Disclaimer: I do not own CSI or am in any way affiliated with it. I'm just a fan. (This disclaimer goes for all the rest of the chapters, too.)
Author's Notes: If you don't like slash, you may not want to read this (or at least skip over the bolded parts). It's not pretty, I'll tell you that.
Don't get used to the quick updates - while I'd love to update once every few days, it's not going to be possible. It was only possible this time because I had a three-day weekend with nothing planned.
And, lastly, I would like to thank everyone for the many lovely reviews. Wow! I wasn't expecting three reviews, let alone fifty. Thanks a ton for your encouragement! If anyone has any ideas for parody-able fics they'd like to see done, put it in a review. I have six or seven ideas lined up, but that's it.
On with the fic! Enjoy.
"Well, that was . . . " Warrick trailed off, at a loss for an adjective to describe their experience with the piece of fanfiction they had just finished reading.
"Weird?" Offered Grissom.
"Offensive?" Catherine said angrily.
"Emotionally scarring?" Added Sara, who was still trying to rid herself of the images of Nick making out on the layout table. It was just wrong.
The page was still loading when Brass poked his head in the door. "What's going on in here?" He asked, joining the small crowd at the computer.
"Fanfiction." Chorused Nick and Catherine in unison. Noticing the puzzled look on the cop's face, Catherine added, "Don't ask."
Grissom shushed his coworkers quickly. "Hopefully this 'slash' will be better than whatever we just read." He said, scrolling down to the beginning to the Author's Notes.
"No Boundaries"
By Jane
Sara nodded in approval. "Well, she has a normal name and a fairly decent grasp of the English language. Sounds promising."
Nick nodded, praying silently someone else would be the subject of this story.
A/N: This is a slash fic. If you don't like slash, get out of here now. I don't want any of you stupid freaks complaining that this is disgusting. My fanfiction is art.
Grissom raised an eyebrow. "Someone has an ego."
Flames will be used to torture you as you rot in hell.
"And they don't like negative feedback." Said Brass, continuing Grissom's earlier statement.
The lab was dark and quiet. The members of the Las Vegas Crime Lab were slowly packing up and exiting one by one, poking fun at each other harmlessly in the locker room.
Grissom was distracted, though. He had had his eye on someone in the lab all week now, and he was beginning to . . . well, fall for them. Their sense of determination. Their hidden vulnerability.
"Aww, how sweet of you, Griss." Nick teased. "So which lady is the apple of your eye? Cath or Sara?" Both women's cheeks promptly turned a deep crimson upon hearing Nick's question, to which Grissom replied by shooting him a glare that would freeze Lake Mead in an instant. Sara again wondered how so many people knew about them - there was nothing about their relationship mentioned in that Time article!
"At least he knows how to show his ladies a good time, unlike Mr. Layout Room here." Warrick said, grinning.
So he was pleasantly surprised when they lingered by the door and turned back to face Grissom. They were alone now, and Gil was feeling bold.
"What're you up to tonight?" Grissom asked, his muscular hands resting on his hips, his chest visible through his thin shirt.
Catherine giggled. "Muscular hands, Gil?"
"Hey, I wouldn't be making fun, Catherine." Brass warned. "They could be all over you in a minute."
An awkward silence filled the room as everyone shifted their gaze to Jim.
"In the story!" He blurted out, flustered. "If you're the one in the locker room - if - forget it."
"Nothing much." They replied in a sultry tone. "How about you?"
Grissom edged slightly closer, as did the room's other occupant. "Nothing much. I've got a woman I might call."
They were standing inches apart now. "You don't need a woman,"
"I don't like the direction this is headed in." Grissom said cautiously.
Nick snorted. "After that last story, how bad could it b - " He broke off when he read the rest of that sentence.
Brass said. "You have me."
Jim dropped the coffee cup he had been holding, sending shards of ceramic flying all over the floor of the breakroom, swimming in the small puddle of coffee by his feet.
"Bad, Nick." Catherine said, her jaw hanging open.
"Very bad." Added Sara, staring first at Grissom, then at Brass, before shuddering. The lab's supervisor looked like someone had just squashed and burned his collection of bugs before replacing him with Eckley and being reassigned to janitorial.
Their lips - both a rosy pink - met and locked together in a fiery, passionate kiss. Brass pushed Grissom up against the lockers and began to unbutton his shirt.
"You know," Gil managed to get out in between kisses, "They say ninety percent of working relationships never work out."
"Those are lies, damned lies and statistics." Jim said, cutting off the rest of his words with a mindnumbingly powerful kiss.
"Is 'mindnumbingly' even a word?" Warrick asked incredulously.
Catherine glanced at Brass, whose eyes were as large and round as dinner plates. "Brass, do you want some water or something?"
"It's like some horrible nightmare." He responded. "I just can't tear my eyes from the screen . . . "
Greg practically danced into the lab, unusually cheery. "How'd you like the slash fic?" He asked tauntingly.
"We're reading it now." Sara answered. "Is 'slash' . . . uh . . . homosexual relationships, Greg?"
The lab rat nodded, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Yup!" He said nonchalantly, almost perkily, moving over to the team around the computer. "So, uh, what's the pairing?" Noticing the broken mug on the floor and its mess, he added to Brass, "You might want to get that cleaned up," totally oblivious to the pained expression on the cop's face.
"Grissom and Brass." Nick replied, patting Grissom's shoulder reassuringly. "It's OK, man. We'll make it through this together."
Greg grinned. "You know, I once read one where Griss and Warrick and Nick were having a threesome on the roof - "
"Get out!" Shouted the three men in unison. "We've had enough emotional scarring for one day, Sanders!" Added Sara, her fingers firmly planted in her ears.
Chuckling to himself, Greg skipped out of the breakroom.
"Can we scroll past some of this?" Brass asked, having regained some of his composure but still attempting to regain his dignity.
As they skimmed across multiple paragraphs of sickening detail, Nick commented lightheartedly, "Well, they certainly do know their male anatomy." The rest of the group groaned, closing their eyes to shut out any mental images conjured by the remark.
Their fingers were intertwined as they lay on the bench in the back of the locker room, staring at the ceiling. "You're good." Brass said boldly.
"Pride of the south for over a hundred years." Grissom responded proudly.
"So . . . our little secret?" The man's voice was soft and sexy, prompting Warrick to plant another long, hot kiss on his lips.
He smiled sultrily. "There's no use denying it."
"Denial is for those who can't handle the truth . . . why are you staring at me?" Their eyes met and soon Brass was on top of him again.
"Scroll!" Shouted Catherine, her eyes squeezed shut for fear of catching a glimpse of a particularly disturbing segment.
Nick absentmindedly grabbed a can of the microwaveable soup Catherine always kept in the fridge for last minute snacks and placed it in the microwave, setting the timer before quickly returning to his spot by the computer.
They were still sleeping there in the morning, when the first rays of golden sunshine were beginning to creep through the windows behind them.
"Is this still in the locker room?" Asked Sara, puzzled. "I didn't think we had windows in there."
"We don't." Grissom responded crossly.
"I love you." Said Grissom as he rolled over to face Brass.
"Me too." The older man replied with a small kiss on the cheek. Grissom noted just how cute Brass looked in this light.
"I can't handle this. I can't take it anymore!" Jim exclaimed furiously, racing out of the breakroom, muttering something under his breath about "fanfiction" and "a machete".
"Ugh." Said Warrick. "I don't ever want to hear the words 'cute' and 'Brass' in the same sentence again."
Catherine shrugged, turning back to face the screen.
Later that morning, Catherine and Sara entered the locker room. Brass and Grissom were still in the back, covered only by a blanket,
"Ewww." Chorused Sara and Catherine, grimacing.
hoping the two women wouldn't go in the back and find them.
"Hey, guys." Warrick said as he entered the room. "What's up?"
"Nothing much." Catherine replied, pulling her hair into a ponytail. "How about you?"
Warrick shook his head. "So did either of you guys see my wallet? I think I left it here last night."
"It might be in the back." Sara said, heading towards the back of the locker, followed by Warrick and Catherine.
Grissom could hear their footsteps come closer and he snuggled further under the blanket with Brass. And then he heard the footsteps stop just before Sara said
BOOM!
The sudden boom caused the group around the computer to attempt to crawl as far under their chairs as they could, as employees in the hall and various parts of the building did the same. Nick managed to lift his head high enough to take a look around the room. Nothing was damaged, except -
Except the microwave, a flame engulfing the formerly black kitchen appliance, foam dripping down its sides. Shit! He thought. The other occupants of the room were cautiously standing now, staring at the microwave.
"Nick," Said Grissom slowly, "What exactly did you put in the microwave?"
"Just some soup." He said, before adding in a small child's whine: "I didn't do it!"
Catherine was already at the microwave, helping Sara tackle the microwave with a fire extinguisher. Once the flames were gone, she reached her arm in to pull out a mangled can of beer, once a metal cylinder, now a mess of melted aluminum. "The evidence doesn't lie." She said.
Grissom gave Nick a glance that many referred to as the "Suspect-Intimidation Glare" before the CSI broke. "OK!" He yelled, while Warrick laughed behind him. "It was an accident, but it's a microwave. Not a murder."
Grinning, Sara said, "Well, Nick, we could dust for prints on what's left of the can and place you at the crime scene."
"Don't you guys ever stop working?" He asked incredulously.
"Lighten up, Nicky!" Catherine said, walking back to her chair and patting Nick on the back on the way, smiling.
Gil stopped his glaring and smiled. "Come on, Nick." He said, before adding with complete seriousness, "You do owe us a new microwave, though."
Nick gave an exasperated sigh. "What?" Frantically looking around, he gestured wildly with his arms. "I can't afford that! Not unless you let my paycheck cover it!"
Warrick clapped an arm around his friend's shoulder. "Bus-ted." He sang, sitting back down and preparing himself for more of the story. "Should we keep reading?"
"Do we want to?" Catherine asked, trying to erase from her memory what she had already read. "If it's as painful as the first part of it, I'm out of here."
Seeing the scroll well past the halfway mark on the page, Grissom said, "I think it's ending soon." He pointed. "We shouldn't have much more to read. And anyway, if it is ending soon, there's not enough space for more truly horrible things to happen."
"Well, provided we don't have any more distractions for the time being" - Sara paused to look meaningfully at Nick, whose face immediately gave off a what'd-I-do? look - "I think we can start again."
"Griss?"
"Uh . . . hey, Sara." Said Grissom, popping his head up from under the covers. "And Warrick. And Catherine. And Nick." He added, noticing Nick join them.
Warrick frowned. "What's going on?"
Before he could respond, Catherine whipped back the rest of the blanket to reveal Brass. Strangely enough, no one seemed the least bit fazed.
"Aren't you -?"
"Not really." Sara shrugged. "After all, Catherine and I have been sleeping together for the last year or so."
The three men gathered around the computer turned in unison to stare at Catherine and Sara, who in turn sputtered in indignation their horror.
"Yeah," Warrick added, "And Nick and I have been a couple for . . . how long?"
"Three years, honeybunch." Answered Nick, resting his head on Warrick's shoulder.
It was everyone else's turn to stare at Warrick and Nick, who slid over a couple of extra inches to increase the distance between them.
Grissom smiled and hugged Brass. It was good to know everyone was in love and happy and accepting. Yay. (A/N: I hate writing endings, I just like the SMUT!)
Upon reaching the 'Fin' at the end, several loud sighs of relief could be heard.
"Thank God that's over." Nick said, still keeping his distance from Warrick.
"Yeah." Agreed Catherine. "From now on, no more 'slash' fics, alright?"
Grissom furrowed his brow. "Its interesting, human behavior. The ability to have heard of two people and pair them together for no reason at all other than the fact that it might get them feedback."
"Feedback?" Inquired Sara. "What do you mean?"
Gil pointed to the 'Submit Review' button and clicked on it, filling out the name section as well as the review section in a matter of seconds. When he finished typing he leaned back in his chair, satisfied, and let the other read it.
Name: The Las Vegas Crime Lab
Email: n/a
Review: Dear Jane:
We at the Las Vegas Crime Lab did not at all enjoy your 'fic'. Not only was it morally degrading, but embarrassing for myself (Gil Grissom) and for my colleagues as well. If you wish to improve your writing skills, I suggest a visit to a writing workshop. Or a therapist.
Sincerely,
The Las Vegas Crime Lab
PS your story sucks!!
"Who typed the PS?" Catherine asked when she had finished reading it.
"I did." Said Nick proudly.
Grissom clicked on the button and watched a message appear on the screen. But just after he clicked the 'close window' button, the screen went dark.
Sara hit the side of the computer with her palm. "This thing never works." She said angrily, massaging her hand where it had struck the hard plastic of the machine. That had hurt.
Then, suddenly, the power went out. Then back on. It continued to flicker for a moment before coming back on for good, the computer lighting up again.
"Well," observed Warrick, "The power's on, but the lightbulb itself is on the fritz."
Indeed the lightbulb above their heads was flickering, capable of causing epileptic fits if stared at for more than a minute. "No shit, Sherlock." Nick said jokingly, having gotten over the idea of him in a romantic relationship with Warrick.
"Hey, I didn't blow up the microwave and cause this whole thing." Retorted Warrick, grinning widely.
"It wasn't my fault!" Nick protested stubbornly.
Greg entered just then, steam practically pouring out of his ears. "Bollocks, Nick." He cried, thrusting a large black contraption at him. "If you did this, you're going to pay."
"What'd he do?" Sara asked, amused.
Greg carefully grabbed back the box from Nick, clutching it to his chest. "The power went out. I was making coffee, playing a CD, and playing - " He paused for dramatic effect - "last but not least, the PS2 Ultimate Game Package." The lab rat emphasized the last three words as if they were of great importance.
"And . . . ?" Grissom asked, spreading his hands out, waiting for the meaning of his anger.
"And I lost my game while I was playing it!" He threw up his hands in despair after placing the PS2 on a chair. "I had a high score, too!" Noticing the smoking microwave, he added sarcastically, "Clap clap for the handicap. Nick can't even work a microwave."
Catherine broke into giggles, turning away so Nick wouldn't see her laughing at him.
Meanwhile, Grissom had made his way back to the main page of fanfiction. "Hey, guys." He called. The readers gathered around the computer again as Greg exited, sulking.
"I could use something humorous." Sara said. "After those last two, I really don't care about quality."
"You're gonna take that back later on." Warrick said. "I don't think there's anything good on this site."
Catherine stole the mouse from Grissom and clicked on the first fic she saw categorized as 'humor'. "Sorry, Gil," she said, noticing his shocked expression upon her taking the mouse, "But you did pick the last two."
"She has a point." Nick added. "Go ahead, Cath."
How bad can humor be? How will the lab react? To be continued . . .