And… a concerto is a musical composition written for a solo instrument – the soloist plays the melody while the rest of the orchestra plays accompaniment. Adagio is a slow tempo – restful and at ease.
This story is dedicated to the Lindseys I know, because they're all crazy on the outside and deep thinkers on the inside.
Last Voice: A Concerto
1: Adagio
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"Gregory Sanders, CSI One. Life is good sometimes, ya know, Miki?"
Miki did something that looked suspiciously like rolling her eyes.
"Yeah, I know I've been telling you about it every day for the last four months. Three and a half, really, but it rounds up."
She turned her attention to a dead spider that I had squished (I made a mental note to remember to clean up the guts later), showing me that I was infinitely less interesting than an arachnid smeared across the bathroom wall.
I squeezed a little more gel onto my hand and put the finishing touches on my hair.
Miki turned and sauntered out of the room.
"Fine then, don't answer, I don't care."
I adjusted my completely obnoxious Hawaiian shirt (blue with palm trees and flamingos). Too bad I had to cover my shirts up with the standard CSI jacket. Oh well. Nothing's perfect. I mean, it was no worse than my old lab coat.
I opened the door so I could continue to talk with Miki while I brushed my teeth.
"I hate the flavor of toothpaste," I complained through the foam. "You know what else I hate? I hate telling people about my 'mornings.' I have no mornings – I get off work in the morning. My 'mornings' are in the evening. No one ever seems to get that."
Miki ignored me. That's how she says a lot of things – like if she walks away, she's either mad, upset or depressed. If she glances at me first, she's playing hard to get. If she just ignores me, she's disinterested or disgusted.
This would fit in that last category.
"Okay, so, you don't care. Fine then. You know, Grissom said I had completed enough of the training to take a homicide case."
One of Miki's ears twitched. She likes to hear about my job, and always reacts when I tell her about the crimes. I think, if she were human, she'd have to be a criminalist, too.
"I might catch a murderer," I said in a singsong voice.
"Mrrrw," Miki replied, her whiskers bristling under the pair of bright blue eyes that turned toward me. The little half-Siamese cat always gets a weird thrill when I say things like that. I'm convinced she knows exactly what I mean.
I glanced at the clock. "Shift starts in twenty minutes, Mik. I gotta go."
Miki made an indignant meowing noise, glancing toward the small kitchen.
"Oh, right," I laughed, crossing the room to the counter and filling her dish with dry cat food, adding several drops of medication. Supplements to treat an infection she'd recently caught – a normal cat wouldn't have needed them. But Miki is FIV (feline immunodeficiency virus) positive. She's like me.
That's why I adopted her. No one wants you when there's something wrong with you.
Well, that's not completely true. Either everyone does, or everyone doesn't. But those that do will change their minds soon, anyway.
"I'll see you earlier," I told her, setting the bowl on the linoleum. It's something I always say – later doesn't really apply on a nightshift.
I grinned as I left and locked my apartment, dropping one key into my pocket and pulling out another. I don't use keyrings – I figure that if I loose one with them separate I only loose one, not all of them. Besides, "all" only encompasses two.
I picked up my newspaper, stuffing it under my arm since I was too lazy to open my door again.
"Hello, Greggo," called one of my neighbors.
"Hey, Maria."
"You didn't carry the garbage all the way to the curb again."
"Oops. Sorry. It just slips my mind sometimes—"
"Si, si, sure. Don't worry about it."
I smiled again and pushed open the big doors leading to the stairwell.
"Hello, Mr. Sanders," said a slick businessman, passing me in the opposite direction, not looking up from his Wall Street Journal.
"Yo, Mr. Jones."
I left the building at the bottom of the second flight of stairs. The night air was cool and there didn't seem to be too many people around.
I walked unperturbed to my car – it's not like I live in a bad part of the city or anything – getting my second key ready. I hoped the traffic wasn't too bad tonight.
A/N: Hmm… hmm… hmm… I have nothing to saaaaaaay…
