CHAPTER SEVEN: WHEN THE HELL DO WE GET A BREAK?
Warrick was getting fed up with all the whining around him. It was like watching a film where the kids in the back of the car would yell 'Are we nearly there yet?' every five minutes. The last shout had come from Greg.
"We're stopping at the next service station, Greg. It's five miles down the road. Now everyone stop asking me questions relating to when or where we are stopping next, otherwise I'm going to strap you to the luggage rack." Everybody knew Warrick, and knew that he would strap them to the luggage rack.
A couple of minutes later, and he guided the minivan off the highway and onto the exit for the service station. It was a small complex, only occupied with a gas station and restroom. The group groaned. "Why the hell couldn't you find us somewhere that had adequate shopping space?" The complaint came from Catherine.
Warrick frowned, trying his best to look serious. "Um, 'cause you guys wanted me to stop at the next service station we came across because your leg muscles were atrophying? I guess you don't mind going back in the van for another one hundred and seventeen miles, huh?" He turned the engine back on, and made to drive the van off towards the exit ramp and back onto the highway.
At the sound of his plan, six voices rose up in protest, and Greg dashed to the front of the van, trying to physically prevent Warrick from operating the van.
"Brass, will you get this freak off me?" Warrick called, his voice muffled by some part of Greg's anatomy, most likely his arms or chest. Brass enlisted Nick in helping to pull the nutty lab technician off their designated driver.
When the pandemonium had died down, Warrick smoothed out his shirt and opened the door. "Okay Nick, you're up next. How long should we break for?" He asked the others.
"We've been stuck on that van for three hours," Sara complained. "I'm not getting back on that thing for another half hour, at least."
"Sounds good to me," Catherine agreed. "Us ladies need to powder our noses and relieve ourselves."
"Does that take one hour?" Grissom asked, disbelievingly.
"It does if you're Sara Sidle or Catherine Willows," Nick replied. "Come on, they're women. Not only do they hunt in packs, they pee in packs. I suggest we go and have a male-bonding session," he added, putting his arms playfully around Greg and Warrick.
Grissom and Brass exchanged uncertain looks, and Nick grinned. "Hey guys, don't tell me you're unfamiliar with the practise of sharing soda and popcorn. It'd be beer, but I'm driving, and I can't afford to get inebriated."
The group missed the exchange of looks between Grissom and Sara. Her DUI had occurred what seemed like a lifetime ago, and neither of them had talked about in quite a long time. Grissom hoped nothing would bring it back to the surface.
"Okay folks," Warrick said, interrupting the couple's thoughts. "Bonding session for an hour. And hey, if the girls don't take too long, maybe they can join us."
And off they went for nose-powdering and popcorn consumption.
TBC