Summary: This story was written in response to the 'Improv' series of challenges over at Unbound. The idea is to create a story from a beginning and ending line given by Mossley, use the lines exactly as posted, and it must be less than 1,000 words. I hope you enjoy!
ps. I am truly sorry to all who've been waiting for me to finish my WIP's, and I am glad that RL and my muse have finally allowed me to write again!
"So, how much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood?" Brass asked.
"I don't think that is exactly what the organizers of the talent show had in mind, Jim," Grissom laughed.
"Oh, I don't know--the exercise of tongue twisters is somewhat of a lost art," the detective said, loftily. Before his colleague could comment on his outrageous statement, however, they both heard a commotion in the hallway.
"What the heck, Greg!" Nick's voice sounded a cross between embarrassment and anger. "Are you trying to kill me?!"
"I said I was sorry!!" Greg's voice echoed down the corridor. Brass and Grissom looked at each other in amusement, and moved toward the door.
"Jeez, Greg--of all the irresponsible-" Nick's voice was cut off by the lab tech's continued apologies.
"I'm sorry!" the younger man cried again, and then, in a lower voice, continued, "Nick, I'll go get you an ice pack for your head, but please, please don't keep yelling! I don't think he will understand, and I've finally started to get some respect-" Greg's desperate, hushed tones were interrupted by the last person he wished to see at this moment.
"You don't think who will understand?" Grissom asked, although he knew the answer. He raised his eyebrow critically, taking in the scene before him.
Nick Stokes was leaning up against the hallway wall with a dazed expression on his face, one hand holding his head, and a frantic looking Greg Sanders was crouched next to him. Grissom sniffed. There was a faint odor of burning hair in the air...
At the sound of Grissom's voice, Greg closed his eyes in defeat, and got up to face the music.
"I'm over here, Greg," Grissom's exasperated voice rang out. "I don't know why you left the radio on when I told you to turn it off!" The lab rat scrambled into the DNA lab to shut off his boom box. "Was that polka?!" Grissom's incredulous tone was very evident. No answer from the other room--it appeared that the hapless Greg had engineered his escape.
"I'll go get him," Brass said with a chuckle. Grissom nodded, and turned to Nick, who was groaning on the floor.
"What happened?!" he asked the injured Texan. 'And what is that smell?'
"I don't know, man--all I know is, I was walking from Trace over to DNA, when out of the blue something hits me on the head!" Nick tried to explain, in a weak voice. His boss was only half listening, however, as his eyes had spied the source of the odd smell. A few feet from the sprawled CSI lay a twirling baton, its ends smoking slightly. Grissom narrowed his eyes. Polka music? Smoldering twirling batons? Talent show? He shook his head. The evidence never lies, he told himself. 'THIS evidence is too weird.'
"I didn't even know Greg could do a handstand," Nick was saying now.
Grissom shut his eyes, and pinched his arm. It hurt.
"I suppose it would be too much to ask that this be just a bad dream," he muttered, under his breath.
"Look, here comes Brass and Greg," he said to the still-moaning Nick. "I think Greg has an ice pack for your head, too."
"I hope he brought two of them," the younger CSI said grimly, "because I'm about to stick that baton where the SUN don't shine!" Nick struggled to get up, and Grissom helped him to his feet.
Brass grinned evilly at Greg when he saw the look on Nick's face.
"Lucy, you got some 'splainin' to-" he started to say, in his best imitation of Ricky, then stopped. Three pairs of male eyes were trained on him, with matching expressions of amazement.
"Oh sure," he said drily. "Our 'Greggo' does cartwheels down the hallway to polka music, and you three look at ME like I'm nuts!" He turned to the red-faced lab tech. "You're on your own." The irate detective turned his heel and stalked back down the hallway, muttering to himself about the inconsistency of CSI's.
The three men were still recovering from Brass's diatribe when another voice called out down the corridor to them.
"Greg, are you coming? My break is almost over and I thought you were going to show me how to manipulate your baton!"
Grissom and Nick looked at each other, and then over at a now completely red Greg Sanders. The irrepressible young man looked sheepish for a long moment, and then glanced over his shoulder at the very young, very blonde, very cute girl at the other end of the hall. He shrugged.
"Duty calls!" Tossing the ice pack to Nick, Greg turned and sprinted down the hallway to the waiting girl.
"I hope she finds out he listens to polka music, and dumps him!" Nick declared. He winced as he put the ice pack against his head.