Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: M
Summary: CSI/House crossover. A consult is needed. This is totally Grissom/Sara.
Spoilers: To understand this, you probably will have had to have seen the House episode Fidelity. And if you haven't, well, a man brings his wife to the hospital because she's been sleeping a lot and is not acting like herself. It turns out that she cheated on her husband once, lied about it, and managed to get sleeping sickness via the affair. Another reason to wear a goddamn condom. Some people are idiots.
A/N: I started writing this in October, and it's been sitting on the old hard drive. Stacy Warner does not exist in my world. For all I know, Sela Ward is still Teddy on Sisters.
What The Rest Are Not Yet Able To Do
Chapter 1
They say
the first love is the most important.
That's very romantic
but it's not the case with me.
He had overslept. Two weeks of non-stop work, of no days off, of pure hell were put to a stop by Conrad Ecklie's blessed scheming. The new director of the Las Vegas Crime Lab had made it clear upon assuming his much-exalted post that his lab would no longer be the bridesmaid in the rankings, always the runner-up. No, the LVPD would finally grasp the brass ring that had slipped through its metaphorical fingers for years and be the number one lab in the country.
"I'm not settling for seconds," Ecklie explained to his staff the day after his nameplate was put on the door of the corner office. He loomed large and bald over an unimpressed crowd. "We are going to be number one if it kills you. And that means education," he said, pointing is finger at the collective. "You will each be required to amp up your certification in different areas. That means more conferences, more seminars. I want you to get our name out there."
At that point, the janitor in the back raised his hand. "Uh, do I have to…?"
"No, Hector, you're good," Ecklie nodded. "As for the rest of you, the biannual progress reports will now become quarterlies. We are keeping up to date with this, people. I want no slacking off."
With that, he left the room and Dr. Robbins watched Grissom roll his eyes at Catherine. Greg pulled an earbud out and lowered the volume on his iPod. "Did I miss anything?"
Nick stood up and stretched, clapping his hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Mandatory sex changes for all new CSIs. Sorry, buddy."
Robbins chuckled at the memory as he rode the elevator up to the fourteenth floor of the MGM Grand. The medical conference he signed up for was one afternoon of lecturing and four more days of margaritas and strippers. Conferences and conventions flocked to Vegas because its vices made up for the boring meetings with the equally boring people. Everyone was more interesting in Vegas.
The conference room was already crowded with bored looking doctors. Robbins found a seat next to his urologist, Dr. Arnold Blaufarb. "Who's on the program today, Arn?"
"Some doctors from Princeton."
"Hmm."
"How's about we hit Crazyhorse after this? Sheffield and Miggs are heading there right after Miggs presents on that new strain of super AIDS," Blaufarb explained as he turned his cell ringer off.
Robbins considered the offer while he reached into his pocket and did the same.
A handsome, young oncologist took the stage and the crowd clapped politely.
"Hello, I am Dr. James Wilson…"
Robbins zoned out. He heard bits and pieces of the young doctor's lecture. Wilson was the whiz kid from New Jersey, one of the leaders in cancer research and treatment and he was barely thirty-five. While the seasoned coroner knew he should be paying close attention to the speaker's words, he found himself more focused on another man on the stage, sitting on the panel with the rest of the upcoming presenters. He was rumpled and hunched over, staring intently at what looked like a Gameboy. A cane leaned against the back of his chair. The small electronic device beeped the telltale theme music of Donkey Kong Jr. and Dr. Wilson put his hand on his microphone, turning to address the noise.
"Could you please turn the sound off?" was Wilson's barely audible request.
The man with the bedhead looked up, eyes wide as if he had just noticed he was sitting on a stage in front of a room full of people. He switched the sound off and then hunkered down once more to continue playing his game. A half hour and two speakers later, Robbins noticed that the audience had given up all pretense of listening to the lecturer and was instead eyeing the man in the Pink Floyd T-shirt who repeatedly cursed under his breath at the game in his hands.
When it was his turn to speak, a hush fell over the audience. The man slipped the Gameboy into his blazer pocket. He limped to the podium and cleared his throat. "I am Dr. Gregory House. I'll make this quick. I've got an appointment with a hooker and if I'm late she charges extra. African Trypanosomiasis, more commonly know as African Sleeping Sickness -- or ASS, as I like to call it -- presents with nonspecific symptoms that are almost always written off as some other illness…"
Each doctor in the audience leaned a bit forward and absorbed Dr. House's lecture: an exotic disease, cheating spouses, lies and betrayal. Though unapologetically surly, his storytelling abilities made up for any meanness in his demeanor.
Blaufarb tilted his head to the side and whispered to his friend. "We should invite this guy out for a drink."
TBC…