Greg poked his head out of the door and looked up and down the hallways. So this is what quiet sounded like. He had never seen the crime lab so deserted. Usually, there was someone around that he could bother into letting him help with their case. But today, it was empty. All the CSIs were out on cases. To coroners gone to fetch new bodies, the cops all out getting records and such for the CSIs. The only people around were David Hodges in hakuryu trace, Archie in video sound, and Bobby in ballistics. However, none of them were very friendly with Greg.
Greg sat back down on his chair and put his feet up on the desk. He buried his nose deep into The Pancake Murders and turned the volume up on his radio. That's more like it, he thought, a bit of relaxation before work. The others are probably out there sweating like dogs while I'm cooled off by my fan. They don't know what they're missing! Greg tried to concentrate on his book tried to think about how comfortable in his office on his nice, comfortable chair, tried to think about how hot he'd be if he were outside...but his mind kept flooding back to how he wanted to be out there with the others. Especially Sara. Maybe she'd go out with him if he became a CSI instead of a nerdy kid cooped up in a lab.
He was so involved with thought about when he would become a real CSI that he didn't notice someone poking him hard on his should with a cell phone antennae, which broke off as Greg turned down his music and put The Pancake Murders on his desk. "What?" said Greg. "What do you guys ne..." he trailed off.
"Dammit," said a tall person Greg had never seen before. "Now I have to get a new one." Greg had half a mind to call security, but saw an ID tag hung plainly around this person's neck: Sam P. Waters. This person wore a crisp blue suit with a black and white checkered tie. His hair was flat and brown and looked cleaner than a vacuumed rug. This was Greg's opportunity to act professional - he quickly straightened up and said "Can I help you?" He added "sir," to show his manners.
"Yes," said the man in a distinct New York accent. "My name is Sam Waters, and I was wondering if Miss Sara Sidle is around."
Greg stared at Mr. Waters with utmost attention. Who would be looking for Sara and why? Naturally assuming that Sam was a former boyfriend or current boyfriend of Sara's, he coldly said "No. She's not around at the moment."
"Oh." Waters looked annoyed. Greg, expecting him to leave, reached for his book again, but then he spoke again. "Well, then, is Miss Catherine Willows here?"
"No," said Greg, sighing and kind of wishing this man would get off his back. If he was looking for a date, this was hardly the place or time to do it.
But Waters didn't leave. "Is..Mr. Nick Stokes around, then?"
"No," Greg said again, starting to sound like a broken record. Now he was getting rather curious about the man's intentions. "None of them are here. In fact," he stood up importantly, "if you need to talk to a CSI, I'm the only one available."
"Really?" Waters eyed Greg's hair and rugged t-shirt, and glanced around the messy lab. "You're a CSI?"
"Yes," said Greg, angrily. This guy was obviously judging his intelligence by looks alone. "I'm CSI trainee, Greg Sanders."
Waters raised his eyebrows and looked away as though thinking hard. Then, something dawned on him and smiled, approaching the desk again. "Is that so? A trainee at this Lab? Well, Mr. Sanders, I am from the Carson City Crime Lab, and I wanted to, um, recruit someone from this here place. Someone experienced. But who's more experienced than a former techie? You guys probably know a lot more than we give you credit for! I'd like to make you a real CSI Level One. Will you take this once-in-a-lifetime offer?"
It took a moment for these words to impact. The last couple of phrases made him sound more like a telemarketer than a professional CSI at Nevada's capitol Crime Lab. But then Greg let out an excited gasp and pondered again on the thought of being out there in the field. It was his dream! His dream to leave this godforsaken Lab and go outside. As he thought this, he looked around the Lab. All this stuff was in here because he needed it. "I'd better not," he said. "Grissom would be mad if I left. I'm supposed to be an extra DNA guy today."
"Don't worry about Mr. Grissom," said Waters. "We will inform him of your, um, transfer. You will be working in stuffy labs no longer, Mr. Sanders. You'll be in the open air with our state's finest CSIs! Don't even stop to think about your past here!"
His enthusiasm wasn't a bit reassuring. It sounded as though this guy was hyped on some other thought, not the thought of bringing in a rookie as a new CSI to his Lab. "So-so you'll tell him I'm with you?" Greg first wanted to make sure he wasn't going to get into trouble with his boss. After all, he had a piece of dirt on him that could keep him from becoming a CSI at all.
"Oh, yes," said Waters, and he grinned broadly at Greg. Greg sort of smiled back, as though there was a small joke they both just shared. Forgetting he was supposed to be working for the good of the Lab, forgetting how he might let five people down if he left, and forgetting that he was just a techie, Greg followed Waters out of the offices and into the Vegas sun.