should share a hut."
Sara and Catherine both looked at Grissom doubtfully. Though she didn't say it, Sara decided she would rather live with Greg. She had to admit, though, that it made sense for she and Catherine to be roommates.
"The rest of us will draw names to determine our roommates. Last name in the hat gets to live alone," Grissom proposed, desperately hoping to be the last name in the hat. He scribbled the men's names on slips of paper, folded them and dropped them into Nick's cap.
"I'll go first," Nick reached into the hat, pulled out a slip and read it aloud. "Jim!"
"Here goes nothing," Greg said and drew a name. He quickly ran and pulled Warrick into a bear hug. "Roomie!"
Grissom smiled broadly and left to move his things into the smallest hut.
Catherine and Sara moved in together. Sara called dibs on the bunk furthest from the door. She placed her small bag on the floor next to her bed and flopped onto the handmade mattress. "Done!"
Catherine, on the other hand, had a bit of a challenge. Her eight suitcases required a great deal of space. She carefully arranged her belongings in strategic locations. "I can't believe you brought so much stuff," Sara commented.
Catherine held up a shimmering gold lame dress, "You never know when you might need an evening gown."
Next door, Brass and Nick were settling into their new home. "I get the top one!" Nick claimed, hopping into the higher of the two hammocks.
"No argument here," Brass responded dryly.
Warrick was already tiring of Greg's exuberance. The spiky-haired lab tech bounced around, voicing his thoughts on interior decorating. "We could totally put a bead curtain here!"
"Where are you gonna get the beads?" Warrick asked. Why couldn't I have gotten nice, mellow Brass?
"Beads, rocks, whatever. You have to have vision. Artistic flair," Greg continued. "Ooh, and a lamp! Yes, we could make a hula dancer lamp to put there. Sweet!"
"Whatever makes you happy, man."
Grissom lined up his books on his small shelf. He didn't know why he brought books for an afternoon outing, but he was glad he did. He sat back on the bed and sighed contentedly.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
"Dinner!" Catherine called out. She and Sara set the table and waited while the others filed out of their huts and took their places at the table.
"You know, once I got out of that Bed and Breakfast, I swore I'd never serve anybody again," Sara reflected.
The group dined on a variety of fruits and berries they had scavenged on the island. Warrick, Nick and Greg had gone fishing and returned with nothing but fish tales. They were all growing quite weary of fruits and berries.
"Ugh, I can't eat any more of this," Brass pushed his plate away.
"I like it," Sara opined.
Nick rolled his eyes, "That's because all you ever eat at home is rabbit food. Some of us are used to real food."
"There's a lot more on the vegetarian menu than this stuff, Nicky." Sara downed her glass of coconut milk. "Anybody for pie?"
"Let me guess-coconut?" Warrick grimaced.
"Is there anything else?" Sara answered cheerfully.
Grissom wondered about the efficacy of his latest invention, "How's that oven working out?"
"Not too shabby," Catherine responded.
"I have a plan for an irrigation and plumbing system. We could have running water soon."
"How about a plan to fix the hole in the boat?" Brass asked dryly.
"We don't have the materials. I'm working on a windmill, though."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Sara removed her clothing and slipped into the bathtub. Grissom's plumbing system worked flawlessly, and she really enjoyed a hot bath. She reached for the urn of bubble bath, only to find it empty. Oh well, she thought, I'll just ask Grissom to whip up another batch. He was a pretty handy guy to have around. She wondered if there was anything he didn't know. That's right, he doesn't know what to do about 'this'. Closing her eyes, her body fell into a state of deep relaxation.
Gil stepped into the small bathroom, flipped the sign on the door around to read "occupied" and disrobed, eagerly anticipating the hot shower. He pulled the curtain aside and his jaw hit the floor. There was Sara, naked in the tub. Oh God, can't think...naked...
Sara gasped when she heard the curtain slide aside, opened her eyes and saw a very naked Gil Grissom standing there with a stunned expression. "What-what are doing here?"
"The sign said it was available...I didn't mean to...oh, God," Gil stammered. His state of undress made it impossible to conceal his growing pleasure at the sight before him. Cupping his hands proved to be ineffective as his face reddened.
"Oh, I forgot to turn the sign around! I'm sorry!" Sara apologized as Grissom hastily stepped back and closed the curtain. She regained her composure as the humor of the situation struck her, "Hey, Grissom?"
"Yes?" he responded, his voice shaking.
"We're out of bubble bath."
Sara heard the bathroom door slam and knew she was alone again. Wow! That was an impressive sight! She grinned to herself, laughed off her embarrassment and attempted to reach her previous state of relaxation.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Making their way along the roughly carved trail through the brush, Brass and Warrick reached the lagoon. They hadn't caught any fish in several days. Today, they had tried placing the net a little farther out. Brass bumped into Warrick when the taller man suddenly stopped. Their net was lying empty on the sand.
"What the hell happened here?" Brass bellowed.
Nick looked up from the bush where he'd been gathering herbs for Grissom, "I know," he shook his head. "Someone left that net in the water and some poor fish got trapped. It took me ten minutes to get them all freed."
"You what?" Brass couldn't believe his ears.
Warrick put his arm across Brass's chest, "You let our dinner go?"
"Dinner?" Nick blushed, realizing his mistake.
Brass whipped his skipper's hat from his head and smacked Nick in the back of the head with it. Nick ran into the trees with Brass in hot pursuit. Laughing, Warrick replaced the net in the water. "How's the fishing going?" Grissom asked, pulling up in his pedal-powered car with Greg in the passenger seat.
"Don't ask. Nice work on the wheels."
Brass reappeared from the jungle, "Hey, Gil, how's the boat coming along?"
"The glue didn't hold. But wait until you see the malaria vaccine I made," Grissom announced proudly. Greg retrieved his fishing rod front the trunk of the car and cast his line into the lagoon. Almost immediately, there was a tug on his line. He pulled back as hard as he could, but whatever he had hooked was very large.
"Hey, guys! Some help here, please?"
The four men together were able to tow the object onto the beach. It was metallic, ovate and covered with seaweed.
"It looks like a space capsule," Gil noted. The printing on the side was illegible to the CSIs.
"What is that, Greek?" Warrick guessed.
"Russian," Grissom told him knowingly. "I'll look it up in my book."
Greg placed his finger on a tiny red button, "What does this do?"
"Don't touch that! Maybe it blows us up," Brass pushed the lab tech's hand away, but the damage was done. A red light adjacent to the button began flashing rhythmically. "Oh, swell. That can't be good."
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
A crowd gathered in Gil's hut, anxiously awaiting his translation of the writing on the capsule. He closed the book and turned to his fellow castaways.
"It's a space capsule all right. Must be left over from the 60s. It likely contains Cold War secrets. The light is a homing beacon and Greg activated it."
"Which means?" Catherine asked.
"Which means the Russians are going to come looking for it."
"We're going to be rescued!" Sara and Greg hugged.
Fighting the urge to pry them apart, Grissom continued, "We'll build an elaborate signal fire and light it as soon as we see the plane."
When they had found an appropriate spot, they set about building their fire. They had decided to spell out the letters S.O.S.
"Shouldn't the S.O.S. be in Russian?" Sara suggested, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Damn, it's hot." She found herself imagining how nice it would feel to be in Gil's cool hut. Despite his brilliant air conditioning system, she knew they could create plenty of heat.
The remaining fuel from the boat was poured over the wood. It was ready for action.
"We should probably take shifts as lookouts," Grissom instructed.
The lookout schedule organized, they retired to their huts for the evening.
Grissom's study of island flora was interrupted by a soft knock at his door. He opened it to find Sara standing outside with two steaming cups of coffee. "I saw your light on and thought you could use some coffee," she said sweetly and entered the small hut. "Great job on the coffeemaker, by the way."
"Thanks," He smiled, taking a cup from her. Motioning toward the bed, he said "Have a seat. Drink it with me."
"Do you think we'll actually get rescued?"
Grissom sat next to her on the bed, "I hope so."
"In a weird kind of way," she admitted, "I hope we don't."
"Why not?"
"Because at home, I've never felt I could just drop by your place for coffee," she smiled wistfully.
"Sara...it's, it's complicated." Grissom stared at the floor.
"I know. But sometimes I wonder if we don't make it more complicated than it needs to be. Sometimes I think I want our friendship back, but then I realize I'm fooling myself," She paused to look at his face. "I could never be happy just being friends with you. Not anymore."
Gil seemed to experience a complete separation of mind and body. Before his brain could stop it, his body moved toward her, took her into his arms and kissed her. He knew that once he gave in to his feelings, he would never be able to go back, but he was powerless to resist her.
*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*
Morning brought no news. No airplane had been sighted during the night, and now Nick was on lookout duty. The gang spent the morning around the huts. Sara, Greg, Catherine and Warrick squared off in a lively bowling tournament on the bowling alley Grissom had designed, complete with ball return. Grissom buried himself in a microbiology text. Brass lounged in the chaise, still wondering why the boat couldn't be fixed.
"Well," Grissom got up from his chair and stretched. "It's time for my watch." As he ambled through the bushes toward the lagoon, he pricked himself on some overhanging thorns. We need to pave this trail. I'd better put that on the project list.
"Nick?" Gil called out, unable to see the younger man.
"Up here."
Gil looked up to see Nick high in a palm tree, staring intently at a distant object. "What are you doing?"
"Looking at that pretty ship. It's a big one."
"Ship?! What ship?"
Nick dropped the telescope down so Grissom could take a look. The ship was steaming away from them, the Russian letters on the side becoming smaller.
"Nick!" Grissom couldn't contain his dismay. "Why didn't you yell so we could light the fire?"
"It wasn't a plane," Nick defended. "You said to yell if there was a plane."
"If I were you, I wouldn't come down from that tree."
Yes, this is the tale of our castaways
They're here for a long, long time
They'll have to make the best of things-
It's an uphill climb.
No boat, no light, no motorcar
Not a single luxury
Like Robinson Crusoe, it's primitive as can be
So join us here each week my friends,
You're sure to get a smile
From seven stranded castaways
Here on C.S.Isle...