Author's note: I read about the firings, lodged my protests, and fled to the land of denial. Come join me – It's peaceful here.
Disclaimer: I'm not making any money off of this. I in no way own CSI. I'm not one of those poopyheads.
- - - -
There was something growing in the breakroom fridge again. Slowly, it bubbled and rose within its glass confines. Tiny holes in the lid let it breathe its earthy scent throughout the small appliance.
As the light shone on the concoction, an angry sigh broke the silence. "Ah man, he's at it again!"
Across the room, Warrick Brown lifted his head out of the latest science journal to see what was going on. Seeing Nick crouched in front of the fridge, he quickly put together what was going on. "Grissom got another experiment going on in there?"
"Yeah, and I can't even guess what this one is," Nick replied in disgust. He pulled his sack lunch out of the fridge, closed the door with a little more force than necessary, and weighed his options. "It doesn't look like blood this time, but I swear something was alive in there." Shaking his head in disgust, he tossed his sandwich in the trash and started fishing for enough change to get something from the vending machine.
"Yeah, well, just try and control yourself this time," Warrick shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. He still liked to kid Nick about the last time he got fed up with Grissom's experiments' taking over the community fridge. What was meant to be a demand for respect had come out more as a polite request from the gentle Texan.
Nick just tore into his pack of crackers and fumed. He knew he had backed down the last time, but years of being reared as a southern gentleman were hard to overcome, especially when dealing with someone he respected as much as Gil Grissom. He had no real desire to confront the man, but could think of no alternative. Someone had to make Grissom realize that his team was made of real-live, breathing, feeling, human beings who deserved the same respect they gave to him.
As Nick came to this conclusion, the object of his thoughts came wandering into the breakroom, his eyes and attention buried in the file he carried.
"Griss, this has got to stop," Nick said forcefully, pushing himself up from the table. At Grissom's blank stare, Nick's ire increased. "You've got your head so far into the evidence that you've forgotten what makes this lab really work. It's not the field kits and test tubes and computers – it's the people. Your people."
By now, both Grissom and Warrick were staring at him; Grissom with a thoughtful if confused look on his face, while Warrick's face mirrored his shock.
"Okay, I'll agree with that, Nick," Grissom replied, his brows knit together. "But that doesn't explain why you're so upset."
Nick stalked towards the refrigerator. Flinging the door open, he grabbed the sour smelling jar and held it as far in front of him as he could.
"This is what I'm upset about. You know, most of the people who work here are so focused on doing their jobs that they don't take a lunch hour. They bring their food here so they can spend their time catching the bad guys. The last thing we need is one of your experiments contaminating our food. It's just basic respect!"
Grissom's mouth fell slightly open during the angry outburst and it took him a moment to collect himself. "Nicky, I . . ."
"Just don't bother! Is this going to help nail a suspect?" At the shake of Grissom's head, Nick's outburst gathered steam. "Is this going to keep an innocent man out of jail or revolutionize forensic science?" Grissom again shook his head and opened his mouth to speak, but Nick cut him off. Reaching the sink in two great strides, he poured the noxious substance down the drain. "Then stop leaving your experiments in the fridge, man; it's just wrong."
Nick walked about of the breakroom studying the floor and shaking his head, leaving behind two gaping men. Warrick chanced a look at Grissom and saw red creeping from under his collar and up his face. Grissom clamped his mouth shut, trying to stop the choking sound that escaped from his throat and his entire body started to shake.
"Griss, you know he just came off a double," Warrick began, trying to diffuse the situation. His explanation tapered off as Grissom gave up his struggle and opened his mouth to the rolling laugh that had been trying to escape. Clearly confused, Warrick tried again. "Grissom?"
Once he was able to catch his breath, Grissom reassured his colleague. "It's okay, Warrick. I've been trying to get him to stand up for himself more, so I'm actually kind of proud. I just didn't expect. . ." he paused as a fresh wave of chuckling doubled him over, and the only other words he managed to strangle out were "Poor guy!"
At the unusual sound of Grissom's full-out laughter, Catherine stuck her head into the breakroom. "What's going on in here?"
At her question, Warrick shrugged in an obviously lost response, and Grissom only managed to point to the sink while gulping for breath. Catherine's eyebrow arched when she saw the sink's contents and she turned an angry glare on the two men. "Okay, what started the laugh riot and why is the sourdough bread starter I had Sara bring me all the way from San Francisco going down the drain?"
- - - -
After a half hour of paperwork interspersed with unprofessional fits of giggles, Grissom finally composed himself enough to talk to Nick about the incident without bursting into laugher. Sticking his head in the video lab, he asked "Where is everybody?"
"Warrick and Sara are out on a case, Greg's pestering Brass on interview techniques, and Nick's in the locker room hiding from Catherine," Archie replied.