Title: Behind Closed
Doors
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, do I look like I'm
rich?
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Genre: Humor
Pairings:
None (except for all the subliminal ones)
Summary: You never know
what you'll find behind closed doors, sometimes it's a skeleton
and sometimes a cigar is just a cigar.
A/N: I realize that this is probably OOC, but quite frankly I was in a silly mood so umm, yes. This is the result. Liked it? Send some more crack my way…I mean, comments. Comments are good. Also, aside from a cursory read by my roommate, this thing is unbeta'd. Thus the errors are mine, all mine.
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut and Catherine stooped to pick up a dropped paper clip from the carpeting before pressing the button for the ninth floor. She looked at it for a moment and then placed it in the middle of the floor. Using it as a mark for where her partner would be she began tracing the movements of the two-step. The Blue Rodeo was hardly the bar she would've picked for their first date but she thought she could remember enough line dancing from gym class to not disgrace herself. Besides, she smirked, she had the perfect outfit in mind, by the end of the night he would have an entirely different notion of "Devil in a blue dress". She shook her head and placed her hands on her hips and nibbled on her upper lip. Surely it wasn't that hard, it wasn't like she was an inexperienced dancer.
She decided to try some line dance moves, it was only a square after all. Catherine kicked out her right leg and rested her heel and brought it back to touch her toes on the ground next to her stationary left leg before reaching back to tap behind her. She brought her leg forward and took a step to the right bringing her left foot to join the right and clapping. Then she did the same with her left, the door chiming as she clapped. She strode out and the doors closed on her laughter.
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut and Warrick pressed the button for the basement. Hopefully it would be cooler down there, with even his half unbuttoned shirt not cutting the heat the idea of cool cement walls was fantastic. The idea that he was going down there to start laundry was less so, especially since it meant using the dryer. He set down the laundry basket and stripped off the sticky cotton shirt, his shoulders stretching as he pulled the shirt over his head. He twirled it around his finger above his head for a moment, humming to himself, "I'm too sexy for my shirt, too sexy for my shirt, so sexy it hurts." Using a corner of the fabric to dry his face he groaned as he realized he'd just doomed himself with Right Said Fred.
He picked up the laundry basket and shook his bum as he sang, "I'm a model you know what I mean and I do my little turn on the catwalk yeah on the catwalk on the catwalk yeah I do my little turn on the catwalk". He stood up and walked in front of the doors, his shorts and flip flops all too sexy. The elevator doors opened into the coolness of the basement and Warrick walked into it. The doors closed on his voice filling the soon to be balmy air, "And I'm too sexy for that elevator."
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut and Nick punched the button for the penthouse. He glanced around the mirrored walls, eyebrows lifting at the mirrored ceiling with discreetly placed speakers playing Whitney Houston's "I'll always love you". A grin joined his eyebrows as he looked at the changing floor lights. He struck a wider stance, his left hand holding his mike, his right arm quiescent at his side. "Bitter sweet memories, that is all I'm taking…" He reached out his right arm as though to pluck something from the air in front of him and drew his hand back to his chest. "…With me. So goodbye –" a tender wave, "please don't cry..." a remorseful shake of his head as his hand went out as though to gently push someone away. "We both know I'm not what you, you need."
Elbows tucked into his sides, his back arched and with his head cast back to expose his neck he belted out, "And I –" holding the undulations in a surprising tenor his head rose as the song continued. He reached out his arms to draw someone and clasp them to his chest. "…will always love you." He cast his arms wide and knelt, crooning, "I will always, always love you."
The doors slid open with a chime and Nicky smoothly grabbed his kit and strode into the plush hallway, mock punching Warrick's arm as the doors slid shut on Whitney's voice.
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut and Greg bushed the button for the morgue. Head bopping he cranked up the music a little louder on his 80s rock mix. Lights chimed as the elevator descended and Greg picked up his air guitar. His face intent, fingers flying on invisible strats he leaned into the crowds of women screaming his name. Tossing aside the mike stand he gave the pyro guys a minute to do their thing before diving into the last riff. He was so rocking this crowd, they might think that he was an earthquake. Yeah, Greg "The Earthquake". Warrick could be the bassist, they could call their band "Off the Richter".
He grinned at the thought of his co-workers as rock stars: Grissom could be their manager, Sara could be the drummer (she looked like she could beat the shit out of those things), Cath could be the singer and Nicky could be the other guitarist. The song pulled Greg back in and the performance must go on. The doors opened up and he slid to his knees into the hallway, head cast back with hair awry and fingers still grasping the neck of the guitar. Greg spun 360 degrees on his knees right into standing up and strutting down the hallway, his head bopping as the doors slid shut and the hallway was gone.
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut and Sara placed an earbud into her ear as she selected her floor. She had given into the trend and sported the white headphones that demarked the $300 dollar music player. The ability to listen to streaming music and lectures was the greatest allure of the iPod. Such as the trance set being spun in Germany that she was listening to now; she loved the flow and ebb of the music and the amalgamation of songs. It reminded her of the time she had gone to Burning Man when she was still in university – the only time she'd been to Nevada before Grissom's call. She swayed a bit and closed her eyes as she joined her hands, fingertips to palms and pushed her arms out to the sides.
The trick to making your movements flow was in the wrists and she was always a little stilted until she got into the music. Then everything just flowed away from her in a centered core as her arms and hands wove around her body. The music didn't ask anything of her and she could give and take as much of it as she liked. She could feel muscles stretching over bone as she moved and twisted, the bass vibrating through her body. The doors opened and she brushed through them, the doors sliding shut on her swaying hips.
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The doors rasped slightly as they shut on the elevator that was empty save for Grissom's thoughtful presence. He chose his floor and pulled a much battered book out of his jacket pocket. From his other pocket he pulled a paper clip and began to skim the creased and spotted pages of the book. He chuckled to himself briefly before marking a passage with the paper clip. He pulled another clip from his pocket and began to toy with it with his teeth, a slight furrow on his forehead. The air was filled with his quiet breath, the hum of machinery and the gentle rasp of paper on paper.
He marked another passage and toyed with another paper clip. He was only one busy entomologist after all, and there's only so much a man could quote Shakespeare. A chime and reversal of motion marked his arrival and he pocketed his "Bartlett's Book of Quotes". He gave a little hop as the elevator arrived in the lobby. Grissom grinned at the slight flip-flop in his stomach, anticipating his trip to the roller coasters as he strode through the doors. A dropped paperclip lay on the carpet as the doors slid shut once more.