Odd Deliveries

By PaBurke

Pairing # Oz / Warrick (CSI)

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, no money made, no copyright infringement intended.

Spoilers: None really.

Word Count: 400

Warrick tapped the front desk of the CSI offices. "Sue?"

She held up a hand and pressed a button on the switchboard. "Las Vegas Forensics Offices, how may I direct your call?"

A short, young man appeared at the investigator's side. He had blue hair. "Warrick?"

Warrick nodded at the punk.

He held out his hand complete with black fingernail polish, "Oz." They shook and Warrick waited for an explanation. Oz handed him a paper bag sealed with shipping tape. "Give this to Sara? Thanks."

Then he disappeared. Warrick blinked. Where had the man gone?

"Warrick?" Sue asked.

Warrick turned to her with a sheepish smile. "I've forgotten . . ."

Sue offered a sympathetic smile and answered the next phone call.

Warrick walked back to the offices, eyeing the brown paper bag suspiciously. The package was light and the bag came from the Farmer's Market on the south side of town. He knocked outside the door of Sara Sidle's tiny office. She looked up at him with a smile. "Warrick."

"Do you know an Oz?"

Her smile widened. "Yes, why?"

Warrick held up his burden and set it on her desk. "He dropped this off for you."

"Thanks for passing it on." She grabbed a box cutter for her top drawer and started to cut. When Warrick still hadn't left, she asked, "Anything else?"

"Is he the reason you didn't max out on overtime last month and definitely won't this month?"

Sara flushed. "I'm not dating him, if that's what you're asking."

Warrick raised an eyebrow. Sara flushed deeper and tore open the paper bag. The first thing she pulled out was a familiar blouse.

Warrick grinned. "Isn't that your favorite shirt?" Then he thought about it. "Didn't it get covered with gore and grass stains that last time you wore it?"

"Yes and yes." Sara held up the shirt for inspection. "Oz bet that he could get the stains out . . . looks like I owe him thirty bucks." She shook the blouse one last time and began folding it up.

Warrick watched a slip of paper flutter out of the fabric. He caught it and read: 'Gig: tomorrow, 4pm.' Sara ripped the paper out of his hands before he could read the address. She read it and her face turned from white to red and back again.

"So you're a groupie?"

"No. Good-bye Warrick."

"But . . ."

"Good-bye Warrick. I have paperwork to complete."