Title: Job Hazards

Summary: Three short pieces dealing with a hit-and-run, an incident in Miami, and worst of all, a broken heel. Ah, the hazards of being a CSI ...

AN: Like the summary says, Job Hazards consists of three parts. Oh, and there are spoilers within for the CSI: Miami episode Lost Son. This is our second posted fiction on dealing with the lovely people of CSI: NY.

Disclaimer: The characters within this fic are not ours. They belong to someone else, and we're just playing around for our own enjoyment. We promise to give them back later.

Like an elephant

Mac didn't see it happen. He was concentrating on his crime scene, waiting for Danny and Flack to finish rolling out the police tape and make the necessary phone calls to block off the street. He did hear the accident - people screaming, tires squealing; and he certainly saw the aftermath. His legs moved of their own accord - an autopilot developed in the service - and carried him swiftly to Flack's crumpled form. Danny hovered over Flack only briefly before springing into action, racing down the street with his eyes flashing fire and his coat flapping open behind him.

Flack rolled onto his back and made wheezing noises, which Mac decided was both encouraging and worrying.

"Somebody call 911!" Mac yelled.

""Someone ... get license ... number?" Flack gasped, flashing Mac a ghostly smile.

"Ha, ha," said Mac. "Where were you hit?"

"Side mirror ... cracked ... my ribs ..."

"Just hang tight, Donny."

"Serious ... about license ..." Flack moaned.

Mac cocked his head at the street Danny had vanished down. "I think Danny's taking care of the license number," he told Flack, but wondered, with a sudden pang of concern, if Danny meant to take down a maniac in a speeding van single-handedly.

He wouldn't put it past him.

"Feels like ... an elephant ... punched me," Flack informed him.

"Yeah, I bet," Mac said.

From further down the street, out of sight, there was an explosive sound of twisting metal and shattering glass.

Mac considered it for a moment. "I think," he said optimistically, "that Danny has apprehended our suspect."

Flack cackled painfully, clutching his ribs.

Last one I can remember

"Would you look at that," Danny said, gesturing at the TV. "Someone shot a CSI."

"That doesn't happen very often," Stella mused. "Last one I can remember was in Vegas a few years ago. Rookie all alone at the scene; suspect returned, or something."

"This one's in Miami," Danny said. "Shoot-out in a jewelry store."

"Miami ... That's where that lieutenant was from - you know, the one with the weird name. Horatio Caine?"

"Somethin' like that," Danny agreed. "Dead guy's name hasn't been released yet."

Stella tapped her fingers on the table and glanced at the clock. "Uh huh."

"Mac in yet?"

"Do you see him here?"

"Should we ..." Danny paused. "Should we mention this to him? If it is that Horatio guy, he might wanna know -"

"I'll tell him," Stella said flatly.

"It's just - well, ever since 9- "

"Danny."

"I ... People are worried, ya know?"

"I know."

"Do you know if he -"

"Danny."

"Sorry."

Flack poked his head in the door. "You guys check your guns lately?"

Danny nodded.

"Yeah," said Stella. "Why?"

Flack's eyes flickered toward the TV, which was showing footage of a body bag being wheeled out of a store under the weeping gaze of a coroner.

Stella's expression softened slightly. "We're good, Flack," she said. "We'll see you at the crime scene."

Danny turned the TV off.

Inserting the heel

Snap.

Stella stumbled and abruptly stopped moving, leaving Danny and Flack to continue striding forward for several steps before they realized she had fallen behind.

"Stella," Flack started, "are you okay?"

"Yes! Fine!"

Danny strolled back to where Stella was kneeling over a storm grate."Ya need some help?"

"No, no, I've got this," Stella said, taking off one of her shoes and examining it. "I'll meet you guys there."

"Broke a heel?" Flack asked.

"Yes." Stella growled, taking off her other shoe and inserting the heel in the grate.

"Why do women wear heels?" Danny wondered, hands in pockets. "They look uncomfortable - not to mention dangerous."

"Shut up," Stella said absently, jiggling the good shoe back and forth against the grate.

There was a second snap. Stella put her shoes back on, stood up, and dusted herself off.

"Let's go," she ordered, and set off, a bemused Danny and Flack following in her wake.

Stella was nothing if not efficient.

END