Chapter 4: Infantilism
The look on Timothy Speedle's face crossed the usual boundaries of mild annoyance as he made his way to the elevator.
He'd had enough.
'Bring this for lab analysis, Speed. I need the results—ASAP.'
'Remember, Speed; proper gun maintenance. Make it a routine.'
'Timmy, what did I tell you about riding your death machine? I know it's called a Ducati—let me finish!'
'Hey, Speedle. Next time you think about wasting my time…don't.'
'Speed! I told you to meet me at the crime scene! Where were you?'
'Hey, Tim. Buy me some muffins would you? Remember. I like blueberry.'
He stomped inside and immediately closed the doors with a push of a button before anyone could join him.
The second the metal doors shut, the young CSI threw a whining fit.
"Speed, do this! Speed, do that! Tim, I need this! Tim, I need that!" he said, his voice all squeaky as he went on. The annoyance that had grown big inside of him needed to be released, and this was the only way he could let go of his pent-up frustration without accidentally breaking or killing somebody in the process.
"I am sick and tired of people telling me what to do and how to live my life! It's driving me crazy!" Speed shouted to no one in particular. He felt his loud voice bounce back several times because of the small space.
On and on, people around him, especially his team mates, kept pestering him about the things he did. And, unsurprisingly, he found it very annoying. He knew they weren't doing it on purpose—well, except for Stetler—and that they only cared. And they sure as hell didn't know that it vexed him to the point of insanity.
But…enough is enough!!
Speed searched in the pockets of his leather jacket and took out his pair of sunglasses. He then, hurriedly put them on, as well as a serious face, and started to pour out his sentiments…as precisely as he could.
"Speed," he started, making a stance and deepening his voice as he imitated none other than his boss, Horatio Caine. "There's nothing wrong about the way you handle the evidence. I know you're doing the best you can, it's just that…it would be best if you stuck to procedure, okay?"
He took off the shades and said, using his normal voice, "Look, H. What I do, is what I do. And if what I do solves the case faster, then there's nothing wrong with it, so just lay off and freakin' deal with it, okay?"
Finished with his first, he rolled up his sleeves to his elbow, wore an arrogant face and, copying his best friend's voice, he spoke, "Hey, Speed, forget about your books and help me out with the ladies tonight. You're my wingman, right?—blah! Blah! BLAH!"
Speed shifted to his usual lazy-eyed are-you-kidding-me expression and said as he fixed the sleeves of his jacket and shirt, "Delko, look man, for once in your life, commit yourself to only one girl. Stop disturbing me and forcing me to be you damn chaperone! I've got better things to do! I have my own life to live and there is no way in hell that I'm gonna spend the rest of my limited free time tagging along with you and bringing you home every time you overdo it! You got me?!"
And oh, oh, OH! The next on his list was Calleigh Duquesne.
"Hey, Speed!" he exclaimed in a high pitched voice and duplicating the southern blonde's actions. "I was wonderin' if you'd do me a tinnie weenie favor and—nyeeeh! Nye-neeh! Nyeeh! NYEEEEH!!"
The now very pissed cynic didn't even bother finishing the sentence nor did he bother speaking on his behalf. He just went on with his unusual temper tantrum. It was childish but who freaking cares?! He was alone! He jumped to imitating Alexx Woods, then to Ryan Wolfe, and coming to Dan Cooper, and rolling on next to Natalia Boa Vista and Maxine Valera.
He was acting like a foolish and loopy person as he kept mimicking the actions, mannerisms and voices of his colleagues. Heck, even Sergeant Idiotic-Ass-for-Brains got into the mix.
"Speedle!" he yelled, hearing his own replication of Rick Stetler bouncing off the steel walls of the elevator he was currently using. "If I were you, I'd make it a habit of mine to clean my gun every chance I get! A gun malfunctioning compromises everything, especially you!"
Quickly, he came back to his normal lazy drawl, which had anger all over it, and said, or rather, shouted, "Listen here, you freakin' pain-in-the-ass! If I hear you complain about how I handle my gun one more time, swear to God, I will really clean the damn thing up and shoot you with it for as many times as I want--Nobody will help you because everybody hates you and you can't do shit about it because you'd be dead by the time your stupid big fat head hits the linoleum floor!!"
He stopped abruptly. God that felt good. His hands were on his knees as he inhaled air heavily, his shoulders going up and down and his eyebrows still stuck together.
He leaned back on the cold steel wall, taking deeper breaths. His fists started to unclench, and gradually, he was calming down…and on time too.
He used his handkerchief to wiped the beads of sweat off his face from all the "infantilism"—Wow. That was a very accurate way to put it-- and tucked it back to his front pocket as he heard the ding and saw the doors slide open. He took another deep breath and unhurriedly let it pass through his lips. He had regained his composure.
Speed cleared his throat as he stepped outside.
"Hey, Speed," Lieutenant Horatio Caine called out the second he saw him. He was fiddling with his sunglasses. "If I could take a moment of your time, please. I'd like to discuss with you something that concerns procedure."
"Sure, H," he replied casually, obviously not bothered by his boss' request. It's okay. "What time?"
"I've got interrogation with Francis, so…an hour from now would be fine."
"See you in an hour, then, H," Speed said with a nod of understanding. It was nothing, really.
"Okay, thank you." And with that, the redhead turned and walked to the opposite direction.
"There's my wingman!" said a familiar Cuban voice from behind. Speed turned and saw Eric Delko, who continued, saying, "Come with me to Club Hellion tonight. We're gonna hunt for my favorite."
"Yeah, whatever," the wingman said with no hint of objection. Girls again, huh? He gave him his signature lazy smile. "It's not like I have any choice, right?"
Eric gave him a boyish grin before running to the department's garage.
Speed continued walking and grumbled a "Hey" as he passed Valera, Natalia and Cooper at one of the labs.
"Hey, Timmy," said Alexx Woods after bumping into him. "Are you okay? You look a little peaky. Have you been skipping meals again?"
"Uh…maybe?" I know, you just care.
"Well, stop it," said mother hen. "It's not good for your health. Besides, I don't want my baby looking all lanky, now, do I?"
Speed gave her a little laugh and said he'd try eating right next time. She gave him a motherly smile and bade good-bye.
Not even five seconds after his last "bumping," he saw Calleigh waving a hand as she walked towards him.
"Hey, Tim," she said, wearing a delightful smile. "I was wonderin' if you don't mind getting' my trace results from Natalia. I kinda have my hands full at the moment."
"No prob," Speed told her. Once again, not showing an ounce of annoyance since he exited the elevator. I can get through this.
"Thanks a bunch," she said, and went back to the ballistics lab.
Coming out of the trace lab, holding the trace results, Speedle was about to make his way to the ballistics lab when he unfortunately bumped into his favorite IAB agent.
"Hey, Stetler," he greeted the prick, trying hard not to frown at the sight of his face. Why do I have to see you today? God hates me, doesn't he?
"Oh, Speedle, it's you," Rick Stetler said, seeing him for the first time after their last meeting. "Did you even bother trying to clean your gun this week?"
Okay, that had to be it.
Speed's eye twitched as he looked blankly at the IAB agent, the trace results he was holding being crumpled as his hand clenched. He felt like he was going to lose it when he suddenly remembered what he had yelled while he was alone in the elevator.
Stetler saw a smile form on the young CSI's face.
"You know what, Stetler?" Speed said, retaining his smile. "I'll gladly clean my gun right now."
The Sergeant stared as the known cynic give him a last look and, finally, watched as the younger man walk away, smile intact.
He felt a sudden chill run down his spine and couldn't help but dread that something extremely bad was going to happen. To him, more importantly.
A couple of minutes later, Speed went out the locker room, holding up his newly polished gun.
"Oh, Stetler…"
Little Horatio: Well, how about that?! I think I did alright, don't you think so? Leave a comment if you want.
By the way, for those of you who don't know. Infantilism means immature or childish behavior of a mature person or individual. Perfect, ain't it?
