Author's notes: Sorry I haven't updated for a while... I know this chapter is kind of short but my plotbunnies had an attack of lazy recently. Don't worry, the ending is within sight! Enjoy, and keep the reviews coming!
It got very exciting in the lab after Greg slit the tape that held the UPS box closed. Mike Teavee unfurled from the loosed flaps like a cross between a Jack-in-the-Box and a daddy longlegs spider, nimbly levering himself out on impossibly spindly limbs and cartwheeling off the table. Both CSIs saw immediately that the estimated weight for the adult Teavee had been grossly overestimated – he was built like a cartoon that had just been run over by a steamroller and looked like a stiff breeze would literally blow him away. He paused long enough to glance at Nick and Greg – he was so tall that he had to stoop under the low ceiling – and then curled up like a spider and hurled himself at the door.
"Holy shit," Nick breathed.
"Catch him!" Greg blurted and ran after Teavee. Nick blinked and headed after him, wondering what the Day Shift would think if they saw the notes on this case.
"I must congratulate you," Grissom said over dinner back at the hotel, "You certainly seemed to have a way with Mr. Wonka."
Catherine frowned. "How do you mean?"
"The way you handled his breakdown when we informed him of Charlie's death, for one."
"He reminded me of Lindsey when her pet hamster died. Call it the mom in me, but I couldn't bear to let him go on like that without doing something. He was… sort of like a six foot tall five-year-old just then. You talked to him longer than me – what was your impression of him?"
Grissom suddenly looked tired. "The list of possible mental disorders that could potentially apply to him would fill a book on abnormal psychology."
Catherine smiled. "I'm sorry."
Grissom smirked. "No you're not. I did notice something about him, though. Every so often, I caught a glimpse of something, like a spark."
"A spark? Of what – insanity?"
"It's hard to say. The man changes moods and topics so fast you get whiplash just talking to him. What did you find when you interviewed the Buckets?"
"An entire garden made out of candy," Catherine replied offhandedly, and was gratified to see Grissom choke on a mouthful of tomato soup.
Teavee whipped down the corridor like some bizarre superhero, his bare feet bracing on the walls as he snaked down a corridor, stretching like taffy in direct defiance of the skeleton that had shown up on the X-rays. He planted his elongated hands on the floor and whipped his legs forward to kick two police officers who had been coming the other way to investigate the commotion. The kinetic force behind the kicks flattened both cops against the walls, and Teavee continued unhindered.
He turned a corner and saw a doorway, but as he raced for it, a dozen Oompa-Loompas sprinted forward and stacked themselves in the opening, making a human door. Teavee sneered and dove for a small gap in the formation, rolling himself lengthwise to fit. He was nearly through—
—but felt his ankles grabbed from the other side of the barrier. He looked back and saw Greg, who had outpaced Nick, holding grimly onto Teavee, his sneakers braced against the doorframe. Teavee reached out desperately, pulling himself forward on desks, file cabinets, light fixtures, stretching further and further…
"What, are you on dialup today?" Greg needled Nick as the latter caught up and grabbed onto an ankle.
"Get off me, man," Nick retorted, "I wasn't expecting to chase Plastic Man today."
"Just don't lose your grip or he'll go flying out the door."
"What happens if he loses his grip first?"
Greg paused, realizing the implications of this for the first time. He exchanged a worried glance with Nick.
Teavee continued to stretch. Something had to give…
"An entire river made of chocolate?" Grissom asked incredulously.
Catherine nodded. "With a waterfall. It's like something out of a child's dream. And before you ask, I did check around the river's edge for signs of the encounter between Bucket and Salt – but that was weeks ago, and the grass is apparently make out of sugar, so…"
"Everything's perishable. Great."
"Besides, Wonka's ground crew likely would have fixed it if there was any damage."
"How can you be sure?"
Catherine shrugged. "The Loompas love Wonka. That's all I can say. Charlie's death was a blow to them, too. They didn't say anything, but when they went back to work, it was… subdued. Slower."
"Which bring us back to why someone would kill a man that everyone loved."
Catherine raised her eyebrows. "Not everyone, Gil."
"Hang on, Nick!"
"His ankles are slipping!"
"His ankles are two feet long! I think you can find a part that isn't sweaty!"
The tug of war had reached a temporary standoff. Teavee had managed to stretch the entire length of the booking room, and was clinging grimly to the doorframe with his rubbery fingertips. One or two of the officers had joined Nick and Greg at the feet end of the elastic suspect; the rest were still obviously trying to process what they were seeing.
Nick glanced at the Oompa-Loompas. "Hey, guys, you think if we all pulled on him together, we can get him off the doorframe?"
The Loompas exchanged a glance, and then nodded. They unstacked, arranged themselves along Teavee's lower legs, and got a grip. The rearmost one nodded to Nick.
"Okay, everybody… on three, everyone pull as hard as you can. Got it? One… two… THREE!"
The formation of manpower heaved backwards. There was a faint snap at the opposite end.
"Okay, I think that's got—"
"HOLY SHIT HE'S SNAPPING BA—"