NOTICE: I own nothing here. Please don't sue me.
A/N: I had writer's block on my own stuff so here goes! This is in reply to a challenge by Newland5x over on YourTaxDollarsAtWork.org. They requested a story where Hollywood bigwigs try to make a film about the CSI's. Let the merriment begin.
CH.1-
"Absolutely not!" Grissom rose from his chair, glaring at the sheriff.
"Look, Grissom. This is just what the department needs right now. Free, positive publicity. Hell, they're plannin' on making you science nerds out as heroes!" The sheriff gave a humorless laugh at the thought.
Gil Grissom shook his head in disgust. The last thing he needed was a bunch of Hollywood types watching his every move, messing up his crime scenes, and putting his team in compromising positions.
"They're coming tomorrow to follow your crew around. Be nice. Make us look good."
"We're one of the best labs in the country. We have the best criminalists in the world, and we are currently back-logged."
"Good! Make sure they know that." The sheriff stood to leave, making it abundantly clear that the subject was not up for negotiation. Grissom sighed, and stormed out of the office.
~-~-~-~-~
Sara Sidle leaned back in a break-room chair, with her eyes closed tight. She had been called in to help with a hit and run case for the day shift. The result of which was a nasty tension headache.
"Hey!" Greg bounded into the room like a six-year-old in need of Ritalin. "Didja hear?"
Greg flopped down next to Sara, who looked over at him with a weak grin.
"What?" Sara yawned, and sat up.
"Jacqui just told me that you guys are gonna be tailed by Hollywood filmmakers tonight!" Greg grinned from ear to ear. "You think they'll get Matthew McConaughey to play me?" Greg tried to look suave, but looked more like he had mental problem.
"What?" Sara's head suddenly began to throb.
"How cool is that? Oh! I could SO see you played by Sandra Bullock!" Greg looked off into the distance at the fantasy playing in his mind.
"What?" Sara felt her left eye begin to twitch. She took another drink of her coffee, which was suddenly far too weak.
"You ok?" Nick nudged Sara's arm as he took a seat on her other side. She nodded unconvincingly.
"You hear the news, Nick?" Greg was practically bouncing in his seat from his excitement.
"What?" Nick grinned at the over-excited lab rat.
"Oh man." Sara rubbed her temple, and frowned at them both. "Don't get him started."
"We're gonna be stars!" Greg beamed.
Nick cocked an eyebrow at him, and looked confused.
"How's that?" Catherine smiled, walking in behind Warrick in time to hear Greg's zealous comment.
"Greg's been sniffing the luminol again." Nick laughed, and offered Sara a fresh cup of coffee.
"Greg's unfortunately correct." Grissom entered the room followed by a short man in a baseball cap, flannel shirt, and thick-rimmed glasses. "The sheriff felt that our group would be the best ones for the crew to follow around to get a feel for what a real CSI deals with on a daily basis." Grissom's tone was less than enthusiastic. The man beside Grissom gave a small wave.
"Hi. First off, I'm really honored to be following you guys around. And I promise!" He made a dramatic pause, and took a deep breath. "My team will in no way hinder your work, or get in your way. You won't even know we're there. Honest!" He smiled the broad, labored smile of a seasoned politician.
"Catherine, why don't you take Mr. Stinker. . ."
"Uh, that's Stingher, Mr. Grissom. Hehehe. Easy to see, um, how you could mistake that." Mr. Stingher gave another smile, and handed Grissom his card. 'Al B. Stingher, Writer/Producer.' The rest of the team stifled giggles.
"Yes, well, Mr. Stingher, I'd like you to meet one of my team members. Catherine Willows. Cath? I need you to check on a 419 at the Bellagio. Hot tub." Grissom winked to her from behind the writer. Catherine grinned. Great! A bloated floater would probably have this guy vomiting in the hotel halls. "Take Warrick and Mr. Stingher with you."
"Nick, you're on a B&E on the North strip."
"Ah man!" Nick groaned. Another lousy breaking and entering case. Grissom gave him a warning glance that quieted his whine.
"Sara, you're with me. We've got a 419 at the Ihop on Clemmons Street."
"Uh, Mr. Grissom?" Al Stingher tapped Grissom's shoulder impatiently.
"Yes?"
"Well, the rest of my team will need to go along with you and your other CSI's as well."
"The rest of your team?" Grissom stopped cold.
"Yes. There's Theresa, my assistant director and co-writer. Michael, my special affects guru, and Bob."
"Mr. Stingher." Grissom began.
"Call me Al."
"Ok, then. Al. You do realize that we're conducting very important police- related work here, right? This isn't a sound stage. You're going to see real dead people."
"Um, well, yes. No need to go all Sixth Sense on me. We'll be totally discreet. Just go about your usual thing, and we'll watch." Al walked past Grissom to the hall, and his waiting crewmates.
"Gris? Are they for real?" Nick slurped down the rest of his coffee, and grabbed his coat from the chair.
"Yeah. Sorry guys. It's just for tonight's shift. This is the Sheriff's doing. I was totally against it."
"Anyone touches my crime scene, and they'll be pulling back bloody stumps." Sara grumbled as she pressed past Grissom, and scowled towards the film crew. Grissom smiled.
"Dude."
"What?" Sara spun on her heels to face the stranger's voice hovering over her shoulder.
"I'm Bob." A tall, lanky guy who looked to be in his late twenties held out a hand, and grinned through his shaggy blond hair. He had a startlingly square jaw line, and glaringly white teeth.
"Hi, Bob." Sara reluctantly shook his hand, and stared imploringly back at Grissom.
"Guess I'm with you huh?" Bob smiled wanly down at Sara. The guy had to have been at least six-foot-eight. He wore a similar outfit to Al's. It appeared that the baseball cap and flannel shirt was the uniform of choice for this film crew.
"Looks that way." Sara nodded to him, and made her way towards the locker room. She was halfway down the hall when she realized Bob was following right behind her.
"Look. Why don't you wait back in the conference room?"
"Al said I was supposed to stick with you everywhere." Bob seemed genuinely distressed.
"Well, not in the locker room you're not. Don't worry. I won't tell Al." Sara held a hand up to halt him, and entered the locker room alone with a deep sigh of frustration.
~-~-~-~-~
"Howdy! Looks like yer with me." A slender brunette sauntered up beside Nick as he pulled on his jacket.
"Well alright then." Nick grinned. He didn't like the idea of being shadowed, but at least he got the hot one.
"I'm Theresa Stokes." She extended a hand to shake.
"Excuse me?" Nick nearly choked.
"What's wrong?"
"Your last name is Stokes?" Aw man. . .
"Yeah. You have a problem with that?"
"Well, no. Not really. I'm Nick Stokes." He held out a hand, and laughed. Theresa smiled in turn.
"Really? Where's your family from?"
"Houston."
"Wait a second!" Theresa's eyes suddenly lit up, and she burst into laughter.
"Huh?" Nick felt totally lost.
"Little Nicky?" She could barely get her words out. "I DO know you! We're second cousins. Last time I saw you, your sister Nancy had you dressed in her prom gown wearing bright red lipstick!" She crossed her arms and nodded her head in recognition.
"Wha?" Nick's jaw fell open, and his eyes went wide. Greg, who had been admiring Theresa's assets from behind spit his $50 a pound coffee across the room, and gasped.
"Oh. . .jokes. . .too easy." Greg covered his mouth, and fled to his lab.
"Ohhhh-kay. That was like twenty years ago." Nick's cheeks were flushed.
"Sorry, Cuz. Didn't mean to embarrass you." She chuckled.
"You didn't embarrass me." Nick feigned machismo. "It's totally cool. Let's get going. The cops are prolly already waiting for us at the scene." Nick ushered Theresa out of the room, and made a note to threaten Greg's life if he mentioned this to any of the other lab rats.
TBC
A/N: I had writer's block on my own stuff so here goes! This is in reply to a challenge by Newland5x over on YourTaxDollarsAtWork.org. They requested a story where Hollywood bigwigs try to make a film about the CSI's. Let the merriment begin.
CH.1-
"Absolutely not!" Grissom rose from his chair, glaring at the sheriff.
"Look, Grissom. This is just what the department needs right now. Free, positive publicity. Hell, they're plannin' on making you science nerds out as heroes!" The sheriff gave a humorless laugh at the thought.
Gil Grissom shook his head in disgust. The last thing he needed was a bunch of Hollywood types watching his every move, messing up his crime scenes, and putting his team in compromising positions.
"They're coming tomorrow to follow your crew around. Be nice. Make us look good."
"We're one of the best labs in the country. We have the best criminalists in the world, and we are currently back-logged."
"Good! Make sure they know that." The sheriff stood to leave, making it abundantly clear that the subject was not up for negotiation. Grissom sighed, and stormed out of the office.
~-~-~-~-~
Sara Sidle leaned back in a break-room chair, with her eyes closed tight. She had been called in to help with a hit and run case for the day shift. The result of which was a nasty tension headache.
"Hey!" Greg bounded into the room like a six-year-old in need of Ritalin. "Didja hear?"
Greg flopped down next to Sara, who looked over at him with a weak grin.
"What?" Sara yawned, and sat up.
"Jacqui just told me that you guys are gonna be tailed by Hollywood filmmakers tonight!" Greg grinned from ear to ear. "You think they'll get Matthew McConaughey to play me?" Greg tried to look suave, but looked more like he had mental problem.
"What?" Sara's head suddenly began to throb.
"How cool is that? Oh! I could SO see you played by Sandra Bullock!" Greg looked off into the distance at the fantasy playing in his mind.
"What?" Sara felt her left eye begin to twitch. She took another drink of her coffee, which was suddenly far too weak.
"You ok?" Nick nudged Sara's arm as he took a seat on her other side. She nodded unconvincingly.
"You hear the news, Nick?" Greg was practically bouncing in his seat from his excitement.
"What?" Nick grinned at the over-excited lab rat.
"Oh man." Sara rubbed her temple, and frowned at them both. "Don't get him started."
"We're gonna be stars!" Greg beamed.
Nick cocked an eyebrow at him, and looked confused.
"How's that?" Catherine smiled, walking in behind Warrick in time to hear Greg's zealous comment.
"Greg's been sniffing the luminol again." Nick laughed, and offered Sara a fresh cup of coffee.
"Greg's unfortunately correct." Grissom entered the room followed by a short man in a baseball cap, flannel shirt, and thick-rimmed glasses. "The sheriff felt that our group would be the best ones for the crew to follow around to get a feel for what a real CSI deals with on a daily basis." Grissom's tone was less than enthusiastic. The man beside Grissom gave a small wave.
"Hi. First off, I'm really honored to be following you guys around. And I promise!" He made a dramatic pause, and took a deep breath. "My team will in no way hinder your work, or get in your way. You won't even know we're there. Honest!" He smiled the broad, labored smile of a seasoned politician.
"Catherine, why don't you take Mr. Stinker. . ."
"Uh, that's Stingher, Mr. Grissom. Hehehe. Easy to see, um, how you could mistake that." Mr. Stingher gave another smile, and handed Grissom his card. 'Al B. Stingher, Writer/Producer.' The rest of the team stifled giggles.
"Yes, well, Mr. Stingher, I'd like you to meet one of my team members. Catherine Willows. Cath? I need you to check on a 419 at the Bellagio. Hot tub." Grissom winked to her from behind the writer. Catherine grinned. Great! A bloated floater would probably have this guy vomiting in the hotel halls. "Take Warrick and Mr. Stingher with you."
"Nick, you're on a B&E on the North strip."
"Ah man!" Nick groaned. Another lousy breaking and entering case. Grissom gave him a warning glance that quieted his whine.
"Sara, you're with me. We've got a 419 at the Ihop on Clemmons Street."
"Uh, Mr. Grissom?" Al Stingher tapped Grissom's shoulder impatiently.
"Yes?"
"Well, the rest of my team will need to go along with you and your other CSI's as well."
"The rest of your team?" Grissom stopped cold.
"Yes. There's Theresa, my assistant director and co-writer. Michael, my special affects guru, and Bob."
"Mr. Stingher." Grissom began.
"Call me Al."
"Ok, then. Al. You do realize that we're conducting very important police- related work here, right? This isn't a sound stage. You're going to see real dead people."
"Um, well, yes. No need to go all Sixth Sense on me. We'll be totally discreet. Just go about your usual thing, and we'll watch." Al walked past Grissom to the hall, and his waiting crewmates.
"Gris? Are they for real?" Nick slurped down the rest of his coffee, and grabbed his coat from the chair.
"Yeah. Sorry guys. It's just for tonight's shift. This is the Sheriff's doing. I was totally against it."
"Anyone touches my crime scene, and they'll be pulling back bloody stumps." Sara grumbled as she pressed past Grissom, and scowled towards the film crew. Grissom smiled.
"Dude."
"What?" Sara spun on her heels to face the stranger's voice hovering over her shoulder.
"I'm Bob." A tall, lanky guy who looked to be in his late twenties held out a hand, and grinned through his shaggy blond hair. He had a startlingly square jaw line, and glaringly white teeth.
"Hi, Bob." Sara reluctantly shook his hand, and stared imploringly back at Grissom.
"Guess I'm with you huh?" Bob smiled wanly down at Sara. The guy had to have been at least six-foot-eight. He wore a similar outfit to Al's. It appeared that the baseball cap and flannel shirt was the uniform of choice for this film crew.
"Looks that way." Sara nodded to him, and made her way towards the locker room. She was halfway down the hall when she realized Bob was following right behind her.
"Look. Why don't you wait back in the conference room?"
"Al said I was supposed to stick with you everywhere." Bob seemed genuinely distressed.
"Well, not in the locker room you're not. Don't worry. I won't tell Al." Sara held a hand up to halt him, and entered the locker room alone with a deep sigh of frustration.
~-~-~-~-~
"Howdy! Looks like yer with me." A slender brunette sauntered up beside Nick as he pulled on his jacket.
"Well alright then." Nick grinned. He didn't like the idea of being shadowed, but at least he got the hot one.
"I'm Theresa Stokes." She extended a hand to shake.
"Excuse me?" Nick nearly choked.
"What's wrong?"
"Your last name is Stokes?" Aw man. . .
"Yeah. You have a problem with that?"
"Well, no. Not really. I'm Nick Stokes." He held out a hand, and laughed. Theresa smiled in turn.
"Really? Where's your family from?"
"Houston."
"Wait a second!" Theresa's eyes suddenly lit up, and she burst into laughter.
"Huh?" Nick felt totally lost.
"Little Nicky?" She could barely get her words out. "I DO know you! We're second cousins. Last time I saw you, your sister Nancy had you dressed in her prom gown wearing bright red lipstick!" She crossed her arms and nodded her head in recognition.
"Wha?" Nick's jaw fell open, and his eyes went wide. Greg, who had been admiring Theresa's assets from behind spit his $50 a pound coffee across the room, and gasped.
"Oh. . .jokes. . .too easy." Greg covered his mouth, and fled to his lab.
"Ohhhh-kay. That was like twenty years ago." Nick's cheeks were flushed.
"Sorry, Cuz. Didn't mean to embarrass you." She chuckled.
"You didn't embarrass me." Nick feigned machismo. "It's totally cool. Let's get going. The cops are prolly already waiting for us at the scene." Nick ushered Theresa out of the room, and made a note to threaten Greg's life if he mentioned this to any of the other lab rats.
TBC