Rats...
- theos [nyx AT ghostdragon DOT net]
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I own none of the characters from the CBS hit series, "CSI". I make no profit from using them, except in my own little mental tally of Grissom/Sara moments. They belong wholeheartedly to CBS, A. Zuiker, and the man himself, W. Peterson.
The props are so mine.
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This time, the credit goes to the number 400.
A[nother] Sara/Grissom scenefic. One of these days, I'll have a plot of my very own!
Rated G.
No spoilers.
Archive: Yes. Tell me where if you're not G&S[dot]com. Give me credit everywhere.
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Grissom whirled, shaking, like a rat suddenly plunged into an icy sewer. He looked, Sara reflected, not unlike a drowned rat. However, drowned rats rarely had patches of curling plastic tangled in their fur. She ducked quickly back inside the window before Grissom's reflexes let his mind take over long enough to look all around; her Rube Goldbergian trap had successfully caught him in a regular deluge of perfectly inflated balloons.
From below came the sweet, sweet sound of voluminous swearing. Sara wondered if Grissom might've taught her some of those words, had she stayed after class on the right day.
Greg turned the corner and stopped, open-mouthed, as Grissom's vocabulary registered on his aural tract.
"Sara!"
She shrugged and risked a peek outside the window. Grissom had located the trap and was surveying the structure below. Probably trying to figure out how to climb up and disarm it.
Greg stammered, "If he finds out I let you use AutoCAD to build that-"
Sara motioned him closer. No reason for the rest of the unit to hear.
"He'll never know. I made sure to use Brass's user ID."
Greg looked completely unconvinced.
"I used industrial cleaner on the keyboard keys. I even disassembled it and vacuumed for hairs."
"Epithelials?"
"I cleaned off the chair, the monitor, and the floor surrounding the computer."
Greg relaxed a little. "I guess," he said, "you do know how to cover the bases. I guess I can trust you."
Sara nodded half to herself.
"Yeah. That'll teach him to send me a Venus flytrap."
A slightly liquid crash from below signaled the triggering of her second, hidden trap. Greg looked worried.
"I didn't use up all your honey, Greg. Just enough to make the ants hungry."
Greg's worried expression turned to pure terror.
"And I used Catherine's credit card to pay for the ants."
"Yeah, but what about-"
A noise, as of twenty rubber balls bouncing, came up from the courtyard below.
"I paid cash for those and wore a wig."
He shrugged. "Grissom can only kill us once."
"I plan to invite him over for dinner, today. By the time our eve- morning is complete, he'll have even forgiven you."
Greg looked stunned. Behind them, Catherine and Warrick approached at a rapid pace with wide eyes and open mouths, having caught the shrieks trailing up from the courtyard.
Sara leaned into Greg and whispered, "Oh, I still want Grissom. I just want Grissom to know-"
One final snarling, unintelligible string of words rose from the courtyard before a door slammed.
"-Who's boss around here."
She walked away from the window, humming softly, as she mentally calculated the odds of catching Grissom in the showers.
Just rats in a maze...