Hi everybody! Sorry I haven't posted in a while, but with only one week
left of summer vacation, I figured I might as well post as many
drabble/ficlets as I possibly can before returning to the prison more
commonly know as school (It's all a conspiracy, I say!)
Okay, you all know the disclaimer: If it's on the show, or you've read it in other stories, it's obviously not mine (I may accidentally use someone else's original ideas without realizing that I did, and I'm really sorry if I did that, or took someone's story idea, or . . . you get the idea!)
Summery: If he doesn't get there in time, he's going to be a dead man.
**************************************************
Only I would have the luck of losing my cell phone signal on the day that my wife goes into labour, way past her due date, so I wasn't worried too much that she'd have the baby today. How wrong could I get?
So Grissom and I were in the middle of the desert, trying to agree whether or not the tread marks going to our dead body were made by the drop-off vehicle. And of course, since my stars must have been misaligned that day as well, we nearly came to blows over a stupid piece of evidence that turned out to be from our own Tahoes. I'm taking the wild guess that the intense, overbearing heat killed most of our brain cells, and Grissom's sticking to that story too.
Finally finding out about the tire treads, we somehow made the brilliant discovery that our dead body was that of a hiker who had disappeared a couple of days earlier. Since Ted Ribowsky didn't have any signs of blunt force trauma, defense wounds, or any other indication that he had been murdered, we concluded that he probably died of dehydration due to heat stroke. We tried calling the lab to tell them that our crime scene was officially an accident, when we realized that we were just outside of our cell phone ranges.
As we entered Las Vegas city centre, I pulled out my cell phone and called Catherine with our findings, asking her if she and Warrick needed any help with their case. Instead of receiving the answer I was expecting, namely "yes we do", or "no we don't", Catherine's voice immediately went into a higher register, and she screamed into the phone how Sara had been in labour for at least the last hour and how I was the world's stupidest husband, etc, etc.
"Oh, and Nick, one more thing," Catherine added once she had calmed down, "Sara told me that if you aren't at the hospital, by her side in the next ten minutes, she was going to send a hitman after you."
Knowing Sara when she's mad, I didn't put it beyond her to do that. "When did she tell you that?" I asked with bated breath.
"Five minutes ago," Catherine replied sweetly, "You better tell Grissom to drive faster than forty-five!" She hung up on me then, and for some reason, I looked over at the speedometer and the needle was exactly at forty-five miles per hour.
"Weird," I muttered. Clearing my throat, I said loudly, "Griss, you're going to have to kill the speed limit and drive me to the hospital in the next five minutes."
Grissom, being the slightly dense man that he is, asked me incredulously, "Why?"
"Sara's in labour, and I have exactly four and a half minutes to be sitting beside her or else I'm not going to be showing up for shift tomorrow." Well, that certainly made Grissom gun the engine.
People must have been ready to call security when I ran into the hospital, breathlessly asking where the maternity ward was, and dashing up the stairs when the elevator didn't show up within five seconds of pressing the button to bring it down.
I ran up to the ward, and asked the nurse, "Sara Stokes, where is she?" I demanded as I looked down at my watch. Thirty seconds before I was in even bigger trouble. When the nurse just looked at me blankly, I continued, "She's my wife. Been in labour for about an hour and ten minutes? Said she's send a hitman after me if I'm not there in . . . 15 seconds!"
"Ah, yes, Mrs. Stokes, a charming woman, when she's not in an extreme amount of pain and her husband is with her," the nurse replied pointedly, but unhurriedly, "She's in room 209." I ran like all of hell was after me.
Just as I was going to turn the door's handle, a scream erupted out of what I presumed was Sara's mouth. "Nick, you are going to die when I get my hands on you!" she yelled.
"Sara, it's okay, I'll bet anything that Nick's outside the door right now," Warrick's voice soothed her.
"I thought you got over you gambling," Sara accused followed by a hiss of pain. "And anyway, my HUSBAND isn't here! I have my best friend coaching me through my delivery! Where is that bastard?" She didn't get any more words in because she must have had another contraction.
"I'll try calling him again," Warrick promised, "Just hang tight, I'll be back soon."
"Not like I can go anywhere!" Sara retorted.
While that entire dialogue was going on, I was standing in a trance, motionless at the door. Warrick literally crashed into me on his way out. "Nick, man, your wife's in labour!" Warrick told me, like I was the stupidest person in the world. "Where were you man? Cath and I have been trying to reach you for the past hour."
"Desert," was all I could get out before Sara, with her inhuman ability to hear me, yelled, "Nick, get your butt in here now!"
"Sara, baby, I'm so sorry, but . . ."
"Once this baby gets out, you are so dead, Nicholas Arthur Stokes!" Sara declared.
As if I didn't know that already.
***************************************
So, what do you think??
Please review!
Okay, you all know the disclaimer: If it's on the show, or you've read it in other stories, it's obviously not mine (I may accidentally use someone else's original ideas without realizing that I did, and I'm really sorry if I did that, or took someone's story idea, or . . . you get the idea!)
Summery: If he doesn't get there in time, he's going to be a dead man.
**************************************************
Only I would have the luck of losing my cell phone signal on the day that my wife goes into labour, way past her due date, so I wasn't worried too much that she'd have the baby today. How wrong could I get?
So Grissom and I were in the middle of the desert, trying to agree whether or not the tread marks going to our dead body were made by the drop-off vehicle. And of course, since my stars must have been misaligned that day as well, we nearly came to blows over a stupid piece of evidence that turned out to be from our own Tahoes. I'm taking the wild guess that the intense, overbearing heat killed most of our brain cells, and Grissom's sticking to that story too.
Finally finding out about the tire treads, we somehow made the brilliant discovery that our dead body was that of a hiker who had disappeared a couple of days earlier. Since Ted Ribowsky didn't have any signs of blunt force trauma, defense wounds, or any other indication that he had been murdered, we concluded that he probably died of dehydration due to heat stroke. We tried calling the lab to tell them that our crime scene was officially an accident, when we realized that we were just outside of our cell phone ranges.
As we entered Las Vegas city centre, I pulled out my cell phone and called Catherine with our findings, asking her if she and Warrick needed any help with their case. Instead of receiving the answer I was expecting, namely "yes we do", or "no we don't", Catherine's voice immediately went into a higher register, and she screamed into the phone how Sara had been in labour for at least the last hour and how I was the world's stupidest husband, etc, etc.
"Oh, and Nick, one more thing," Catherine added once she had calmed down, "Sara told me that if you aren't at the hospital, by her side in the next ten minutes, she was going to send a hitman after you."
Knowing Sara when she's mad, I didn't put it beyond her to do that. "When did she tell you that?" I asked with bated breath.
"Five minutes ago," Catherine replied sweetly, "You better tell Grissom to drive faster than forty-five!" She hung up on me then, and for some reason, I looked over at the speedometer and the needle was exactly at forty-five miles per hour.
"Weird," I muttered. Clearing my throat, I said loudly, "Griss, you're going to have to kill the speed limit and drive me to the hospital in the next five minutes."
Grissom, being the slightly dense man that he is, asked me incredulously, "Why?"
"Sara's in labour, and I have exactly four and a half minutes to be sitting beside her or else I'm not going to be showing up for shift tomorrow." Well, that certainly made Grissom gun the engine.
People must have been ready to call security when I ran into the hospital, breathlessly asking where the maternity ward was, and dashing up the stairs when the elevator didn't show up within five seconds of pressing the button to bring it down.
I ran up to the ward, and asked the nurse, "Sara Stokes, where is she?" I demanded as I looked down at my watch. Thirty seconds before I was in even bigger trouble. When the nurse just looked at me blankly, I continued, "She's my wife. Been in labour for about an hour and ten minutes? Said she's send a hitman after me if I'm not there in . . . 15 seconds!"
"Ah, yes, Mrs. Stokes, a charming woman, when she's not in an extreme amount of pain and her husband is with her," the nurse replied pointedly, but unhurriedly, "She's in room 209." I ran like all of hell was after me.
Just as I was going to turn the door's handle, a scream erupted out of what I presumed was Sara's mouth. "Nick, you are going to die when I get my hands on you!" she yelled.
"Sara, it's okay, I'll bet anything that Nick's outside the door right now," Warrick's voice soothed her.
"I thought you got over you gambling," Sara accused followed by a hiss of pain. "And anyway, my HUSBAND isn't here! I have my best friend coaching me through my delivery! Where is that bastard?" She didn't get any more words in because she must have had another contraction.
"I'll try calling him again," Warrick promised, "Just hang tight, I'll be back soon."
"Not like I can go anywhere!" Sara retorted.
While that entire dialogue was going on, I was standing in a trance, motionless at the door. Warrick literally crashed into me on his way out. "Nick, man, your wife's in labour!" Warrick told me, like I was the stupidest person in the world. "Where were you man? Cath and I have been trying to reach you for the past hour."
"Desert," was all I could get out before Sara, with her inhuman ability to hear me, yelled, "Nick, get your butt in here now!"
"Sara, baby, I'm so sorry, but . . ."
"Once this baby gets out, you are so dead, Nicholas Arthur Stokes!" Sara declared.
As if I didn't know that already.
***************************************
So, what do you think??
Please review!