Chapter 1: I Am Lab Rat, Hear Me Squeak

"Sorry I'm late," Brass said, stepping up behind Catherine and Warrick. "Accident on the interstate."

"Glad we took Tropicana, then," Warrick nodded. He turned back to the assembled group of fencers. "If you ladies wouldn't mind, we'd like to get fingerprints from each of you – it will help us to eliminate you from physical evidence found at the scene."

Brass nodded. "If you would prefer, we can get a warrant."

The blonde who'd explained the car keys policy raised an eyebrow and looked around at the other fourteen women who all nodded, clearly coming to some sort of non-verbal agreement. "No need," she said, getting emphatic nods of agreement from the others. "If it'll help you find the sorry, oxygen-wasting bastard who did that to Annie, we'll give you fingerprints, DNA, and anything else you need."

"Thank you," Catherine nodded. "We'll also need statements from each of you."

"No problem," the blonde replied. "Can you please start with Meredith? She's gotta get home to the babysitter."

Warrick nodded. "Sure thing."

In a back room of the restaurant, Warrick sat across a table from Meredith. "Did you notice anything or anyone acting strange or aggressive tonight?" he asked.

"I don't know that I'd call it aggressive, but... a bunch of the bartenders were being really flirty. Quite a few of us are single, and actively encourage that sort of thing, but even before she met Scott, Annie was never as flirty as some of us. These days, she usually just ;aughs, shows them her ring, and tells them they're a little too late. There was this one waiter, though... Annie told him she wasn't interested, but he kept at it. Eventually, he crossed the line from flirty into flat-out inappropriate, and she told him to fuck off."

"In as many words?" Warrick asked.

"Pretty much – she used a few extras, and repeated the sentiment in Russian, Vulcan, and Klingon in case he didn't get the hint." Meredith smirked. "Annie is sweet and fun and funny, and she seems so innocent, but man, when she decides she ain't gonna take your shit, she Ain't. Gonna. Take. Your. Shit."

"What time was that?"

"Maybe half an hour before she left for work – 9:45, 10:00. Somewhere in there."

"Can you tell me what this guy looked like?"

"About your height, brown eyes, spiky light-brown hair, silver hoop in his left ear."

"Thanks."

Annie slowly became aware of an incredibly annoying beep. Opening her eyes, she looked around, but it didn't do her much good – she had had terrible eyesight since she was a toddler, and she couldn't see for beans without glasses.

"Thank God, you're awake," said a familiar voice by her ear.

"Scott," Annie sighed, more relieved to hear his voice than she would ever be able to put into words. "Three questions... One... do you know... where my... glasses are? Two... where the hell am I? And three... what in the... seventeen noodley hells... of the Flying Spaghetti Monster happened?"

"One, right here. Two, at Desert Palm. And three, Greg, Catherine, and Warrick are working on figuring out the details," Scott replied, putting her glasses into her hand.

Putting her glasses back on uncrossed Annie's eyes, and she was at last able to take in her surroundings properly. IV needle in her hand, oxygen cannula in her nose, and the source of that infernal beep, a pulse oximeter on her finger. Yep, this was a hospital room, all right. Scott sat on one side of the bed, holding her hand, and Grissom sat on the other. And there in the corner, his crutch propped on the arm of his chair, sat Doc Robbins. "Okay, can you... give me a... broad overview?" she asked hopefully. "And can I get... some water? My throat feels like... the Mojave."

"The oxygen will do that to you," Robbins nodded, as Scott put a water glass with a bent straw into her hand. "You gave us all quite the scare, young lady - how are you feeling?"

"Like I got hit by... a mack truck," she said, wincing. "Anyone see... which... way it went?"

"That way," Scott smirked, pointing at the ceiling. He couldn't hide his smile when that elicited a small chuckle from his fiancee.

"Ticket... the driver, will ya?" she smirked. "I've got a migraine... my lungs feel all... congested, and I am unbelievably itchy. Like I took... a bath... in poison ivy. With a... colony of mosquitoes."

"I can give you the gist of what we think happened, but first, tell me how much you remember," Grissom told her.

"I was out partying... with the girls from... fencing tonight – got there at about 6:00, and they were still... going strong when... I left for work at 10:30," Annie said. She was speaking slowly, needing time to find the right words, but she was reasonably alert and coherent, and seemingly back to her usual personality – already a considerable improvement over a couple hours previously. "I was... crazy-dizzy when I got... to the locker room. I remember... Greg walking me down to the morgue... and I think a... joke about my low blood pressure? After that... I got nothin'."

"You're a very lucky woman," Robbins observed. "If you hadn't come down to the morgue, I doubt you would have made it."

Annie stared around at each of the three men. "Pardon... my language... but... what the flying fuck happened?"

Grissom sighed. "We believe your drink was drugged while you were out tonight – Greg is working on finding out with what as we speak."

Robbins nodded. "Almost certainly some kind of central nervous system depressant, which dropped your blood pressure and, in a sick twist of irony, probably saved your life in doing so."

Annie stared at the coroner as though he'd grown a second head. "How did... being unable to walk under... my own power... save my life?"

"It got you dizzy enough to come looking for me," Robbins said wryly. "Whatever you were given, you are severely allergic to it – if you hadn't already been down in the morgue, I sincerely doubt that David and I could have gotten the epinephrine into you fast enough."

"Thank God... for small favors," Annie observed wryly. As her train of thought finally pulled into the station, her eyes went wide in alarm. "The rest... of the girls? What if... I wasn't the only one?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart," Scott told her, brushing a strand of red hair out of her face with the back of his hand. "We're a few steps ahead of you on that one."

Grissom nodded. "Catherine and Warrick are already out there, along with a couple of uniforms – if anyone else starts showing symptoms, we'll know right away."

"Thanks," Annie sighed, visibly relaxing.

Grissom's phone rang. "Greg," he said, glancing at the caller ID as he pushed the 'talk' button. "What have you got, Greg?"

"Annie's blood tests positive for flunitrazepam – she was given at least three times what would be the recommended dose if it could be legally prescribed in this country."

"Thanks, Greg."

"How's she doing?"

"She's all right – she just woke up about fifteen minutes ago. She should be past the danger zone at this point."

"Tell her I hope she feels better soon."

Grissom nodded. "I'll do that, Greg - I'll be back to the lab within the next hour, probably." Returning the phone to his pocket, he smiled at his lab tech. "Greg says he hopes you feel better soon."

Annie grinned. "Can... you tell him... thanks?"

"Of course," Grissom nodded.

"So... what did they give me?" she asked, attempting to sit up a bit, but finding that her body wasn't ready to cooperate with that plan just yet.

"Have you ever had a prescription for benzodiazepines?" Grissom asked.

Annie shook her head. "No – I have anxiety issues related to the Asperger's... but they stay pretty well... under control with just... an SSRI."

"Stay away from them, then," Grissom nodded. "You're severely allergic to flunitrazepam."

Annie nodded. "Rohypnol. Always... a classic."

Scott facepalmed. "Damn, Annie – even drugged halfway to the moon, you're still a toxicologist," he laughed. Given that she was known to lecture him on the finer points of chemistry and lab instrumentation while half-asleep (or more) late at night, it wasn't all that surprising.

Annie smirked. "I am Lab Rat, hear me squeak." She sighed, scratching absently at her itchy neck. "What on earth... have they got me on, anyway?"

"Let's see," Scott said, counting on his fingers. "You're probably still feeling the effects of the roofies, and the epinephrine that Doc Robbins and David shot you full of when you started coding out... and your IV contains prednisone and benadryl to get your immune system to quit freaking out... and there might be some kind of mild stimulant," he finished. "Oh, and there's an epipen here that I've been instructed to stab you with if you quit breathing again."

Annie smirked. "I can... think of... much better things... for you to stab me with..."

Robbins just laughed. "Glad you're feeling better, Annie," he said, picking up his crutch and getting to his feet. "Come on, Gil – I think that would be our hint to leave these two in peace."

Grissom set a hand on Annie's shoulder. "You take care of yourself, Annie," he said. With that, he followed the coroner out.

Annie sighed, turning her head toward Scott. "Will you... will you stay with me... tonight, Scott?"

"Don't worry, Hon – I'm not going anywhere until they send you home."

She smiled sleepily. "Thanks. You're... the best." She paused. "Will you come... cuddle with me?"

"Of course," he smiled. Kicking off his shoes, he took off his uniform shirt and untucked his t-shirt, then lay down on the bed next to his fiancee, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She soon fell back asleep, but Scott remained awake, one eye on the pulse oximeter's monitor.