Rating: T (minor suggestive adult themes, mild coarse language)
Spoilers: Getting Off (Season 4)
Disclaimers: With the amount of time I spend thinking about these characters, they should all be mine...sadly, they're not.
Author's Note: Written in response to the Unbound Challenge from 8 Aug 2005.
No Laughing Matter
by Lapsus Stili
His hands covered his ears to block out the laughter. It hurt Nick's feelings slightly that his coworkers, the people he considered his friends, were getting a kick out of his admission.
"Lay off guys," he whined, "it's not funny! There are lots of folks that feel the same way I do…"
All around the breakroom the rest of the team was in various states of amusement. Greg, always one to go a little overboard, was gripping the edge of the table in an effort to pull himself up off the floor and back into the chair he had just fallen out of in hysterics. Then there was Warrick sitting just to the right of the blushing man, quietly shaking while holding in his laughter. One hand was pressed firmly over his own mouth to help his cause. From the counter where she had been pouring herself a fresh cup of coffee, Catherine was chuckling away, mopping up the caffeine puddle that had resulted from her sudden guffaw at Nick's statement. Near the end of the table Sara was holding her stomach with one arm while wiping at her tear-streaked face with the other. She was trying desperately to get herself under control, but was still losing her battle with her fit of giggles. Even Grissom's eyes glinted with humour, and though his grin somewhat betrayed his attempt at seriousness, he still tried to come to the young man's rescue.
"You're right, Nicky," he began, "A phobia is nothing to scoff at. Coulrophobia is indeed a recognized condition."
The somewhat vindicated Texan sat up a little straighter in his chair and gratefully looked to his boss. "Thank you for making my point, Gris," he stated, chin held high despite the continued titters around him.
Grissom continued in his usual encyclopedic way. "Did you know that the term coulrophobia is derived from the Greek word koulon, meaning 'limbs'? This is in reference to the stilts that clowns are sometimes seen perched upon, although the term actually encompasses the irrational fear of any type of clown."
"I'll bet you're glad that you didn't have to work that case last year with Sara and I," Catherine suggested. "You know, where that guy killed the clown that he caught schtupping his wife?"
Sara nodded in recollection. "Right, apparently he was quite the ladies' man, as long as he was all painted up."
Nick looked up at her then, pale but smiling a bit. "Never was I so glad to have to go to a Decomp Seminar," he signed. "By the time I got back, you guys had thankfully just put that case to bed."
Finally catching his breath, Greg began shuffling through the brightly coloured crime scene photos that were spread across the table. He set aside the one of the outside of the Circus Circus Hotel and Casino where the murder had taken place. Instead, he focused his attention on the one showing the entire class of Hanna Banana's Clown School students, all in full garb. He slid this picture towards his still-grimacing coworker.
Pursing his lips and shuddering, Nick flipped it over, then got up and joined Catherine by the coffeemaker. She patter his shoulder in sympathy, her maternal instincts kicking in.
"Kids, could we possibly get back to work now?" Grissom slipped back into supervisor mode. "You can switch with Sara and work her B&E down off of Belmont Street. We can't have you hyperventilating and passing out while you're trying to interview our suspects."
Another snicker came from Greg, but Grissom swiftly quelled it. "That's enough out of you, Chuckles. Since he'll be the one mentoring you tonight, you'd best behave for Nick."
The rest of the assignments were passed out with little excitement before everyone headed out to their respective destinations.
Within twenty minutes, Nick and Greg arrived at the robbed home in the north end of town. After getting whatever details they could from the officer on the scene, Greg started in the large living room while Nick set to work looking for clues in the adjacent foyer.
After an hour or so, when Nick had moved on to the master bedroom down the hall, a wicked grin spread across Greg's face. He rummaged through his kit and quickly donned a shocking pink wig, along with a pair of ridiculously long green nitrile gloves that stretched clear up to his elbows, which he had snagged earlier from the coroner's supply room. Lastly, the prankster pinched a big, red, bulbous piece of foam to his nose, and grinned with satisfaction.
"Hey Nick…could you give me a hand in here?" he called out.
Hearing footsteps approaching the doorway, Greg quickly turned to greet his partner with a sickly smile plastered across his face, arms spread out from his sides in a manner that simply screamed look at me!
A thoroughly unamused Nick stopped dead in his tracks and sucked in a great gasp of air, quickly followed by a garbled "Gah!"
Later, Greg would conspire gleefully with the rest of the team that the look on his friend's face had been priceless, but at that moment he actually felt really bad for the guy. It looked as though he might just pass out on the spot from the sudden fright. Immediately Greg snapped off the fake schnoz and wig simultaneously, tossing both back into the depths of his case. Peeking up from his lowered gaze, he stuttered a heartfelt apology.
Shock turned to embarrassment, then morphed into anger. The usually good-natured CSI growled out a terse response through clenched teeth. "Not Funny." With that he turned away, calling back over his shoulder, "Quit screwing around and finish with your collecting in there, then we're heading back to the lab."
Without another word, Greg went back to work, kicking himself proverbially. Damn, that was a bad idea, he thought, pressing the lift tape to the surface he was working.
The gloved hand carefully lifted a print from the window sill.